Here's next chapter. I owe some of you guys oneshots and I'll get to them when I can, promise. Thanks for being patient you guys. (If anyone still reads this. )
The first thing that came to mind was how sore his entire body, but mostly his head felt. Alfred gingerly poked at the lump on the back of his skull. He hissed in a breath through his teeth, "That smarts." And then some, but he was too groggy to think of any other appropriate words to describe it.
Once over his newly acquired bruise he began to take in his surroundings. He had been laid out on a cot in a tent, and for a second he thought he was back at camp. From out of the corner of his eye he saw a red jacket, and the memories came rushing back all at once. He wasn't at camp, at least not his camp. Despite the shooting pain running from his neck down his spine he got up and walked out.
Guards had been posted outside the tent, but they didn't seem worried about his meandering. Alfred glared at them, noticing the winter gear they had on and shivering as he realized he had nothing on from the waist up. Well, nothing other than some bandages that had been wrapped around his shoulder.
"Al! Y-You're awake!" Even when shouting, Canada's voice was almost nonexistent. Alfred's glare turned on Canada and apparently it was effective since it had his twin stumbling to a stop before he even reached him.
Alfred didn't say anything. His shoulders began to tremble from the cold though, so he turned to go back in the tent and find a shirt or something.
He could feel Canada's eyes on his back, but he didn't say anything. Didn't so much as acknowledge him while he overturned items that didn't belong to him. Probably some of Mattie's stuff.
After sufficiently making a mess of just about everything, Mattie stepped in and pulled out a shirt that had been hidden under the cot. He turned around and held it out to his brother who was continuing with his silent treatment. Sighing heavily Matthew set it down on the cot and walked out, pausing at the opening and hunching over a little.
"A storm is coming in so you might want to grab a coat be-if you come out." He had heard of his twin's tantrums before from Arthur, and he wouldn't put it past Alfred to stay in the tent for the rest of their stay here just to avoid seeing or dealing with anyone. Alfred's silence earned another soft sigh from Canada and then he was gone.
America poked at the shirt, examined it, turned it over, and finally pulled it on over his head. The material was cool from being on the ground for who-knew-how-long, but it did the trick. His gaze tracked over to the aforementioned jacket, but he drew the line at dressing up in a British uniform. He sat down on the cot and bent over, looking underneath it with his head upside down from where he sat. A pair of boots were also hidden under there so he dragged them out and pulled them on, as well as the socks that had been inside them.
Feeling a little bit better now that he wasn't so exposed he wrapped the threadbare blanket from the cot around his shoulders and set off to explore wherever he was. Obviously it was a British camp of some sort, and it couldn't be too far from Philadelphia. That was a little encouraging because it meant that France would be nearby. Assuming he wasn't too preoccupied with England, or if he had reached Philadelphia.
Alfred rubbed at his forehead in frustration. He spotted Canada standing off to the side under an open tent, discussing what looked like important battle plans with some officers. Or more so standing there listening while the others ignored him. Alfred chuckled to himself and began to explore the camp. There wasn't much to see, and it wasn't until he got to one of the far ends that he really came to notice where he was.
A shabby prison camp had been set up on this side of the camp. Most of the men were shackled together, and to the posts to keep them from leaving or escaping too easily. A scant few were kept even further away and isolated from the rest. One of the prisoners by themselves was a young boy with bandages around his head and left hand. A mass of unruly orangey brown hair stuck out around the tightly wrapped bandage. America looked around but none of the officers were paying him much attention.
So he walked over and sat down on the ground in front of the dirtied, bloodied, and angry looking boy.
The two sized each other up silently, but the silent staring match was broken when the boy spit a wad of blood off to the side.
"You're not one of them."
Alfred slowly shook his head, "No."
The boy's eyes narrowed curiously. "But you're not locked up."
"Not at the moment." As he said so he glanced around and while the occasional Redcoat gave them a look; they didn't seem to care much about their conversation. Probably assumed the boy wasn't dangerous, but then why would he be put off by himself?
A few more awkward moments of silence passed during which Alfred noticed a few things about the boy. One, that the wounds he had were fresh if the blossoming red on his bandages were anything to go off of. Two, that he had obviously done something interesting, if not note-worthy to be kept away from the others. And three, that he was familiar.
"You're Andrew."
The boy smiled, but it looked more like a grimace to Alfred. "Yes."
