Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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“You did save his life back there Al,” Bill stated, opening the inn door. “Trent would’ve shot him, probably killed him.”
“You both were acting like I did somethin’ stupid.”
“Reckless, yeah. Stupid, eh.” Bill grinned at him. “I would’ve done the same if I had my pistols.”
When they recounted the event at dinner, Molly looked horrified. Paul looked jealous. (“Goddamn! I always miss the cool stuff!”). Alfred rubbed the back of his neck nervously as the women fussed over him, threatening Bill to watch after Alfred.
It made the Nation laugh more; he really didn’t need to be watched over. It would take a lot more then a bullet to kill him. But it was still nice... He really had forgotten what it was like to have someone watching over him. It had been a long while, since the end of the Revolutionary War… Sure, Francis would check in on Alfred regularly, sometimes Gilbert would write him to make sure his armies were still strong. Before the issue with Texas, Anton- Spain would pop by his house for random visits. Ivan would write him too, the two having formed an odd sort of friendship as the years progressed. All of them would watch over him, in a sense. But it wasn’t the same. Not since the Revolutionary War had someone fussed over him like Molly tended to do… Like a parent… Like England had…
His face must have shown his thoughts, because the room got suddenly very quiet. He caught their gazes. They were all waiting for the inevitable, for his tears to fall. But Alfred simply excused himself, rubbing his eyes as small tears began to slip out of the corners. He didn’t want to let them see him crying. Not after going so long without breaking down in front of them.
When he reached his room he hung the belt and guns on the edge of one of the chairs, before flopping face first into the bed. He stared ahead blankly for a moment, before rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. So he had picked a fight with the wrong guy apparently. Someone who would not hesitate in shooting him. Killing him.
Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he thought with a bitter laugh, the tears slipping down his face. And it wouldn’t be the last.
Writer!Anon again, is not too pleased with this segment of the story, well, I have grown to like it more as I typed it. But I’m still a bit iffy... But luckily, inspiration struck, and after reading all your comments... More plots have been turning in my head. I had never considered a time skip before~
And in my head canon, while the notes state Alfred was a crybaby… I feel like he would actually be kind of calm about getting a gun pointed at him. I mean, the guys been in wars before! He has been shot at. So I figure, while he probably was the type to cry very easily… He’d still be relatively okay with his life getting threatened. At least on the surface. I do not know if that made ANY sense. It probably did not.
I do hope I haven’t butchered the West for anyone… I know I’m probably horribly inaccurate. I may or may not be going on what I can recall from history class, some research, and Western flicks… So I apologize profusely! This kink has made me really want to brush up on my Western history and write a proper story!
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Alfred's gunslinging = win!
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Al is a war veteran and a demi-god nation thing, so I can't see him getting too frightened by some punk wanting to kill him. It made sense to.
At fist I though Al had named his glasses Anton. XD It breaks my heart every time Al starts saying a nations human name, but switches to their real name because they're not friendly anymore. It makes it seem like he really is an orphan, losing everyone close to him. Bawww.
Glad you're considering the time skip.
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(re-captcha: $2,882,000 fudge. WAT)
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...why do i phail at anoning?!
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“Seriously, I don’t need a ‘body guard’,” he groaned, walking down the street with Paul. His friend in turn snorted.
“Al, a nutcase wants you dead. A nutcase with a good amount of friends, ‘cordin’ to Vincent.”
“And we started trustin’ Vincent since..?” It still was a strange notion. Back on the trail, all they ever did was butt heads. But ever since that one day, the older man seemed to actually be concerned about Alfred’s safety. Yes, they still argued like there was no tomorrow when they were seated across each other, but it was different in a way. Alfred wasn’t sure how to describe it, so generally he didn’t bother.
It had been only a few days since the incident with Trent, and Alfred had become accustomed to walking around town with Bill’s guys (well, Alfred’s now) hanging around his waist. Along with that, he had become use to having his friends shadow him.
“Regardless of whether or not we’re trustin’ the guy, he has a point. That Trent guys bad news. You heard Bill, Hell, you heard everyone else!” It was true. News of the encounter spread through the town like a wild fire. And Alfred had become well aware of this Trent mans reputation. He had gotten into shoot outs before, and not one person who faced him lived.
