A Wild Fic Approaches!
Title: Of Freedom and Anarchy
Author/Artist: Me.
Characters: England, America, random British soldiers and American colonists.
Word Count: 4,435
Warnings: It deals with the Revolution, so some angst I suppose. And misusing British slang.
Summary: For the kink meme prompt: Something based off of this picture. Some of the America colonists have been acting up, but that doesn't mean England has to worry about America himself...right?
“Sons of Liberty?” England scoffed as he tossed the pamphlet on the table in front of him, “Sons of Violence and Anarchy is more like it!”
“They’re not that bad,” America protested from his seat across the table, “I mean, they just want what’s best for me, so-”
“What’s best for…America, they’re tarring and feathering people! What purpose could that possibly serve you?”
“It’s not…” the colony adverted his eyes and drummed his fingers on the kitchen table as he thought of something to say, “I’m sure they…don’t mean it.”
“You don’t tar and feather someone by accident,” England chided, causing America to look up and glare at him.
“I know that! It’s just…they’re angry, and-”
“There are better ways to express anger! No need to go to such extremes.”
“Not all of their protests are extreme, and-”
“I mean honestly,” England started pacing back in forth in the kitchen as he built up his tirade, “what do they have to be so angry about anyway?”
“Gee, I don’t know England,” America stood up to get his full attention, “maybe it has to do with all of those ridiculous taxes you’re making us pay!”
England was shocked at his colony’s outburst for a moment before replacing it with cold indifference, “America, we’ve talked about this: you need to pay me back somehow, and this is the best way to increase your revenue.”
“Who says?” America pouted but continued to stare England down, “Who says this is the best way? It’s not fair that I’m the only who has to pay you-”
“Silly boy,” England sighed and shook his head in a patronizing manner, “I’ve already told you, most of the money I’ve spent this past century has been for defending you. It only makes sense that you are the one to pay me back.”
America ground his teeth and slowly sat back down. “…I’m part of the Empire too. I should get a say in this.”
Another sigh and England sauntered across the table to pat the boy’s head. “America, Parliament is a very confusing place if you don’t understand how it works. You’re not ready yet.”
America crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on them as he turned away from England. “You say that all the time. When will I be ready?”
“When I say so,” he bent forward and placed a kiss on the top of his colony’s head, “Now, I have some business in town to take care of,” he strolled over to the other side of the table, grabbed his top hat, and placed it on his head, “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone, and keep away from these Liberty blokes,” he snatched up the abandoned pamphlet on the table and placed it inside his pocket, “They’re trouble, and I don’t need you associating yourself with them,” he smiled pleasantly at his colony, who was still leaning on the table, glancing out the window.
“America?” that startled him out of whatever reverie he was in to smile pleasantly back at England.
“Yes, of course. Take care.”
“I should be back later tonight. Can you manage by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine,” he smiled at his caretaker who bustled out the door. Before he left, England took a quick peek back into the kitchen to see his colony staring aimlessly out the window again.
***
January 17, 1770. New York City, New York.
“This is absurd,” England muttered as he stared at the wooden pole in the ground, “Bloody anarchists, that’s what they are,” he’d seen this one placed here a few days ago by a young man in a ridiculous red and white striped cloak, but unfortunately England was unable to catch him, and had other matters to attend to that didn’t involve tearing down outlandish ‘Liberty Poles’ or whatever they were called. He didn’t think much about it at the time either, until that completely preposterous pamphlet had caught his attention.
If anyone ‘betrayed’ anyone in this situation, it was the ‘Inhabitants of the City and Colony of New York,’ not the other way around. He had burned that garbage, hopefully before America saw it. Even so…
“Well what are you waiting for?” England snapped at a nearby solider, “Cut this eyesore down.”
January 19, 1770.
“Bloody hell,” England swore under his breath as he and some of the officers attempted to calm down the enraged mob. When he found out whose brilliant idea it was to charge the mob with bayonets there’d be hell to pay. Luckily no one was dead, although the injuries will certainly add more fuel to those blasted anarchists’ fire.
As those left uninjured from the incident began to disperse, England noticed a flash of red and white and looked over to see the young man who started this, who planted that pole in the first place, heading back to the city with the others. Like hell was England going to let that happen.
“You there!” he shouted as he ran across the wheat field towards him. The man looked over his shoulder, caught sight of England racing towards him, and proceeded to run like hell, bloody coward. “Stop this instant!” he shouted as the man did the exact opposite. Naturally, England gave chase right back into the city, through the streets, until they rounded a corner that England knew was a dead end and found nothing. The man had vanished into thin air.
“I don’t know what you’re planning with these little stunts,” England shouted at the buildings around him, knowing he’d be heard, “but so help me I will stop you, with all the might of my Empire if I have to. I guarantee it.”
He turned around and left, without looking back or seeing the hidden figure on the rooftops solemnly shaking his head.
***
March 5, 1770. Boston, Massachusetts.
This cannot end well was the first thing England thought as he noticed the crowd getting larger. He’s not sure how exactly it started, one of his privates had a row with one of the locals or something like that, but the crowd is getting bigger and more aggressive by the second, and his men are getting tenser and more nervous.
He sees him in back, the same young man with the red and white cloak from New York. He sees him bring his arm back and toss the first snowball at the British soldiers, making things go from bad to worse in a matter of moments. Suddenly more snow and rocks and all other matter of paraphernalia are tossed in their direction. England notices some of the men loading their rifles, but he’s too busy trying to keep the crowd away from the soldiers to do much about that at the moment. The mob is growing more violent, their shouts ringing out through the air, some of them get past England and Preston to attack the soldiers themselves.
He’s not sure who shouted the order, it may have even been a figment of his imagination, but before England could do anything to stop them, his men fired into the crowd.
Three people died instantly. Others suffered from injuries, such as the man in the cloak, whose arm was grazed by a stray bullet, to England’s slight delight. Panic took over the crowd after the smoke cleared, exemplified by the running and the screaming. England quickly ushered his soldiers away from the mob lest anyone suffer any more casualties tonight.
How was he going to explain this to America?
March 6, 1770.
America hissed as England tightened the bandage around his arm.
“Sorry,” he muttered apologetically, not only referring to pain. America nodded but still refused to make eye contact.
