Two posts in one day? I must be crazy...
Disclaimer: no
Warnings! Bloody scenes ahead!
Italics- thoughts
Bold & Italics- Billy
"Alfred! Poppet! I'm so happy to see you, lad!" Arthur scooped up the boy in a bear hug and Alfred shrieked in delight. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent he loved so much. Arthur always smelled of green tea and the ocean. Alfred loved that scent so much and-
Suddenly he felt a chill run through his body like lightning and he snapped his eyes open.
Oh God, no.
I hate you so much...you little brat! That hurt before! How dare you do that to me! I'll make you pay...
"Alfred, poppet? What's wrong? You're shaking."
Alfred blinked back to reality, Billy's back...Arthur put Alfred gingerly on the couch. When did they get to the living room? "I'll bring you some soup, alright? I'll ask Milly to get some carrots for the broth. I'll be back in a while, poppet."
And he left.
Alfred reclined back so that he was laying down.
He had some thinking to do.
He discovered Billy's weakness.
It was pain.
It had been tricky at first, because Arthur was always around him, but he eventually figured out ways to suppress his unwelcome "guest".
Like this one.
"A-Ahh...ah!" the young boy dragged the shard of porcelain,saved from the broken lamp, up his arm. Crimson liquid beaded and dripped from the open gash-Alfred felt sick but he kept going until he reached his elbow.
Dropping the bloody shrapnel with shaky hands, he collapsed into a heap in the far corner of the barn.
He had been doing this at least twice a day for the last week and a half that England had been there.
England-he was doing it for England.
He shifted his arm so that the blood gushed onto the towel he had brought specially for this purposed. Afterwards, he would take it into the woods and burn it.
He didn't want anyone finding it, after all.
Especially not Arthur.
Alfred looked at his arm that had already begun closing and reached over into the small bag he had brought with him. He grabbed a handful of the salt and began rubbing at the wound furiously. Tears began to spill down his cheeks at the pain and he bit down harder on the shirt he was biting now.
Inside his head he could hear Billy screaming hysterically for him to stop.
He's like a child.
It had gotten so much worse whenever he was around England. He could hear Billy in his head cursing and taunting him and he listened to Billy's murderous intentions with tentative ears.
Kill him! Kill him now! Do it Alfred! You know you can! How easy it'll be! Just take a knife to his heart when he's sleeping! You know that's the only way to kill another nation! Do it! He's only using you anyway! What good does it do to let him live?! If you kill him you can become stronger and take his land! Kill him and conquer! Just kill him! Do it now!
Arthur was knitting on the other side of the room in a rocking chair by the fireplace. Alfred sat opposite him on the couch, just watching him. All he needed was his big brother. His big brother was the reason he was going through all this pain. If it was for England, he could stand the pain. If it was for England, he could do anything.
If it was for England...
Alfred positioned hung his arm through the gap between the mattress and the headboard. He stretched his arm through until he reached his shoulder and gripped the headboard with the other hand. He bent down with his head and gripped the sheets between his teeth and yanked his body up. Because his arm was still pinned the headboard let out a groan of splintering wood before his arm let loose a loud pop.
Alfred gasped and screamed into the sheets as his arm dislocated but refused to make enough noise to wake up his brother just dow the hall.
Gingerly lying his body down, arm still painfully wedged in the gap, he resigned himself to a tearful but thankfully silent sleep.
Arthur had been staying with Alfred for two and half months and things were beginning to get dicey.
Billy had gotten quiet again-and Alfred hadn't hurt himself or done anything that might have shut him up...
He had just put on his clothes and was going to check his hair in the mirror when he saw his reflection.
It wasn't his reflection.
It was His reflection.
It was Billy's eyes
It was Billy's smile.
It was Billy.
Every puddle, every mirror, every single thing that he could see himself in made him stare into those pools of spiraling night. Even when he himself wasn't smiling, Billy was. Sharp teeth and glinting eyes followed him everywhere he went and it was running him thin.
Billy had stopped talking to him and the only traces of him were in his reflection.
In those staring eyes and pointed-toothed grin.
It was an early Tuesday morning when it happened.
He was cleaning out a bowl in the kitchen sink when suddenly his hand jerked and sent water and suds flying everywhere. the bowl dropped from his hand and skidded on the floor until it hit the door with a resounding clang.
Alfred stared in horror at the hand that was shaking and moving on it's own accord.
Moving towards the kitchen knife beside the sink.