There was a time where the Scottish Country, Allistor, thought his life could be turned around. There were so many problems that he knew would never go away. Like hating his brother. He believed he loved his blonde haired brother Arthur, Britain, but he thought it had been a recent revelation. Still, he truly reconsidered that it had been much longer than that. Even Allistor other didn't know it had been blooming, blossoming into something more… something dark, something sinister. Love had grown where hate should have been, threats and physical abuse falling deaf on both of their ears. A cigarette would be lit, the burning tip pressed into supple skin, placed between scowling lips, then cast aside as the cancer burnt the male's lungs. He knew he wasn't human, and was never going to be. He was a country, and that was that. He sat at his own kitchen table, leaning listlessly on his elbows, one hand propping up his head, the other steadying a precariously settled cigarette. Blowing out the grey smoke, he could just hear Arthur's words. "That's bad for you, you know…"
Chuckling at the thought, the male muttered to himself, "Y'never honestly cared."
Pulling the nicotine away from his lips, bright emerald eyes seemed to glare at the darned thing before he snuffed it out in an ashtray. Thunder boomed in the distance, and the redhead turned his head to look out the window, clacks of water now beginning to pelt the window panes noisily. Letting out a sigh, the man stood up, running his hands through vibrant red hair before walking to his living room, plopping himself down on the sofa, kicking up his black boots onto the coffee table, and turning on the small television. The black and white images were scattered somewhat, attempting to focus as static rang in the stagnant air. The faint buzz of cheering could be heard through the speakers… a special about the new country of America. The newly independent country of America. So, his brother was unable to quell the brewing storm of revolt. A revolution had indeed taken place, and both blondes had fought in a vicious war.
Deep in thought, the Scot leaned back, staring at the ceiling with uninterest, until there was a knock at his door. An eyebrow rose as he exasperatedly lifted himself from his comfortable position to waver over to the door, obvious annoyance dripping from his actions. Flinging the door open, bright green eyes widened only slightly as he gazed into matching ones, the blonde's uniform still muddy, torn, and bloody from the battle. Though it had been raining, the Scot could notice that the other was crying, and awkwardly, he allowed the man in. It took some coaxing from the blonde's legs, but finally managed to get the younger male inside, sitting him on the sofa.
"I saw what happened," was all the redhead remarked, walking back to the kitchen to grab his cigarettes.
The blonde lowered his head into his hands, sobs now coming into full effect, wracking the man's body. Lighting his cigarette, the Scot inhaled and exhaled the smoke, leaning against the doorway, trying to calculate what the man wanted.
"Arthur, you know you couldn't've kept him forever. Like all kids, he had to grow up. Like you. Even you had to grow up and leave me."
Those words stung the man named Arthur, though he didn't acknowledge Allistor's existence as he sobbed nonstop. Infuriated, the Scot stomped over, slapping hands away from the blonde's face to clutch cheeks in one hand, forcing Arthur to look him straight in the eye. Once vibrant green eyes dully stared back into piercing ones as the redhead glared at his brother. A one sided, wordless argument went on silently before the older country snarled, letting go to backhand Arthur across the face.
"You cannot save him! He is not the victim... and neither are you! You are just dwelling on a past you can no longer change," the Allistor roared into deaf ears, shaking the man in his arms like a rag doll, tears relentlessly streaking down his face.
Arthur pulled away, shoving drunkenly at his older brother, eyes trained on the black and white visions of the television, widened in horror and surprise. There he was, on the screen, cheering with all his other troops, raising a bloody musket in the air. Though insignificant to any other, the blonde searched the wooden paneling of the gun, noticing the faint, grainy image of a gash.
"He was mine, Allistor, he was mine... he was my little brother."
Allistor merely quirked an eyebrow, unsure of how to respond to the raspy and cracking voice of his younger brother. Spite grew in the redhead's heart, remembrance of hateful words, of the pain that wracked his own body so many long years ago. He clenched his fist, flexing his fingers in hope that he wouldn't punch his poor brother, who was still focused on the television in front of him. Allistor eventually just slammed the side of his fist into the nearby wall.
"So then what were you to me?! Huh?! This is exactly what you did to me so many years ago, and you expect that just because he's younger, he'll obey every single word you utter? Bullshit!" More words pushed its way into Britain's skull, forcing more tears forward and through his eyes. It was all true. Everything that had passed those scowling lips was true, as much as the blonde didn't want to admit. The dulled green eyes of Arthur were pulled away from the moving images to look into that of his brother's, now distracted by the loud bang emitted by his fist. Eyes widened only slightly as renewed tears trailed down his face.