“How did you get this again?” England asked in an attempt to get his colony to say something to him.
“Hunting accident,” he mumbled as his grip tightened on the chair he was sitting in, “Tripped and dropped the gun and it went off.”
“Oh,” England tied off the bandage and walked around to face America. He grabbed his shoulders and lowered himself so he was looking into his eyes, or would have been if they weren’t darting away from his gaze.
“America,” he began, “I am truly sorry about what happened last night,” England felt the colony twitch but still refuse to look at him. “I’ve…I’ve removed the troops from Boston. They’ll stay at the harbor, so nothing like this should happen again.”
“You should have removed them ages ago, back when I first asked you too,” America eventually said.
“There’s no need to take that tone with me lad,” England moved one of his hands from America’s shoulder to cup his cheek and gently turned his head to force him to look at him, “Things will calm down, you’ll see. It could have been much worse; only three people died.”
“Four,” America slapped his caretaker’s hand away and turned his head, “Sam Maverick died this morning.”
“Oh…” England didn’t know what to say to that, he was never good with this sort of thing, but he could see America was close to tears, so he quickly stood up and wrapped the boy’s head in a hug, pulling him close so he could rest his head against England’s chest.
“Don’t cry now,” he said into America’s hair, “You know I don’t like to see you cry.”
“I-It’s my fault,” America admitted as he wrapped his arms around England as well, searching for some sort of comfort. “It’s all my fault, isn’t it?”
“Hush lad,” England kissed the top of his head to comfort him, “This wasn’t your fault. You can’t control what your people do.”
“Yeah,” he felt America nod against his chest.
“I am sorry about this. You…you know that right? I didn’t want anyone to get hurt either.”
“…I know England,” America pulled his caretaker closer, “John Adams…has agreed to defend your soldiers.”
“Adams? Is he any good?”
“Yeah, he’s a friend. He’ll make sure they get a fair trial.”
“Ah, well, that’s good then,” England started stroking his head, “Thanks.”
“Hm,” America hummed contently back. England just smiled down at him.
***
June 9, 1772. Warwick, Rhode Island.
England lived on an island with two brothers he was only recently starting to kind of sort of not hate as much as he used to. His only escape had always been the sea, and he loved everything about her. When he was on the ocean, England was unstoppable.
Enforcing customs collection and inspecting cargo off the Rhode Island coast wasn’t quite the same as sinking Spain’s armada, but he was out on the ocean again, and he was protecting America from the people trying to tear them apart while he was at it, so he certainly wasn’t complaining.
“Sir!” one of the crew members of the Gaspée shouted, “We’ve got the ship in our sights!”
The ship in question as a small packet ship called Hannah, whose crew and captain were suspected of smuggling in supplies to avoid the taxes, and England simply wouldn’t allow that.
“Keep her there,” England replied, “Corner her and prepare to board.”
The packet ship was quick, but the chase was half the fun. Just as England was starting to feel his pirate blood boiling, his ship came to a sudden and unexpected stop.
“Bollocks,” he cursed as the Hannah sailed out of his sight, “What happened?”
“We’ve run aground sir,” one of the sailors replied, “We’ll get her out as soon as we can.”
“Don’t bother,” England sighed and looked out over the water, “The tide is rising. That will take us back out.”
“But sir, the ship…”
“Never mind that for now. We’ll get her later.”
The sailor nodded before passing along the orders to the others. All that was left now was to wait for the tide so they could be on their way.
That is, until the ship was boarded by none other than the man England had decided to call Striped Cape Annoyance and his merry band of anarchists.
“We’re taking over the ship!” said annoyance announced if it wasn’t obvious enough, “Leave peacefully and we won’t hurt you.”
“Like hell!” England barked as most of the sailors did what the man suggested, “This is a military vessel on an assignment from the King! You’re disrupting official proceedings with your actions, and they will not go unpunished.”
“On assignment?” the man growled out, “Since when is putting hard working merchants out of business with insane taxes and regulations a service to king and country?”
“I wouldn’t expect a bleeding anarchist to understand the inner workings of a government,” he hissed back, “or understanding what needs to be done to keep an Empire working.”
“We’re all subjects of the king just like you, aren’t we boys?” his companions, who were busy ushering the sailors off the ship, shouted in agreement, “Why should our merchants and our rights be any different than yours?”
“You…”
Suddenly a gunshot rang out through the night air. Both England and the cloaked man turned to see one of the anarchists pointing a gun at a now bleeding soldier.
“Lieutenant!” England shouted as he ran over to help him. He vaguely heard the man criticize his companion about not shooting unless they shot first, but it didn’t register in England’s mind. The Lieutenant was alright, hurt, but he’d recover.
“You asked me before,” the new bane of England’s existence started, “two years ago in New York, what my motive was. I’ll tell you now; we're after freedom. Whether you want to give it to us or if we have to take it from you is your choice,” he swiftly turned away from England before shouting back over his shoulder, “We’re going to burn the ship. Everyone else already left. I suggest you do the same,” and disappearing below deck.
As England and the Lieutenant escaped, watching the Gaspée burst into flames from the Rhode Island shores, England vowed he would find that bastard in whatever hole he was hiding in and make him pay.
June 15, 1772.
“Y-You can’t do that!” America shouted as he banged his hands on the table, “You can’t try them at your house!”
“I can and I will,” England stated, “What they did was nothing short of treason, and I will not tolerate that in my colonies,” he snarled as an image of the striped cloaked man came to mind.
“They’re my people,” America argued, “They’re crimes were committed here. They shouldn’t have to wait until they get to England to have their trial.”
“Silly boy,” England sighed as he stood up to get himself more tea, “They’re crimes were committed against the crown, against me. It’s only fair to try them on my own terms.”
“That isn’t fair. None of this is fair.”
“Of course it’s fair,” England waved his concerns off, “You’re young right now, but one day you’ll understand how these things work,” he turned to smile at his colony, who was back in his seat at the table, scowling at the wall.
“Don’t be like that lad,” England said as he placed a cup of tea in front of America, “I know you’re upset now, but this will all blow over soon.”
“Yes,” America agreed as he took a sip from the cup, “I suppose it will.”