Then Alfred was grinning and had closed the small distance between them, hands reaching out and clasping Andrew's-Taking care to be gentle with his left hand. "I knew it! You were that courier, from before!" Another slow nod from Andrew, who he supposed could be considered a teenager. He looked too malnourished to be a thirteen year old though.
His little outburst had finally gotten the attention of one of the officer's standing guard who walked over and looked down at them. "The boy is not to be spoken to until his time has been served."
America arched one brow at Andrew, wondering how much time he had already 'served' and what he'd done to do so. Andrew smirked, but didn't say anything. Alfred shrugged and got to his feet, mock saluting the officer. "Sure thing."
His blatant insult brought an angry flush to the officer's face but he turned and strode away to deal with shouting that was coming from a group of prisoner's a little ways off. Alfred tilted his head towards Andrew.
"I'll be by later."
Andrew didn't look convinced, and shrugged. He looked as apathetic as he had before Alfred had come over to talk with him. Didn't he have a brother? Last that he'd heard they had been captured together.
He was about to kneel down again and find out what all had happened and ask all the questions running through his mind, but someone was clearing their throat behind him. America gave Andrew one last look and turned around to see Canada gazing at him curiously. His eyes flicked from the boy to Alfred and then back.
"W-We need to talk." If he hadn't stuttered America might have considered that a command, and while it was tempting to tell him off...The attention of the officers was suddenly focused on them and he wasn't in the mood to be dragged to wherever Canada wanted. He nodded in agreement and began to walk with Mattie, who was speaking softly. So softly that it was a struggle to make out what he was saying.
Instead of listening Alfred blocked his brother out. He had a lot to think about and for once Canada seemed to be the one doing all the talking. He was so immersed in his thoughts that he nearly kept on walking when Canada had stopped. Thankfully he caught himself, and the hand holding his upper arm helped as well. He looked over to Canada, refusing to give him as much as a glare.
The blank stare unsettled Mattie enough to where he gave his brother an unpleasant shove forward. Alfred looked around curiously, having wondered if they were going back to Matt's tent to talk or so he could keep a better eye on him until England showed up-If he showed up. America pulled the blanket a bit tighter around his shoulders as he took in the refined decor of the tent. Nothing like what Francis or even Prussia's looked like. He took another step in, slowly turning and his gaze skipped right across a chair, until he realized someone was sitting in it.
Canada's grip had somehow shifted from his bicep to his shoulder, and his fingers were pressed in right over his wound. America jerked his head over his shoulder and finally gave Mattie a nasty glare. That had been sneaky, and he hadn't actually expected Canada to be so…Calculating. Using a physical weak point against him was unfair. Canada now was the one avoiding eye contact and slowly dug his fingers in, enough to apply an unpleasant pressure on the stitched gash.
The subtle gesture wasn't lost on Alfred and he took a few more steps forward until he was able to make out the features of who he already knew was sitting in that stupid, lavish chair.
America looked at the British Empire, seeing remnants of the fury from the other day that had been directed at him. To wither under that look would be admitting defeat, and so he squared his shoulders-Well, as best he could with Mattie's fingers pressing in on his wound. Then England stood up and closed the space between them, standing almost nose to nose. America wished he had grown a few inches taller, enough to where he could look down at him rather than almost directly across. Which was stupid because height had nothing to do with anything, but-
His rambling thoughts came to a stop when arms wrapped around him, pulling him in close. One of Arthur's hands rested at the back of his head, the other curled tightly in the material of his shirt. Canada was forced to let go of his shoulder and then Alfred wasn't sure where he had gone, because all he could focus on was the unexpected hug from England. Then England pulled back and pushed at the loose collar of Alfred's shirt to look at the bandaged wound. The abrupt switch from warm hug to cool appraisal left Alfred staring dumbly at England.
Then England's hand had replaced Canada's, but his fingernails dug in against the bandage with an unforgiving strength. He inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing as he reached up and wrapped his fingers around England's wrist, hoping to deter him. It had the opposite effect and Alfred fell to his knees, tears welling up. He bit his lip to keep the groan of pain from escaping past his throat.
"Arthur!" Canada squeaked out. Oh, so he was still here. Alfred only had eyes for England at the moment, and he was doing his best to stare without blinking or looking anywhere else.
