A special thanks to:
Amelia F. Kirkland Jones
Kosaji
RosAangel Naito
Guest
Thanks for reviewing!
I don't own Hetalia or it's characters.
Happy Belated Birthday Lincoln!
A Tale of Resentment
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.:O CAPTAIN, my Captain!:.
America writhed against the sheets, a desperate hand clawing at the linen, threatening to tear it to shreds. His breathing ragged and white teeth bared as sweat continued to roll down his pasty face. A sharp gasp escaped the nation's lips and the doors flew open. The man all but ran to the county's bedside, "It's worse than I feared." the President clenched and un-clenched his hands, "Doctor Stone...ROBERT!" A clammy hand reached out, making the President look the young man in the eyes.
"T-the doctor...he...he can't...do anything f-for me...Abe."
Lincoln knelled next the bed, "I can't sit around and do nothing, you're ill my boy!" America shook his head, breath still labored, "No. I'm...I'm splitting in half." The man's eyes flew to the other hand, covered in blood as it vainly tried to stop the bleeding of the ever deepening laceration through the embodiment's torso. The doors flew open once again, "Mr. President, the south has seceded, we are at war!" America continued to huff and moan, looking paler and sicker by the second.
Abraham held the boy's hand, "A civil war...what can I do my nation?" America squeezed the President's hand weekly, looking him in the eyes, "Stop them. I-it's the only way...please, please Abe...d-don't let me fall apart!"
"Abraham? I heard-" A gasp cut off the lady as she took in the state of the bedridden America, "I'll go get the doctor. Doctor Stone!"
"M-Marry-!"
"Let her go America. Robert will be able to bandage those wounds and if nothing else, it'll help her sleep at night."
America nodded, "Y-yeah, something to stifle the bleeding would be nice. I-I'm ruining...the White house's...best linens." The President chuckled wearily, "You're bleeding buckets, yet you're concerned about ruining the sheets?" The boy gave a laugh breathily in return, "Wh-what can I say? The...ways o-of a gentleman...h-have been...drilled into me since...i-infancy."
Abraham patted the nation's hands, "Try to get some rest. I'll do everything I can end this war as one nation, I give you my word and if needed, my own life."
"T-thank you...Abraham."
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
The needle pierced the skin, guided by a quivering bloody hand. The yellow flame flickered when a sharp gasp escaped the young nation's lips, a red gleam danced off a blood stained needle as America did what he could to stop himself from splitting in half. The stitches that circled his torso were armature at best, but they held the ripped flesh to their best ability, all stained the same crimson that ran down the tanned flesh.
"You push yourself much too hard."
America sighed, "I'm splitting in half, not paralyzed or sickly."
"Honestly America, do you hear yourself? Spitting in half seems worse than the other two combined!"
"It doesn't matter! I refuse to lay on a bed while blood stains my land! I can't sit and do nothing, you of all people should know that Abe." The President sighed, "I guess that means you won't come back to Washington?" He asked rhetorically, cringing as he watched America continue his sewing.
"Alright I can't watch this anymore. Give me that." Abraham snatched the bloody needle and with precise movement finished the batch of stitches each one evenly spaced and the same size. America gave a breathy laugh, "You stitch up people often?" Lincoln gave a humorless laugh in return, "No, but Mary likes her stitches just so and she's one you would not want to disappoint." The President tied off the bloody string and rested a now bloody hand on the boy's shoulder, "If you won't come back. I understand, but be careful all right?"
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
Abraham laid against the sheets, head being wrapped in the linen, with nothing else to be done. His breathing faint and shallow, escaping pale lips. A sharp gasp escaped the men gathered around the bed as the doors flew open. America all but ran to the man's bedside.
"Sir you can't-"
"Let him be Mr. Abbott."
The boy fell to his knees beside President. picking up a limp hand and squeezing it tightly, "doctor...doctor Stone!" The young man looked the doctor in the eyes. He sighed and shook his head.
The boy looked to the surrounding doctors and surgeons, "There has to be something! Anything!" The men at the dying man's bed bowed their heads in shame. The doctor cleared his throat, but eyes remained fixed on the president. "I'm sorry America, but his condition...it's terminal." America breath hitched and his eyes flew back to his President, his leader...his friend. "Come on Abe, you can pull out of this! I-It's only a flesh wound right?" The paralyzed president gave no response.
"You're going to get better. You're going to to hug and kiss Mary a-and do all that reconstruction you wanted to do for the South...y-you're not going to die! You can't die on me Abe!" America said desperately, tears racing down his cheeks.
"Wake up...please wake up!"
But Abraham's eyes never opened and America finally gave in, sobs wracked his body and the room of witnesses bowed their heads and stayed silent, the scene being taken in with sorrowful eyes. When America's tears stopped, his eyes hardened until they turned to sapphire stones. He though of the two boys had not only lost a friend and leader, they had lost a father. They didn't deserve that and Mary...