***
December 16, 1773. Boston, Massachusetts.
England scoffed as he glanced at the three ships in the dock. Philadelphia and New York had already sent their ships back, still full of tea, as some sort of protest to the new, completely justified taxes, however this Governor Hutchinson seemed like a good chap, good enough to keep the ships here at any rate. He knows those bloody anarchists are meeting in the city somewhere as he lies in wait. He doesn’t know how, but he also knows he’s there with them, waiting for his chance to embarrass England some more.
Like hell would England just let that happen.
The quiet around the docks is broken by loud shouts coming from down the street, clearly heading towards the docks, but they weren’t angry shouts, more like excited shouts.
A large group of Mohawk Indians were heading for the ships. England assumed he had dealt with the Natives once and for all during that last war with France and was confused as to why they would be here now, but on closer inspection, it looked like it was just the blokes from the meeting. Whatever they were up to now, it could not be good.
England kept an eye on the group as it made its way across the dock towards the three tea ships still in the harbor. Yes, it definitely wasn’t good.
“Oh no they don’t,” that was America’s tea, and those were his ships and damnit he was not just going to sit back and let these idiots stop this shipment from reaching his colony as well.
England charged forward from the shadows, determined to take on the entire mob to make sure this tea shipment got to its intended location if he had to, but was stopped when a surprisingly strong arm pulled him back.
“Don’t leave now,” a voice whispered in his ear, “The party’s about to start.”
“You,” England grit his teeth, “You of all people would be here.”
The man in the cloak chuckled, “I do like to be where the action is, a trait we seem to share.”
England tried to break free of the man’s grip, but it only seemed to tighten the more he struggled, “You and I are nothing alike.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so. You insist on creating disturbances in perfectly peaceful situations, on destroying an order that I’m constantly trying to maintain!”
“Prices are skyrocketing,” the man explained as the mob boarded the nearest ship, “people are complaining and their pleas are being ignored back in England. What other choice to we have?”
“To deal with it,” England snarled as the men started tossing the tea crates into the harbor, “to pay the bloody taxes and except the necessary security measures like proper British citizens!”
“Proper British citizens?” the man’s grip tightened further as part of the mob broke off and boarded the second ship, “Citizens that don’t even get a say in what happens to them?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” England defended, “You have no idea how an empire works!”
“I know a bit more than you think I do, and perhaps even more than you yourself know,” the tea crates from the second ship joined the other in the harbor as England tried and failed at another escape, “You have no idea what the people here are thinking, how they live their lives or what their worries are. All you care about is how much money you can squeeze out of them.”
“What are you…?” the mob split again as more men boarded the third ship, “America is my colony! These people are my citizens! Of course I care about them!”
“You say they’re yours,” the tea from the final ship was tossed in the harbor as well, “but what do you even really know about them?”
“I know…" he tried to come up with something, "a lot about them. I don’t need to prove myself to you!”
“You know,” England felt the man’s grip slacken slightly, “if you had just listened to us in the beginning, we might be sharing that tea somewhere right now instead of watching it go to waste like this.”
“I’d never sit down and have a cup of tea with the likes of you,” England snarled.
“I suppose you wouldn’t,” he chuckled morbidly. England broke free of his grasp and turned around to face him, but the man had already vanished into the night.
And behind him, England heard 342 chests of tea being tossed into the sea.
May 20, 1774.
“England!” America shouted as he threw open the door to the office.
“America, don’t shout when you’re indoors,” England reprimanded. The colony ignored him as he stormed over to the desk and slammed some papers on it.
“What is this?” he demanded.
England looked over the document, “This is the new law I passed for you. No need to fret about it.”
“No need…you’ve already closed the Boston port! You don’t need to change their entire government too!”
“As long as I have control over Massachusetts, nothing like what happened in December will happen again. It’s only temporary, I promise you, to teach those anarchists a lesson.”
“You’re punishing the entire colony for the actions of only a handful of colonists! That’s not fair!”
“Stop shouting,” England turned back to his work, “I’ll decide what’s fair or not.”
“This,” another paper was thrust under England’s face, “What’s your excuse for this one?”
“If I can’t trust Massachusetts with as a simple task as unloading tea from ships, how can I trust them with something as major as a trial?”
“You know as well as I do most witnesses can’t afford to leave work and travel just to testify, especially if you decide to have the trial at your house!”
“I’m willing to pay for witnesses travel expenses-”
America slammed his hands on the desk, “That’s not good enough and you know it! This law is nothing short of a death sentence!”
“Enough. America you are still a child. I am merely doing what needs to be done right now. Someday you will understand, but right now you have to trust me and do what I say. This will all work out in the end.”
America shook in repressed rage, tears, or both before storming out of the room as fast as he’d barged in and stomping up the stairs. England sighed and returned to his paperwork.
He knew the boy would forgive him someday, but he hoped that day was sooner rather than later. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.
***
April 19, 1775. Lexington, Massachusetts.
How did it come to this? England asked himself for about the seventieth time that day. His armies were facing down mere peasants, his colonists, no, not his colonists anymore. No good rebels would be a more accurate term at this point.
“Don’t fire unless they fire first,” England repeated. He was going to avoid a battle if at all possible, especially if it meant he would have to fight…
Of course he wouldn’t have to fight him. These were just the minority. Yes, America had been a tad difficult lately, but England was sure he didn’t want any of this. He was his precious little brother after all, and America loved him…right?
Yes, of course America loved him. He was just being silly. America would side with him, just like he’d always done in the past, not the dissenters. There was no reason to go to war over this.
Just as he finished thinking that, England heard the gunshot.
The world seemed to slow down as England looked around for who fired it. It wasn’t anyone of his soldiers, he noticed as they started loading their rifles to return fire, but a quick look at the other side showed that it wasn’t any of the colonists either. As he kept looking around for the mysterious gunman, he saw him, of all people, in the nearby bushes, holding a smoking pistol, and England had his answer.
England jumped off his horse, ignoring the shouts and cries from his men around him, and ran into the bushes after him. The cloaked man was gone by the time he got there, running away into the woods to hid, so England gave chase.
“You bastard!” England shouted as they ran further into the woods, leaving the sounds of fighting far behind, “I know you’re the one who fired that shot!”