England had followed America to the ground, kneeling in front of him on one knee. Blood pooled out around his fingertips, nails having broken through the bandaging to the raw wound below. The fingers of his other hand curled into Alfred's dirty blond hair so he could pull him closer. Arthur spoke plainly against Alfred's ear, loud enough for Matthew to hear.
"You are lucky Alfred, so very lucky." He stared at Matthew as he spoke, who looked back with lips slightly parted and eyes widened. His gaze darted back and forth between the blood on Alfred's binding and Arthur's eyes. "Maybe you didn't even know what you were doing, but I can no longer give you the benefit of the doubt."
He paused, breathing in deeply as though to sigh but he never did. "We're going to have a talk, like you always wanted." By now his fingers had dug in well past the bandages and were sinking deeper into the re-opened wound.
Alfred ground his teeth together, his muscles tensing and shaking as he kept himself from lashing out at Arthur. With a great deal of control he lifted one hand to push England back by his shoulder, enough to where he could look what had once been his father-figure in the face. What he saw wasn't a surprise, but he had been hoping...
"I'm done talking." Alfred then snapped his head forward, foreheads colliding. Arthur's fingers slid out of the opened wound with a rather unsettling squelching sound that would have made Alfred's stomach turn had he not been falling into unconsciousness, laughing as he did.
The last thing he remembered was Canada's cry of surprise and a slur of British curse words that sounded like music to his ears.
Francis was lounging on one of the chairs, some supposed important one that had a sun engraved in it and had been found overturned when they'd first entered the building. Taking back Philadelphia had been much easier than he'd anticipated. England had left in the midst of the battle, and his soldiers had done the same. They had withdrawn without seeming to care that they were going to lose a serious foothold.
It had been odd, and put France on edge for the rest of the evening.
While moving through the city to the Congressional building it had become apparent that Philadelphia was what Angleterre had burnt not so long ago. Francis eyed the scorch marks on the walls. The room had been well sacked and left to rot. It was unlikely anyone had set foot in this place until he and Prussia had arrived. The albino was leaning against a wall with his arms folded and glaring at the group of Americans conversing just on the other side of the room.
"Mon chéri that look doesn't suit you."
Prussia's glare shifted to France, who shrugged his shoulders and winked at him. "At least not in negotiations." All he got for a response was a shrug, and so Francis got out of the chair and walked over to stand near his ally. "Should we really be doing this without Amerique here?" Francis bit down on his bottom lip, worrying at it for a moment.
"After all we were going to discuss some of the more, ah, delicate situations involved with this signing and there was always the after-party." Francis sounded truly distraught as he mentioned this bit. The delegates weren't paying them any mind, well none except for one man who had a sharp gaze and made France's skin break out in goose bumps when that look was turned on him.
Prussia had yet to contribute to the conversation so France rambled on. "After all he is an important part to this, oui? We should have gone after them, after Alfred." France tilted his head, long hair brushing against Prussia's shoulder. "Now Amerique is with him and there's no telling what will happen to this war's effort. This should have waited, been called off. We should ha-"
"Would you shut up?" Prussia elbowed France, but it wasn't hard enough to do any damage. France's eyebrows shot up at the curious way Prussia decided to finally join in on the one sided conversation. Prussia pushed himself off of the wall and turned to the side so he was facing the other nation and had his back more or less to the delegates.
"The kid will be fine. Besides if it weren't for him we wouldn't have gotten this city back along with the port." Francis tilted his head, interested in hearing out what it was that Prussia meant. The albino didn't say another word though and looked like he was about to turn around and go back to his solemn wall leaning.
France frowned and brushed his fingers at some nonexistent dirt on Prussia's shoulder. "Oui mon ami?" He hoped to encourage him back into the conversation.
Gilbert's gaze flicked across the delegates and then back to Francis. "Ja." Then he let out a drawn out sigh, rolling his eyes dramatically. "America makes England stupid. He makes rash decisions like pulling the army just to have a chance to see his colony back in his hands."
France's smile turned predatory. They had played this game before, and he always enjoyed the role of devil's advocate. "So what you're saying is that England retreated because he merely wanted to see Amerique once more? To spend time with him?" He pressed one gloved finger to his lips in thought before making a dramatic flourish with his hand.
"Non. Who is to say that he doesn't have a reason? Perhaps we've marched right into a trap and these men," he gestured broadly with an open arm to the delegates, "are now doomed to their deaths."
