A/N:
This is the last chapter for this story. I'm sorry...but don't worry! Our favorite southern boy will be back really quick!
I think of what Alfred said as he left. I can't let anyone know. They'll only take advantage of us… I run to the living room. I find sleeping bags on the floor, food and snacks everywhere and a mountain of ice cream. I grab my fluffy blanket and sit down in front of the TV, grabbing a gallon of ice cream. I start stress eating.
I feel a tap on my shoulder. "What?!" I snap.
"We're watching the news, mon ami," France says. I nod, looking at the TV.
The news person is speaking. "The president has called a meeting with the governors. We're going there live, now. Frank, can you tell us anything yet?"
The screen becomes split in two and I see a black car pulling up behind the news anchor. "Hello, the president is about to get started, we'll let you know what happens, minute by minute." My breath hitches. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to look at France, who's giving me a grim smile. I smile wanly back. I start shoving more ice cream into my mouth. Soon, I'm finished with the first tub. I reach for another one, popping open the lid.
"We have just gotten news that the president has declared martial law," the newscaster announces. I feel a flare of anger. I shove it into a box, letting my worry win. I curl up underneath my blanket, small tears escaping my eyes. Martial law… The military was taking over. Looks of fear and worry cross the other nations faces. France just looks grim. I suddenly feel strange, like deja vu. I shake my head, terrified.
I start muttering so no one can hear, "No no no no no no… Not again…" I can see indistinct shapes walking around the room, like ghosts. So much has happened. I blink and the ghosts disappear. I turn my attention to the TV again. The man in front of the black car comes on again looking very stressed. I get up to grab another tub of ice cream.
"The Southern governors have called a meeting. We will be back in a bit," he announces. I feel something twist at my heart. I feel a slight pain on my back, but ignore it. The pain just intensifies, soon it's ripping down my back like wildfire. I scream. I hear footsteps, I see the ceiling, a pair of blue eyes.
France whispers, "Je suis tellement désolé." I can only hear the word sorry, as everything goes black.
I'm in the field again. I start walking, this time I'm actually getting closer. I hear the now familiar boom, and duck. The cannonball crashes in front of me. I start jogging. I hear the rifle report, the bullet just a ghost now. I finally reach the figure on the battlefield. I feel bile rise in my throat, tears threatening to spill over. On the ground in front of me is the lifeless body of my brother. Before I can do anything, my nightmare morphs.
Now, I'm standing on the side of a hill, a flag rising slowly like someone is holding it, with the sun rising with it. I see the Stars and Bars above the clean grass. The grass flickers, becoming drenched in blood, then returning to normal. I shake my head vigorously, trying to wake myself up. I hear a sound like drums behind me. Before I can turn to look, my dream turns pitch black.
All I can see is a lone figure, silhouetted in blue. I look at myself. I'm wrapped in a soft gray light, swirling and weaving around me. I look up and see the figure much closer. It's Alfred, his blue eyes holding an emotion I've never seen before in his eyes. Hatred. I fall backwards, trying to get away.
"You killed them Conner. They all died in vain. You sent them to their deaths," he hisses. He leans over me and hisses again, "You killed all of the people you loved. Even ones you never knew." He raises a foot to kick me, but he dissolves to dust as soon as it touches my side. A boy appears in his place. Only fifteen years old, too young for battle. Even so, his face is tired and weary. His gray uniform is torn and tattered. As I stand up, the boy falls backwards, a red stain blooming above his heart. He too, dissolves to dust. Many men, in blue and gray, appear and dissolve. The last to appear, is the man in a white shirt. He has gray eyes and brown hair. He steps forward, then topples backward, another red stain blooming above his heart.
I wake up to see Alfred on a bed across from mine. I turn my head, finding myself face-to-face with a sleeping Italian.
A/N
The next story will be called A Confederate Boy for (I think) obvious reasons. Conner will be making a comeback.