“Yes, I did!” the man shouted, showing no signs of remorse or slowing down.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?!” England asked as he sped up to gain on his foe.
“I’ve started a war,” the man responded, dodging trees like he’d done it all his life, “A War for Independence.”
“A war that doesn’t need to happen!” England panted as he tried to keep up, “Now I have to…have to fight…” His little brother, his precious colony, but surely America was on his side…wasn’t he?
The cloaked man stopped in the middle of a clearing and turned to face him, “Have to fight who, England?”
And England didn’t care that the man was bigger than him, or that he still had the gun in his hand. He leapt at him, knocking the gun out of his hand and the man to the ground. The hood on his cloak fell away, revealing his adversary to be none other than America himself.
“A-America?” England questioned as he fell backwards away from his colony, “Th-this whole time…it was you?”
“Y-yeah,” America sat up and refused to meet England’s eyes.
“At New York…and Boston…you, you burned my ship.”
“You weren’t listening!” he suddenly snapped and looked at England, “You…you never listen to what I have to say. This was the only way to get your attention.”
“By starting a war? America, do you have any idea what you’ve just done?! Honestly, you’re still such a child.”
“I’m not a child! Not as much as you think I am.”
“Of course you’re a child! Only a child would do something so rash and unfounded and unnecessary.”
“I want a say it what I do,” America stood up, “I’m tired of just doing what you tell me. I want to make my own decisions. I want freedom! Since you wouldn’t give it to me-”
“You’ve decided to just take it then, I suppose,” England chuckled morbidly as he stood up as well, “Very well; if it’s a war you want, America," he pronounced the name with as much disdain as he could muster, "it’s a war you’ll get. I’m not going to pull any punches. I told you before; I’ll come after you with all the might I can muster. Even if it’s you, I’m not going to let you tear my empire apart.”
America stood his ground, neither charging nor backing down. England scoffed and turned around shouting “This war of yours won’t even last a week,” as a parting over his shoulder before he wandered through the woods, back to where he was sure his trained soldiers were beating America’s militia.
He made sure America was out of sight before he let his tears fall.
And now for your America History lesson:
-The picture has America wearing his flag, but it makes little sense as the flag wasn't created until 1777, so instead his cloak just has the red and white stripes, which were also used as symbols by the Sons of Liberty.
-Speaking of, the Sons of Liberty were the patriot groups that went around doing the protests and causing the trouble in the colonies. It wasn't one cohesive group; there was a branch in every colony and they each did their own thing. They're the ones who did the tarring and feathering and all that good stuff, although not all of their protests were violent, just the ones worth remembering. Thing was, they started out as Loyalists just wanting to get the taxes repealed. They only started calling for independence when nothing else worked.
-Battle of Golden Hill: The Sons of Liberty went around putting up Liberty Poles to protest various laws that were passed. When Alexander McDougall issued a broadside called "To the Betrayed Inhabitants of the City and Colony of New York" to protest New York's complying of the Quartering Act, British soldiers responded by cutting down a Liberty Pole and handing out their own pamphlets attacking the Sons of Liberty instead. Townspeople got mad, and it somehow ended with the soldiers charging the crowd with bayonets. People were hurt, no one died.
-Boston Massacre: A group of people started harassing some of the soldiers that were stationed in Boston. The group got bigger and the bothering escalated until the mob was tossing stones and insults and the soldiers. Captain Preston, who was the officer in charge during the incident, was one of the ones helping to keep the crowd away from the soldiers. It ended with the soldiers opening fire on the unarmed crowd, resulting in a total of 5 deaths (Samuel Gray, James Caldwell, and Crispus Attuks died instantly, Samuel Maverick the next day, and Patrick Carr two weeks later) and several injures. All troop stationed in Boston were immediately removed and moved to the port and the soldiers who admitted to firing were indicted for murder. John Adams took their case and ended up getting them all off (Carr actually gave deathbed testimony that helped get the soldiers off).
-Gaspée Affair: HMS Gaspée was on patrol enforcing unpopular trade regulations that were putting colonial merchants out of business when it ran aground. The Sons of Liberty took advantage of that and boarded, taking over the ship with little resistance from the soldiers on board, and setting it on fire. Lieutenant Dudingston was shot, but other than that, no injuries. Similar events had occurred before, but this one was special because Gaspée was a military ship that was on duty at the time, so something had to be done. The perpetrators were charged with treason and were to have their trials in England, which made the colonists very upset, but they were never caught.
-Boston Tea Party: This was in protest of the Tea Act. Other colonies and cities had managed to convince the tea ships to give up or go back to England, but Governor Hutchinson of Massachusetts stood his ground and demanded the tea be unloaded. Since two of the people in charge of that were his sons, it was going to happen. Sam Adams and the local Sons of Liberty held a meeting to stall, and halfway through some of them got fed up and left. They dressed up as Mohawk Indians and tossed the tea into the harbor. In response Parliament passed the Intolerable Acts, which, if people were only mildly peeved before, this made them pissed, and not in a good way.
-The Intolerable Acts consisted of:
-The Boston Port Act, which closed down the Boston Port,
-The Massachusetts Government Act, which changed Massachusetts government so it was directly controlled by Great Britain. Mostly to make Massachusetts an example and scare the other colonies into behaving.
-The Administrative Justice Act, which allowed the governor to move trials of the accused royal officials to another colony or even to Great Britain. Witness were compensated for travel expenses if they wanted to testify, but few colonists could afford to leave work and home for that extended period of time, so this was considered the worst one on this list.
-The Quartering Act (which applied to all colonies), allowed British soldiers to be housed wherever if suitable quarters could not be found.
-The Quebec Acts, which extended Canada's borders and gave French Canadians freedom of religion. It was seen as taking away land from the other colonies and a way to stop the French Canadians from siding with the rebels.
-The Quartering Act and the Quebec Acts weren't passed until later, which is why the first three are the only ones mentioned in the story.
-Battle of Lexington: The first battle of the American Revolution. The American militia was very outnumbered, and not long after the fighting started, they retreated to hook up with the militia at Concord.. The British army soon afterward made their way to Concord, where the combined militia were waiting for them. Lexington was just a stare down until someone from somewhere fired the first shot. To this day, no one knows who that was.