"Take that woman out of here and do not let her in here again!"
The nation didn't know what was happening at the moment, but he looked up to see the lady being escorted from the room, leaving her to weep in the parlor.
Silence fell once again.
"Who did it?"
The whispered demand shattered the silence like bullet through glass.
"WHO DID IT?"
"Booth...James Wilkes Booth."
America took a deep breath, gently kissed the dead man's hand and stood. The men in the room watched as he left the room.
Mary looked up from her chair in the parlor, eyes red and wild. The nation keeled before her, his eyes never leaving her own, "I will find him and I will make him pay."
.:.:.
America ran, his heavy strides like thunder on the cobblestone streets until he reached the theater. He kicked open the doors, the solder's inside jumped, "Where the hell is he?"
"H-He?"
"Booth! Where the hell is the bastard?"
"H-he left sir, not long after the assassination!"
America's nostrils flared, his eyes alight with a furious fire. He charged behind the stage, breaking anything he felt was in his way.
"S-sir we already have men after him!"
America ignored the solider, jumping on an unoccupied horse and sending the animal charging ahead, leaving the wild shouts behind him. England would be proud; He was finally engaging in the hunt.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
The Garrett farm was where the chase ended. The soldiers caught up with the fugitives, America not far behind, if not secretly leading them.
The Soldiers surround the tobacco barn where Booth and his accomplice were hiding. The nation watched the scene unfold from his hidden perch among the morning mist, "Come out of we'll burn the barn!" General Conger shouted. "Wait!" A voice called out and a man stepped out of the barn, hands held in the air. "We surrender!" The soldiers didn't hesitate in arresting him, "Sir David Harold, you are under arrest for aiding and bedding an assassin." Inside the barn America's ears picked up a scoff, "Do what you want, but I prefer to come out and fight!" The blond raised a brow, "At least the coward has a bit backbone." he muttered to himself.
The general sighed, "Burn it."
The soldiers then set to work and lit the barn on fire. America spat, "Damn it! I've hunted him for too long to have that bastard burned!" America dismounted the mare and charged into the building, in time to see Booth moving about inside the blazing barn, and Sergeant Boston Corbett raising a pistol and firing. Three deadly shots to the neck, paralyzing him in his dying moments, just as Lincoln had been.
America watched as Booth was dragged from the barn to the porch of Garrett's farmhouse. While resting against the wood, he looked up at the approaching nation and whispered, "Tell my mother I died for my country." America snarled, "I am your country."
The man's eyes widened and he swallowed thickly, before turning the "I-I see. C-could you...raise my hands? I-I want to see them." America watched the man with emotionless eyes, as his hands were raised firmly, but not harshly. Booth stared at his hands, looking stricken and tired, "Useless, useless." He whispered and his eyes glazed.
The blond sighed, stepping forward and respectfully slid the murder's eyes closed. "Foolish fools are made behind misunderstanding's blindfold and hate's guiding hand." America muttered to himself as he noticed a corner of something sticking out of the dead man's pocket. Slipping it out he examined it. "Must be a dairy." a page was dog eared and he opening the little leather book to the marked page.
"Our country owed all her troubles to him, and God simply made me the instrument of his punishment."
America slamming the little book shut. Forcing the book back into it's owner's pockets harshly. "Tell that to God when he damns you for murder."
The country eyed the dead man a moment longer before standing up and adjusting his coat. The soldiers watched with confused eyes, "W-where are you going sir?" America didn't answer them, only mounted his horse, and rode off.
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A/N: WHOO! This is the longest chapter yet! Weird fic for Valentines day, huh? Abraham Lincoln's Birthday was February 12, originally I had written this to be posted then, but, well, life holds you up sometimes.
The Poem, 'O Captain, my captain!' was written by Walt Whitman and was in fact written about Abraham Lincoln. The two were actually good friends and of course like many were devastated by Lincoln's death.
I have a really hard time thinking about America during the civil war. My heart aches and all I want to do is scream at everyone to stop fighting already and see what they're putting their country through! *le sigh* Also I picture America being very close to Abraham, because he was a kind man and he seems like the type of guy that would be by America's bedside while he's tearing apart...literally *shudders*
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.
Reviews are the best kind of love a writer can receive!
Guest:Yeah, it's perspective and if you want my honest opinion. America is a country that has allowed itself to be everyone's whipping boy. Don't get me wrong, I love my country! But I don't like the people running it.
Also, before we dropped the bomb, we actually sent letters (dropped them all over the city form a plane if I'm not mistaken) warning the people, (in Japanese) about the bombing and to get out of there. Also I agree with you, at the time it was the best we could do. Japan is a country founded on honor and they just wouldn't surrender even though they were losing! So I agree, I think we did what was best at the time.