Prussia scoffed and shook his head. "Doubt it. You weren't there when he tried to take the kid back with him."
That shut Francis up, and Prussia now had his undivided attention. "When was this?" He tried to sound casual about it, but it was impossible to hide the eager tone in his voice. Prussia shrugged and scratched at the back of his head.
"The day you showed up at camp again, when we had won. Brows didn't even hear me sneak up on them." Prussia paused for a second. "America makes him stupid." He repeated his initial statement, sticking by it. Francis frowned and shook his head slowly, "I think you've misunderstood England. You two have had your...Ah, moments, but you don't know him like I do."
France sighed, voice hollow. "He's fighting this war for Alfred, and that's what is pushing him to win. It's why he won the first time."
"It's because he's fighting for him that he's going to lose." Prussia countered with a shrug.
That tone of voice coupled with the stance Prussia adopted met that this conversation was over. France sighed softly one more time and looked back over to the delegates as they wrote furiously over pieces of paper. In the midst of the flurry there was one unmoving man.
He kept his steely gaze on both France and Prussia. France grimaced from the unpleasant look they were getting.
"Who is he?" Francis asked Prussia, uncaring if the young man in question heard them or not.
Prussia shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know? I'm only sticking around until I can go get something to drink. If we can't seal the deal as nations then what's the point in sticking around for this?"
France laughed and shook his head, looping one arm around Prussia's waist and leading them over towards the delegates. "Ah, you do have the best ideas mon cher."
Being woken up by being tossed over someone's shoulder was not the best way to start a new day. America grumbled under his breath about the whole thing not being very funny but stopped mid-complaint when he realized how much his shoulder hurt and that this wasn't Prussia's usual method of getting him out of bed.
He opened his eyes but had to close them just as quickly when the sun all but blinded him. "Owwwwww." He drew out the one word as long as he possibly could, raising his hands to rub at his eyes in frustration. Why was he being moved?
Not long after his thoughts caught up with his situation he was tossed down onto the ground and then manhandled about until he was cuffed to a post; in the middle of camp. He blinked a few times, greeted with a bleary view of his surroundings.
Someone was behind him, locking the chains that attached to a shackle on each wrist. Didn't look like he'd be going anywhere anytime soon. His ankles had been tied as well it looked like. He wiggled his toes, watching them with the mild fascination of someone who had just woken up and was still partially asleep.
"That's enough." A quiet voice interrupted his admiration of the awesomeness that is feet.
He looked up and squinted through his bangs at Canada. He looked as immaculate as ever with his uniform still on and looking freshly pressed.
America spoke without thinking, sleepiness still clinging to him. "Hey where's your bear?" It might have been more productive to find out why he was being shackled up like other prisoners, but he figured it had something to do with that head butting thing the other day.
There was no response. In fact Mattie didn't even look at him before turning and walking away. The soldier who had been behind him did so as well, trailing after his twin.
"You got in trouble."
Alfred's head lolled to the side and he looked at Andrew who wasn't too far off from him. He smiled. "Sure did."
"And you're all bloody." He pointed out as well, bright blue eyes taking in the disheveled appearance of the soldier he had spoken to just yesterday, though under vastly different circumstances. Also his entire shoulder hadn't been a crusty brown color with bits flecking off whenever he moved.
America kept on smiling but looked away a moment from Andrew to the shoulder in question. "Looks like." Then he realized something, eyes widening and mouth opening partially. "Hey you're not over by yourself anymore. On good behavior or something?"
That got a scoff out of the boy who shook his head. "No they didn't tell me. Just moved me, and then you showed up."
Alfred craned his neck back so that his head bumped against the rough wooden post and he was looking up at the blue sky. "Oh. Well at least we can talk."
That didn't do the trick, and if anything Andrew got even quieter than before. America frowned, scooting a little so was able to look at his fellow prisoner without having to twist his neck every time. "What happened to you?" He pointed as much as he could to Andrew's hand and head.
His attempt to get a conversation going wasn't working. Andrew had stared at him for a little while but then he got bored with that apparently and started dragging a finger through the dirt on the ground. After a few minutes America gave up hope of getting him to open up and slouched down against the uncomfortable post.
"I wouldn't clean their boots."
Alfred looked back at Andrew, but he was still doodling in the dirt, eyes on the ground. He glanced at some of the officers standing off to the side. "Which one?"