Author/Artist: Me.
Characters: England, America, random British soldiers and American colonists.
Word Count: 4,435
Warnings: It deals with the Revolution, so some angst I suppose. And misusing British slang.
Summary: For the kink meme prompt: Something based off of this picture. Some of the America colonists have been acting up, but that doesn't mean England has to worry about America himself...right?
“Sons of Liberty?” England scoffed as he tossed the pamphlet on the table in front of him, “Sons of Violence and Anarchy is more like it!”
“They’re not that bad,” America protested from his seat across the table, “I mean, they just want what’s best for me, so-”
“What’s best for…America, they’re tarring and feathering people! What purpose could that possibly serve you?”
“It’s not…” the colony adverted his eyes and drummed his fingers on the kitchen table as he thought of something to say, “I’m sure they…don’t mean it.”
“You don’t tar and feather someone by accident,” England chided, causing America to look up and glare at him.
“I know that! It’s just…they’re angry, and-”
“There are better ways to express anger! No need to go to such extremes.”
“Not all of their protests are extreme, and-”
“I mean honestly,” England started pacing back in forth in the kitchen as he built up his tirade, “what do they have to be so angry about anyway?”
“Gee, I don’t know England,” America stood up to get his full attention, “maybe it has to do with all of those ridiculous taxes you’re making us pay!”
England was shocked at his colony’s outburst for a moment before replacing it with cold indifference, “America, we’ve talked about this: you need to pay me back somehow, and this is the best way to increase your revenue.”
“Who says?” America pouted but continued to stare England down, “Who says this is the best way? It’s not fair that I’m the only who has to pay you-”
“Silly boy,” England sighed and shook his head in a patronizing manner, “I’ve already told you, most of the money I’ve spent this past century has been for defending you. It only makes sense that you are the one to pay me back.”
America ground his teeth and slowly sat back down. “…I’m part of the Empire too. I should get a say in this.”
Another sigh and England sauntered across the table to pat the boy’s head. “America, Parliament is a very confusing place if you don’t understand how it works. You’re not ready yet.”
America crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on them as he turned away from England. “You say that all the time. When will I be ready?”
“When I say so,” he bent forward and placed a kiss on the top of his colony’s head, “Now, I have some business in town to take care of,” he strolled over to the other side of the table, grabbed his top hat, and placed it on his head, “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone, and keep away from these Liberty blokes,” he snatched up the abandoned pamphlet on the table and placed it inside his pocket, “They’re trouble, and I don’t need you associating yourself with them,” he smiled pleasantly at his colony, who was still leaning on the table, glancing out the window.
“America?” that startled him out of whatever reverie he was in to smile pleasantly back at England.
“Yes, of course. Take care.”
“I should be back later tonight. Can you manage by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine,” he smiled at his caretaker who bustled out the door. Before he left, England took a quick peek back into the kitchen to see his colony staring aimlessly out the window again.
***
January 17, 1770. New York City, New York.
“This is absurd,” England muttered as he stared at the wooden pole in the ground, “Bloody anarchists, that’s what they are,” he’d seen this one placed here a few days ago by a young man in a ridiculous red and white striped cloak, but unfortunately England was unable to catch him, and had other matters to attend to that didn’t involve tearing down outlandish ‘Liberty Poles’ or whatever they were called. He didn’t think much about it at the time either, until that completely preposterous pamphlet had caught his attention.
If anyone ‘betrayed’ anyone in this situation, it was the ‘Inhabitants of the City and Colony of New York,’ not the other way around. He had burned that garbage, hopefully before America saw it. Even so…
“Well what are you waiting for?” England snapped at a nearby solider, “Cut this eyesore down.”
January 19, 1770.
“Bloody hell,” England swore under his breath as he and some of the officers attempted to calm down the enraged mob. When he found out whose brilliant idea it was to charge the mob with bayonets there’d be hell to pay. Luckily no one was dead, although the injuries will certainly add more fuel to those blasted anarchists’ fire.
As those left uninjured from the incident began to disperse, England noticed a flash of red and white and looked over to see the young man who started this, who planted that pole in the first place, heading back to the city with the others. Like hell was England going to let that happen.
“You there!” he shouted as he ran across the wheat field towards him. The man looked over his shoulder, caught sight of England racing towards him, and proceeded to run like hell, bloody coward. “Stop this instant!” he shouted as the man did the exact opposite. Naturally, England gave chase right back into the city, through the streets, until they rounded a corner that England knew was a dead end and found nothing. The man had vanished into thin air.
“I don’t know what you’re planning with these little stunts,” England shouted at the buildings around him, knowing he’d be heard, “but so help me I will stop you, with all the might of my Empire if I have to. I guarantee it.”
He turned around and left, without looking back or seeing the hidden figure on the rooftops solemnly shaking his head.
***
March 5, 1770. Boston, Massachusetts.
This cannot end well was the first thing England thought as he noticed the crowd getting larger. He’s not sure how exactly it started, one of his privates had a row with one of the locals or something like that, but the crowd is getting bigger and more aggressive by the second, and his men are getting tenser and more nervous.
He sees him in back, the same young man with the red and white cloak from New York. He sees him bring his arm back and toss the first snowball at the British soldiers, making things go from bad to worse in a matter of moments. Suddenly more snow and rocks and all other matter of paraphernalia are tossed in their direction. England notices some of the men loading their rifles, but he’s too busy trying to keep the crowd away from the soldiers to do much about that at the moment. The mob is growing more violent, their shouts ringing out through the air, some of them get past England and Preston to attack the soldiers themselves.
He’s not sure who shouted the order, it may have even been a figment of his imagination, but before England could do anything to stop them, his men fired into the crowd.
Three people died instantly. Others suffered from injuries, such as the man in the cloak, whose arm was grazed by a stray bullet, to England’s slight delight. Panic took over the crowd after the smoke cleared, exemplified by the running and the screaming. England quickly ushered his soldiers away from the mob lest anyone suffer any more casualties tonight.
How was he going to explain this to America?
March 6, 1770.
America hissed as England tightened the bandage around his arm.
“Sorry,” he muttered apologetically, not only referring to pain. America nodded but still refused to make eye contact.