It also didn’t help that he seemed to have a gang of sorts. That really didn’t help. Though Alfred was fairly confident that he could survive against the man… He was a Nation after all. It would hurt, but he would survive. Of course, explaining to others how he survived being shot would be difficult (he could remember quite clearly the one time during the Revolution, when he had been shot right in the temple. Oh boy, that was hard to explain... And it had hurt like Hell).
That didn’t ease his friends worries though, and despite his confidence, those thoughts hardly eased his concerns. He liked the life he had created… He didn’t want to give it up. Not yet…
“Wonder why Bill wanted to play with such a dangerous guy…” Paul voice, Alfred shrugging in response.
“He said as long as they don’t play for too long, or get him riled up he’s good. And he sucks at poker.” Alfred rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets. “They were playin’ with fire…”
“And you’re the one that’s payin’,” Paul surmised. Alfred gave a sigh as they walked down the street.
“Yeah… But I’ll survive.”
“You still gotta be careful,” Paul remarked as they paused, watching a carriage pass by them. It was becoming more and more frequent with each passing day. More and more settlers were arriving with each day, along with some people just visiting the West out of curiosity, like Alfred had done so many times in the past before joining the Wagon Trail. The town was busier, expanding with each new person. And while Alfred knew that was a good thing, he could feel his heart clench at the thought of the Natives who would continue to be pushed from their homes. He had sent his boss a letter, explaining his concerns. He had yet to receive a reply though… Alfred had to wonder if the man had even bothered to read it...
Despite being the embodiment of the United States of America… Alfred still could only act as an advisor to his leaders. And he found it harder and harder to get some to listen to his ideas…
He had to shake his head to clear his mind of those depressing thoughts. He followed the carriage with his eyes, watching it pull to a stop outside the inn. The place was becoming more and more successful, being one of the few places of lodging in town. It made their lives a bit more hectic, but Alfred did not mind. He enjoyed it actually. He wondered who the new guests would be, he was always curious…
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“That was once! And I stubbed it really hard!”
“-But you’re completely calm over this whole life-threatening issue! Seriously Al, what the Hell?” Alfred shifted uneasily under his friends stare. The two crossed the dirt road, Alfred kicking a rock as they went. Yes, he was remotely calm, which seemed to shock everyone else. He didn’t blame them. Alfred had become known as the ‘cry-baby’ of the Wagon Trail after all. Sure, he was getting better, but he still had the habit of tearing up now and then. And to any normal person, the Trent situation was a prime time to freak out, to cry like Alfred would do over the smallest of injuries. But he wasn’t worried about the fight. No, he was calm as can be. War could do that to a man.
“I just… The guy’ll get over it. You heard Bill. No use getting’ worked up over it.”
“And this is comin’ from the guy we could barely ask about his family,” Alfred cringed at the mumble. Paul didn’t notice, his hands flying up in exasperation. “Al! Seriously! You can freak out! You don’t have to be brave this time! This is when your s’pose to cry like a baby!”
“I know,” he laughed, taking his hat off and running a hand through his hair, it was getting blonder with each passing day in the sun (and prompted more lectures from Ruben that he wasn’t wearing the hat enough). “But I’m just not worried ‘bout it.”
“You are weird.”
Alfred laughed again, grinning at his friend. Paul just rolled his eyes. Yes, that was the truth; Alfred was not worried about this situation in the least. Well, at least over the risk of being killed. No, what really had him worried what the idea of leaving the town. He wasn’t ready for that, at least not yet…
“Alfred!” Both stopped in unison, blinking as they heard the female voice shout for Alfred again. Slowly he turned his head, watching a young brunette girl jog towards them. The hem of her modest dress was clasped in one hand, a bag in the other. Blue eyes looked at her quizzically as she came to a stop in front of them, one caramel colored pigtail falling over her shoulder. It was then that realization hit him. “Mi-Miss Lizzie!?”