"You're bleeding!" Arthur exclaimed, getting up and rushing over to his brother. "What of it? I punched a wall," he replied icily, bringing his hand to the other to nurse bleeding knuckles. Arthur didn't believe Allistor, and got up, looking around. He was still sore about the whole thing with America, but he was still loyal to his family, despite what his brother had been trying to ingrain into his brain.
"Where is your first aide kit?" the blonde questioned, looking around, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, only to smear blood and mud all over his face. Allistor snickered and moved away from the wall to walk through the doorway into the kitchen. "Don't got one," he replied, shaking his head, "You'll have to make due with my bleeding." Arthur still didn't believe his brother, and he shook his head as well. "You must have something to clean wounds with."
Allistor ignored his younger brother, heading to the counter and slammed his hands onto the surface, hunched over, head hung in defeat. He couldn't do this, he couldn't deal with his brother acting like this. This was exactly why Allistor pushed his brother away, created walls, became a lunatic. He felt the need to disappear, to leave his brother behind to avoid exactly what was happening in the other room. How long would it be before he officially started hitting his brother, to attack him with more than just words? Allistor didn't want to take that chance. Arthur had been rushing about the house, tattered uniform creating an eerie flapping noise with each hurried step he took. When he had returned to the kitchen, he tilted his head, unsure as to why his older brother was hunched over the counter as if in pain. Didn't he just say he was fine anyway?
"Allistor, if you don't feel well, just tell me, I'll understand." There was that word that really set Scotland on edge. "Why are you suddenly so nice to me again?! You can't just switch back over now that your beloved Alfred has abandoned you to be the newly independent country of America. I don't accept it. I don't accept you." Words hit Arthur again, and his demeanor resembled that of a dejected child. Still, the blonde swallowed his fear, unsure if he should honestly be treading on the eggshells.
"I won't leave you. I promise. This is it, I won't leave you again, I belong to and you alone." That was all Allistor needed, he needed that submission, a sadistic grin curved his lips upward. In its elegance was that tainted facade of love, of that platonic relationship that the two previously owned. The rekindling of brotherly love so obviously broken, it made the Scot laughed, maniacally almost, as he pulled himself away from the counter to sway drunkenly over to the Englishman. "There is no backing out now. You promised. You belong to me."
Many years had passed since that fateful day before Arthur finally realized something was wrong with the relationship he held with his brother. He sat at the edge of his bed, head hung between his knees as he scanned his arms and legs. He was tired all the time, and there were those small, circular burns that riddled his body. Allistor always was a horrible smoker, and the Englishman couldn't even get him to stop. Is this normally what brothers are supposed to do? Do they have an agreement that the younger was nothing more than a placemat to be stepped on all the time? Even to Arthur's broken brain it didn't sound right. Wide eyes stared at his bedroom door as it opened, and vivid emerald eyes pierced through the darkness, clouded only by the tainted smoke of Arthur's thoughts.
"I love you." Allistor's words were empty, they held no true meaning, they were just three words strung together just to make it sound as if he were sincere, that he truly cared. There was a point in time Arthur could've believed him, but that was a long time ago, that was before Alfred, that was before the American Revolution.
"I love you too." It was such a beautiful lie that both of them shared, and slender legs sauntered into the room, heading straight towards the one sitting at the edge of the bed. Already, the burning end of the cigarette was forced into once clear skin, the sizzling a strangely comforting , yet burning, sensation in Arthur's mind. It was a sense of security to know that he belonged to someone, he was branded like cattle and wasn't going to be cast aside like an empty beer cup.
Long, lithe, slender fingers wrapped around an equally slender neck, fingertips pressing into the pulse on the side of Arthur's neck. He smiled with bliss, eyes narrowing as tears that hadn't surfaced since that fated day reappeared. "I love you, I love you, I love you," Arthur cried, using it as his mantra, knowing that the end was nearing. The laughter returned, echoing about the room, breaking the silence that created a ringing in their ears. Blood pulsed, heartbeats rising rapidly. They both knew what was coming, and were both glad for it.
"I'm a lunatic, aren't I? Because I hate you, I hate you and I always have. Your eyes have never looked at me, they were always on Alfred. You were always watching those American shows in hope of seeing him!" Allistor's insecurities forced their way and spilled from his mouth. He laughed, a crazed look in his eye as he leaned in close, scrutinizing that dying face. "You loved me, Arthur, remember that. You loved me and you never loved anyone else."
A choked laugh forcibly made its way to Arthur's lips as he coughed, not even trying to pull away from the suffocating grip. "I do, I do love you... but you never loved me."