“How did you get this again?” England asked in an attempt to get his colony to say something to him.
“Hunting accident,” he mumbled as his grip tightened on the chair he was sitting in, “Tripped and dropped the gun and it went off.”
“Oh,” England tied off the bandage and walked around to face America. He grabbed his shoulders and lowered himself so he was looking into his eyes, or would have been if they weren’t darting away from his gaze.
“America,” he began, “I am truly sorry about what happened last night,” England felt the colony twitch but still refuse to look at him. “I’ve…I’ve removed the troops from Boston. They’ll stay at the harbor, so nothing like this should happen again.”
“You should have removed them ages ago, back when I first asked you too,” America eventually said.
“There’s no need to take that tone with me lad,” England moved one of his hands from America’s shoulder to cup his cheek and gently turned his head to force him to look at him, “Things will calm down, you’ll see. It could have been much worse; only three people died.”
“Four,” America slapped his caretaker’s hand away and turned his head, “Sam Maverick died this morning.”
“Oh…” England didn’t know what to say to that, he was never good with this sort of thing, but he could see America was close to tears, so he quickly stood up and wrapped the boy’s head in a hug, pulling him close so he could rest his head against England’s chest.
“Don’t cry now,” he said into America’s hair, “You know I don’t like to see you cry.”
“I-It’s my fault,” America admitted as he wrapped his arms around England as well, searching for some sort of comfort. “It’s all my fault, isn’t it?”
“Hush lad,” England kissed the top of his head to comfort him, “This wasn’t your fault. You can’t control what your people do.”
“Yeah,” he felt America nod against his chest.
“I am sorry about this. You…you know that right? I didn’t want anyone to get hurt either.”
“…I know England,” America pulled his caretaker closer, “John Adams…has agreed to defend your soldiers.”
“Adams? Is he any good?”
“Yeah, he’s a friend. He’ll make sure they get a fair trial.”
“Ah, well, that’s good then,” England started stroking his head, “Thanks.”
“Hm,” America hummed contently back. England just smiled down at him.
***
June 9, 1772. Warwick, Rhode Island.
England lived on an island with two brothers he was only recently starting to kind of sort of not hate as much as he used to. His only escape had always been the sea, and he loved everything about her. When he was on the ocean, England was unstoppable.
Enforcing customs collection and inspecting cargo off the Rhode Island coast wasn’t quite the same as sinking Spain’s armada, but he was out on the ocean again, and he was protecting America from the people trying to tear them apart while he was at it, so he certainly wasn’t complaining.
“Sir!” one of the crew members of the Gaspée shouted, “We’ve got the ship in our sights!”
The ship in question as a small packet ship called Hannah, whose crew and captain were suspected of smuggling in supplies to avoid the taxes, and England simply wouldn’t allow that.
“Keep her there,” England replied, “Corner her and prepare to board.”
The packet ship was quick, but the chase was half the fun. Just as England was starting to feel his pirate blood boiling, his ship came to a sudden and unexpected stop.
“Bollocks,” he cursed as the Hannah sailed out of his sight, “What happened?”
“We’ve run aground sir,” one of the sailors replied, “We’ll get her out as soon as we can.”
“Don’t bother,” England sighed and looked out over the water, “The tide is rising. That will take us back out.”
“But sir, the ship…”
“Never mind that for now. We’ll get her later.”
The sailor nodded before passing along the orders to the others. All that was left now was to wait for the tide so they could be on their way.
That is, until the ship was boarded by none other than the man England had decided to call Striped Cape Annoyance and his merry band of anarchists.
“We’re taking over the ship!” said annoyance announced if it wasn’t obvious enough, “Leave peacefully and we won’t hurt you.”
“Like hell!” England barked as most of the sailors did what the man suggested, “This is a military vessel on an assignment from the King! You’re disrupting official proceedings with your actions, and they will not go unpunished.”
“On assignment?” the man growled out, “Since when is putting hard working merchants out of business with insane taxes and regulations a service to king and country?”
“I wouldn’t expect a bleeding anarchist to understand the inner workings of a government,” he hissed back, “or understanding what needs to be done to keep an Empire working.”
“We’re all subjects of the king just like you, aren’t we boys?” his companions, who were busy ushering the sailors off the ship, shouted in agreement, “Why should our merchants and our rights be any different than yours?”
“You…”
Suddenly a gunshot rang out through the night air. Both England and the cloaked man turned to see one of the anarchists pointing a gun at a now bleeding soldier.
“Lieutenant!” England shouted as he ran over to help him. He vaguely heard the man criticize his companion about not shooting unless they shot first, but it didn’t register in England’s mind. The Lieutenant was alright, hurt, but he’d recover.
“You asked me before,” the new bane of England’s existence started, “two years ago in New York, what my motive was. I’ll tell you now; we're after freedom. Whether you want to give it to us or if we have to take it from you is your choice,” he swiftly turned away from England before shouting back over his shoulder, “We’re going to burn the ship. Everyone else already left. I suggest you do the same,” and disappearing below deck.
As England and the Lieutenant escaped, watching the Gaspée burst into flames from the Rhode Island shores, England vowed he would find that bastard in whatever hole he was hiding in and make him pay.
June 15, 1772.
“Y-You can’t do that!” America shouted as he banged his hands on the table, “You can’t try them at your house!”
“I can and I will,” England stated, “What they did was nothing short of treason, and I will not tolerate that in my colonies,” he snarled as an image of the striped cloaked man came to mind.
“They’re my people,” America argued, “They’re crimes were committed here. They shouldn’t have to wait until they get to England to have their trial.”
“Silly boy,” England sighed as he stood up to get himself more tea, “They’re crimes were committed against the crown, against me. It’s only fair to try them on my own terms.”
“That isn’t fair. None of this is fair.”
“Of course it’s fair,” England waved his concerns off, “You’re young right now, but one day you’ll understand how these things work,” he turned to smile at his colony, who was back in his seat at the table, scowling at the wall.
“Don’t be like that lad,” England said as he placed a cup of tea in front of America, “I know you’re upset now, but this will all blow over soon.”
“Yes,” America agreed as he took a sip from the cup, “I suppose it will.”
***
December 16, 1773. Boston, Massachusetts.