That question made Andrew's head jerk up and his gaze immediately locked on one of the older officers, and more decorated among the group. "That one." He didn't say anything else about it, but the raging hatred behind his eyes spoke volumes and America didn't say another word.
After a while the silence got boring for him and since he didn't really have anyone else to talk to…
"What happened to your brother?"
Andrew actually looked a little interested in the question, eyes widening in surprise. "You remember them? Which one?"
Alfred wracked his brain for a name, trying desperately to remember the brother who Andrew had been captured with. "Er-Rooooobert?" He drew out the name hesitantly while watching Andrew's face for a reaction, ready to switch mid-name to another R-name if he was wrong.
"He was here. Then he got smallpox."
"Oh."
"Yes."
They didn't say anything to each other for the rest of the day. While America tried to find a comfortable position so he could get some rest, he was surprised to see that Andrew would steadily watch the officer's every move and track them with a wary glare.
Then the sun was setting and it was getting much colder. "H-How l-long do you guys j-just stay out here?" America's teeth chattered slightly as he brought his knees up to his chest and cradled his hands in between his thighs and stomach.
"I've been out here for five days. This will be the sixth night."
He stared at Andrew with wide eyes. "Aren't you cold?"
The youth shrugged his shoulders but it was obvious from his trembling shoulders he wasn't immune to the chill that permeated the night air.
So without saying anything Alfred scooted over as close as he could. "Hey, c'mere."
Andrew's shoulders jumped in surprise at how much closer the American had gotten. "What? Why for?" He cast a suspicious look around, but most of the soldiers were huddling near to fires.
"Because I'm cold, d'uh." That didn't convince the boy who just arched one brow and folded his arms. America smiled, eyes glistening with a hint of mischief. "I'll sing if you don't."
"What?" Andrew asked incredulously.
Without missing a beat Alfred broke into song, "Father and I went down to camp, along with Captain Gooding; and there we saw the men and boys, as thick as hasty pudding-"
Andrew reacted just as quickly, nearly throwing himself the small distance over to Alfred and curled up against his side; one hand slapped over Alfred's mouth. The outburst went unnoticed for the most part by the soldiers. Some looked around curiously before shrugging and returning to their own conversations.
"You're insane."
"But warm." America countered with a grin, sitting with his legs crossed. All he got was a groan and some mumbles from the boy, who was trying his best to stay awake. His head started to droop forward, only to snap back up again as he looked around to see if anyone noticed.
Eventually he did doze off, head sliding down and resting on Alfred's shoulder.
"G'night Andrew."
AH HA DONE. So I hope this is a long enough update to appease y'all. Sorry it's been so delayed. I'm very busy lately. Thank you for sticking with me.
Time for historical notes! Often times camps had little prisoner areas set up, sometimes in the yards of estates that soldiers/officers would stay in. They were pretty craptastic and a lot of times soldiers would contract diseases from being so jam-packed and mistreated. Not a lot of POWs survived captivity.
The prisoner in question? That's young Andrew Jackson. He actually was a courier in the war as a young boy but he and his brother were captured. His eldest brother died from heat stroke in a battle. Both he and Robert contracted smallpox, Andrew lived but Robert did not. He also did get a cut across his head and left hand for disobeying an officer and not polishing his boots. Little rebel rouser. Eventually his mother secured his freedom a couple of years later, but not so in this story.
Philadelphia is won! The ports that are referred to are in fact ones that were used heavily in connection to the Delaware Bay for supplies and the like. The man who was giving France the third degree is our beloved James Madison, and boy does he have his reasons. You'll find them out soon enough.
Oh and that song Alfred started singing? None other than Yankee Doodle! The colonists took what the British had created and were using as an insult and sort of claimed the song for their own. So instead of being derogatory like the Brits intended, the Americans danced to it and sang to their hearts content. Oh that must have been annoying for poor Arthur.
Anyhow the development between Andrew and Alfred is happening for a reason, and I don't think any language notes are needed this chapter. WOAH long endnote here.
OH! I almost forgot. The chair that Francis is sitting in that was overturned is none other than The Rising Sun Armchair. George Washington sat in it and Ben Franklin supposedly said, "I have often looked at that picture behind the president without being able to tell whether it was a rising or setting sun. Now at length I have the happiness to know that it is indeed a rising, not a setting sun."