Sup, Canadaslighter here. Heres the next chapter. I redrafted the last chapter so check that out :D
"You helped me fight him!" Alfred yelled at the Prussian, throwing his hands in the air as he glared. The argument had started a few minutes ago when Gilbert had stormed into his room (Alfred refused to wonder how he had gotten in) and punched him, shouting about Matthew. He had no idea why the European was so concerned with how he was treating his brother.
"That doesn't mean you can set his capital on fire!"
So he'd about that. Damn.
"Look, it was two years ago. He's moved on, I've moved on, you need to move on, okay?" He tried, rubbing his cheek and sitting down on his bed. He'd have a nasty bruise; for an old man that Prussian could pack a punch.
It was early in the afternoon, the August heat sending a haze over the horizons. On days like this, all Alfred wanted to do was drink sweet tea and relax. He'd made sure to finish his paperwork, and anything else he had been sure Madison could deal with. Of course, Gilbert had to choose today to come and harass him.
"You burned his fucking capital city, you brat!"
This was going to be a long day.
(~)
Matthew sat with Arthur, wincing as the bandages on his chest tightened as he breathed. Even two years on the wound still bled. Even two years on, Matthew couldn't believe his own brother would burn York. It had been rebuilt slowly, and the people were recovering but the Canadian couldn't understand why Alfred had been willing to burn his brother in order to gain England's attention.
It wasn't that surprising, he supposed.
"Ready for tonight, lad?"
Matthew nodded.
(~)
"Prussia just shut the-"
(~)
The battle had been hard won, but the British and Canadian troops had won, their forces pushing forward until they held Washington, and then the White House. It was abandoned, the foyers vacant and a large picture frame empty. The Americans had taken what they could and ran, using the previous battles as a warning. Matthew had made sure that they had a warning, yet he expected Alfred to be here, waiting for them.
With or without his brother, he supposed, they still had a mission. It was then, with a heavy heart, he called out for the first fire to be lit in the White House.
(~)
Alfred screamed, his hands clutching at his chest as the noise tore out of his throat. Gilbert stepped back, eyes wide. The boy had just started screaming, out of nowhere, and the familiar sent of burning flesh filled the room.
Oh God, he wouldn't.
Matthew wouldn't.
The Prussian shook his head before guiding Alfred to his bed, quietly shushing him as the American just continued to shriek. Fingers tore at the white shirt he wore, ripping the fine fabric away to reveal the small burn mark that was gradually getting larger over his chest.
"Washington! They're- they're burning her!"
Gilbert grimaced, and held the boy's arms down to prevent him from doing any more damage to himself.
(~)
The storm soon put the fires out, the flames dying in the torrential rain. Arthur had demanded a retreat after the wind had thrown two cannons streets away. They had heard the screams over the gusts. There was not that much damage, Alfred could repair it quickly.
Matthew wondered if Alfred finally understood how much it hurt for your heart to be burned.
He just hoped he hadn't been alone, like the Canadian had been two years ago, his screams muffled by the snow under his face.
(~)
Alfred had fallen into a deep sleep a few hours ago, as Prussia climbed into his carriage to return to the docks. The blond had lost his voice after so much shouting, only able to silently cry until the damage had stopped.
Prussia slumped against the cushioned back of his carriage seat, tired to his bones.
"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, Matthew," he muttered, before closing his eyes and drifting off to his own fitful sleep.