England scoffed as he glanced at the three ships in the dock. Philadelphia and New York had already sent their ships back, still full of tea, as some sort of protest to the new, completely justified taxes, however this Governor Hutchinson seemed like a good chap, good enough to keep the ships here at any rate. He knows those bloody anarchists are meeting in the city somewhere as he lies in wait. He doesn’t know how, but he also knows he’s there with them, waiting for his chance to embarrass England some more.
Like hell would England just let that happen.
The quiet around the docks is broken by loud shouts coming from down the street, clearly heading towards the docks, but they weren’t angry shouts, more like excited shouts.
A large group of Mohawk Indians were heading for the ships. England assumed he had dealt with the Natives once and for all during that last war with France and was confused as to why they would be here now, but on closer inspection, it looked like it was just the blokes from the meeting. Whatever they were up to now, it could not be good.
England kept an eye on the group as it made its way across the dock towards the three tea ships still in the harbor. Yes, it definitely wasn’t good.
“Oh no they don’t,” that was America’s tea, and those were his ships and damnit he was not just going to sit back and let these idiots stop this shipment from reaching his colony as well.
England charged forward from the shadows, determined to take on the entire mob to make sure this tea shipment got to its intended location if he had to, but was stopped when a surprisingly strong arm pulled him back.
“Don’t leave now,” a voice whispered in his ear, “The party’s about to start.”
“You,” England grit his teeth, “You of all people would be here.”
The man in the cloak chuckled, “I do like to be where the action is, a trait we seem to share.”
England tried to break free of the man’s grip, but it only seemed to tighten the more he struggled, “You and I are nothing alike.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so. You insist on creating disturbances in perfectly peaceful situations, on destroying an order that I’m constantly trying to maintain!”
“Prices are skyrocketing,” the man explained as the mob boarded the nearest ship, “people are complaining and their pleas are being ignored back in England. What other choice to we have?”
“To deal with it,” England snarled as the men started tossing the tea crates into the harbor, “to pay the bloody taxes and except the necessary security measures like proper British citizens!”
“Proper British citizens?” the man’s grip tightened further as part of the mob broke off and boarded the second ship, “Citizens that don’t even get a say in what happens to them?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” England defended, “You have no idea how an empire works!”
“I know a bit more than you think I do, and perhaps even more than you yourself know,” the tea crates from the second ship joined the other in the harbor as England tried and failed at another escape, “You have no idea what the people here are thinking, how they live their lives or what their worries are. All you care about is how much money you can squeeze out of them.”
“What are you…?” the mob split again as more men boarded the third ship, “America is my colony! These people are my citizens! Of course I care about them!”
“You say they’re yours,” the tea from the final ship was tossed in the harbor as well, “but what do you even really know about them?”
“I know…" he tried to come up with something, "a lot about them. I don’t need to prove myself to you!”
“You know,” England felt the man’s grip slacken slightly, “if you had just listened to us in the beginning, we might be sharing that tea somewhere right now instead of watching it go to waste like this.”
“I’d never sit down and have a cup of tea with the likes of you,” England snarled.
“I suppose you wouldn’t,” he chuckled morbidly. England broke free of his grasp and turned around to face him, but the man had already vanished into the night.
And behind him, England heard 342 chests of tea being tossed into the sea.
May 20, 1774.
“England!” America shouted as he threw open the door to the office.
“America, don’t shout when you’re indoors,” England reprimanded. The colony ignored him as he stormed over to the desk and slammed some papers on it.
“What is this?” he demanded.
England looked over the document, “This is the new law I passed for you. No need to fret about it.”
“No need…you’ve already closed the Boston port! You don’t need to change their entire government too!”
“As long as I have control over Massachusetts, nothing like what happened in December will happen again. It’s only temporary, I promise you, to teach those anarchists a lesson.”
“You’re punishing the entire colony for the actions of only a handful of colonists! That’s not fair!”
“Stop shouting,” England turned back to his work, “I’ll decide what’s fair or not.”
“This,” another paper was thrust under England’s face, “What’s your excuse for this one?”
“If I can’t trust Massachusetts with as a simple task as unloading tea from ships, how can I trust them with something as major as a trial?”
“You know as well as I do most witnesses can’t afford to leave work and travel just to testify, especially if you decide to have the trial at your house!”
“I’m willing to pay for witnesses travel expenses-”
America slammed his hands on the desk, “That’s not good enough and you know it! This law is nothing short of a death sentence!”
“Enough. America you are still a child. I am merely doing what needs to be done right now. Someday you will understand, but right now you have to trust me and do what I say. This will all work out in the end.”
America shook in repressed rage, tears, or both before storming out of the room as fast as he’d barged in and stomping up the stairs. England sighed and returned to his paperwork.
He knew the boy would forgive him someday, but he hoped that day was sooner rather than later. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.
***
April 19, 1775. Lexington, Massachusetts.
How did it come to this? England asked himself for about the seventieth time that day. His armies were facing down mere peasants, his colonists, no, not his colonists anymore. No good rebels would be a more accurate term at this point.
“Don’t fire unless they fire first,” England repeated. He was going to avoid a battle if at all possible, especially if it meant he would have to fight…
Of course he wouldn’t have to fight him. These were just the minority. Yes, America had been a tad difficult lately, but England was sure he didn’t want any of this. He was his precious little brother after all, and America loved him…right?
Yes, of course America loved him. He was just being silly. America would side with him, just like he’d always done in the past, not the dissenters. There was no reason to go to war over this.
Just as he finished thinking that, England heard the gunshot.
The world seemed to slow down as England looked around for who fired it. It wasn’t anyone of his soldiers, he noticed as they started loading their rifles to return fire, but a quick look at the other side showed that it wasn’t any of the colonists either. As he kept looking around for the mysterious gunman, he saw him, of all people, in the nearby bushes, holding a smoking pistol, and England had his answer.
England jumped off his horse, ignoring the shouts and cries from his men around him, and ran into the bushes after him. The cloaked man was gone by the time he got there, running away into the woods to hid, so England gave chase.
“You bastard!” England shouted as they ran further into the woods, leaving the sounds of fighting far behind, “I know you’re the one who fired that shot!”
“Yes, I did!” the man shouted, showing no signs of remorse or slowing down.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?!” England asked as he sped up to gain on his foe.
“I’ve started a war,” the man responded, dodging trees like he’d done it all his life, “A War for Independence.”
“A war that doesn’t need to happen!” England panted as he tried to keep up, “Now I have to…have to fight…” His little brother, his precious colony, but surely America was on his side…wasn’t he?
The cloaked man stopped in the middle of a clearing and turned to face him, “Have to fight who, England?”
And England didn’t care that the man was bigger than him, or that he still had the gun in his hand. He leapt at him, knocking the gun out of his hand and the man to the ground. The hood on his cloak fell away, revealing his adversary to be none other than America himself.
“A-America?” England questioned as he fell backwards away from his colony, “Th-this whole time…it was you?”
“Y-yeah,” America sat up and refused to meet England’s eyes.
“At New York…and Boston…you, you burned my ship.”
“You weren’t listening!” he suddenly snapped and looked at England, “You…you never listen to what I have to say. This was the only way to get your attention.”
“By starting a war? America, do you have any idea what you’ve just done?! Honestly, you’re still such a child.”
“I’m not a child! Not as much as you think I am.”
“Of course you’re a child! Only a child would do something so rash and unfounded and unnecessary.”
“I want a say it what I do,” America stood up, “I’m tired of just doing what you tell me. I want to make my own decisions. I want freedom! Since you wouldn’t give it to me-”
“You’ve decided to just take it then, I suppose,” England chuckled morbidly as he stood up as well, “Very well; if it’s a war you want, America," he pronounced the name with as much disdain as he could muster, "it’s a war you’ll get. I’m not going to pull any punches. I told you before; I’ll come after you with all the might I can muster. Even if it’s you, I’m not going to let you tear my empire apart.”
America stood his ground, neither charging nor backing down. England scoffed and turned around shouting “This war of yours won’t even last a week,” as a parting over his shoulder before he wandered through the woods, back to where he was sure his trained soldiers were beating America’s militia.
He made sure America was out of sight before he let his tears fall.
And now for your America History lesson:
-The picture has America wearing his flag, but it makes little sense as the flag wasn't created until 1777, so instead his cloak just has the red and white stripes, which were also used as symbols by the Sons of Liberty.
-Speaking of, the Sons of Liberty were the patriot groups that went around doing the protests and causing the trouble in the colonies. It wasn't one cohesive group; there was a branch in every colony and they each did their own thing. They're the ones who did the tarring and feathering and all that good stuff, although not all of their protests were violent, just the ones worth remembering. Thing was, they started out as Loyalists just wanting to get the taxes repealed. They only started calling for independence when nothing else worked.
-Battle of Golden Hill: The Sons of Liberty went around putting up Liberty Poles to protest various laws that were passed. When Alexander McDougall issued a broadside called "To the Betrayed Inhabitants of the City and Colony of New York" to protest New York's complying of the Quartering Act, British soldiers responded by cutting down a Liberty Pole and handing out their own pamphlets attacking the Sons of Liberty instead. Townspeople got mad, and it somehow ended with the soldiers charging the crowd with bayonets. People were hurt, no one died.
-Boston Massacre: A group of people started harassing some of the soldiers that were stationed in Boston. The group got bigger and the bothering escalated until the mob was tossing stones and insults and the soldiers. Captain Preston, who was the officer in charge during the incident, was one of the ones helping to keep the crowd away from the soldiers. It ended with the soldiers opening fire on the unarmed crowd, resulting in a total of 5 deaths (Samuel Gray, James Caldwell, and Crispus Attuks died instantly, Samuel Maverick the next day, and Patrick Carr two weeks later) and several injures. All troop stationed in Boston were immediately removed and moved to the port and the soldiers who admitted to firing were indicted for murder. John Adams took their case and ended up getting them all off (Carr actually gave deathbed testimony that helped get the soldiers off).
-Gaspée Affair: HMS Gaspée was on patrol enforcing unpopular trade regulations that were putting colonial merchants out of business when it ran aground. The Sons of Liberty took advantage of that and boarded, taking over the ship with little resistance from the soldiers on board, and setting it on fire. Lieutenant Dudingston was shot, but other than that, no injuries. Similar events had occurred before, but this one was special because Gaspée was a military ship that was on duty at the time, so something had to be done. The perpetrators were charged with treason and were to have their trials in England, which made the colonists very upset, but they were never caught.
-Boston Tea Party: This was in protest of the Tea Act. Other colonies and cities had managed to convince the tea ships to give up or go back to England, but Governor Hutchinson of Massachusetts stood his ground and demanded the tea be unloaded. Since two of the people in charge of that were his sons, it was going to happen. Sam Adams and the local Sons of Liberty held a meeting to stall, and halfway through some of them got fed up and left. They dressed up as Mohawk Indians and tossed the tea into the harbor. In response Parliament passed the Intolerable Acts, which, if people were only mildly peeved before, this made them pissed, and not in a good way.
-The Intolerable Acts consisted of:
-The Boston Port Act, which closed down the Boston Port,
-The Massachusetts Government Act, which changed Massachusetts government so it was directly controlled by Great Britain. Mostly to make Massachusetts an example and scare the other colonies into behaving.
-The Administrative Justice Act, which allowed the governor to move trials of the accused royal officials to another colony or even to Great Britain. Witness were compensated for travel expenses if they wanted to testify, but few colonists could afford to leave work and home for that extended period of time, so this was considered the worst one on this list.
-The Quartering Act (which applied to all colonies), allowed British soldiers to be housed wherever if suitable quarters could not be found.
-The Quebec Acts, which extended Canada's borders and gave French Canadians freedom of religion. It was seen as taking away land from the other colonies and a way to stop the French Canadians from siding with the rebels.
-The Quartering Act and the Quebec Acts weren't passed until later, which is why the first three are the only ones mentioned in the story.
-Battle of Lexington: The first battle of the American Revolution. The American militia was very outnumbered, and not long after the fighting started, they retreated to hook up with the militia at Concord.. The British army soon afterward made their way to Concord, where the combined militia were waiting for them. Lexington was just a stare down until someone from somewhere fired the first shot. To this day, no one knows who that was.