“Just Liz out here cutie, I ain’t workin’.” She laughed, winking playfully. Alfred felt his jaw unhinge. She looked so different outside the saloon attire he had met her in. There were no feathers, no makeup. Her dress was not low cut, nor was there a slit at the side (in fact, it reached all the way down to her ankles). Her hair too wasn’t done up in an exaggerated way, instead it was braided into too simple pigtails. She was still smiling that dazzling smile he remembered, holding the bag in both hands now. “I’m glad you’re alright. I was worried.”
“Ah, ‘course I am! I haven’t even seen that guy since the argument!”
Miss Lizzie… Liz just stared at him, a small annoyed look crossing her face. “That just means he’s probably up to no goo, which is bad news for you.”
“Oh I’ll be fine.”
“Al-”
“Oh! Whose your friend!?” She had turned her attention now to Paul, who, upon turning his own to her flushed a bright red. Alfred snickered. Liz smiled with her own blush. And Paul’s cheeks burned more. She continued to smile though, offering him her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Smith, but friend call me Liz. What’s your name, handsome?”
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“Handsome’s right,” Liz interjected, planting her one hand on her hip. “Trent ain’t a nice guy. And he’s got some real mean friends, who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you!”
“Which is why I seem to have some new shadows.” He grinned, beginning to walk again with his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry you two!”
They didn’t follow right away. Alfred was sure they most likely shared a look. However, after a few feet he heard their hurried steps, the two catching up with him in a few moments, one on each side. “What’re you doin’ out anyhow Liz?”
“Oh, I was getting’ some food,” she smiled, swinging her bag to emphasize the point. He could see some groceries now. “I’m on my way to the Doc’s too.”
“Why?”
“Need to pick up medicine for my Ma,” she responded with a small laugh. “She caught a nasty cough last week, but it’s getting’ better. I’m just real lucky my boss understood and gave me the time off to take care of her.”
Both nodded in agreement. It was indeed very lucky. They offered to accompany her, both commenting how they wouldn’t mind seeing Ruben again. It had been a long while since the doctor had visited the inn, though in his defense, he had been quite busy. They walked together up the streets, chatting and joking. They were all still grinning as they walked up the steps to the doctor’s office. It wasn’t until they heard the voices that they paused.
“So the guys out for blood? I mean, I heard ‘bout it. But seriously now? Over a poker game?” It was Ruben’s voice, Alfred exchanging a nervous glance with the other two. They stayed wear they were, ears strained to hear the conversation.
“Nah,” it was Vincent.”He’s out for blood for getting’ shown up by the cry-baby, and maybe a bit of the poker game.”
“So this isn’t goin’ away, like you two told Al?”
“The kid’ll just get himself all worked up,” Vincent snorted. “Plus, y’know him. He’ll burst into tears.”
“Al’s gettin’ better at that,” Ruben responded automatically (and Alfred was grateful for the defense). “So what’s the plan? We can’t just keep following him. One of these days Trent or his gang’ll catch Al when he’s alone…”
“Bill and me are workin’ on that. We just need to know if you could lend us a hand.”
There was a heavy sigh from Ruben, and Alfred could just see the man rubbing his temples. “I’m not as good a shot as you two, but I’ll help in any way I can…”
“Thanks.”
“Al!” Paul’s hand grabbed hold of his arm, yanking him away. The three scrambled, ducking out of sight as Vincent left the office. They remained there for a moment longer, all exchanging nervous looks at what they had seen. Remembering the medicine next, they pushed Liz to enter. She did so, though she looked a bit nervous. It was when she was out of sight that Paul turned to face Alfred. “Trent’s not gonna let this go…”
“What’re they gonna do?” Panic was rising in his chest. No, this wasn’t right… This was supposed to be his problem, his mess. He would solve it, because he couldn’t be killed as easily… But Bill and them…
“Maybe call him out for a shootout…”
“That’s suicide!” He could remember the stories he had heard. No one who faced Trent and his gang in a shootout lived. “I can’t let them do that!”
“And what’re you gonna do!? Al, he wants you dead!”
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Until now, he had been calm about the whole ordeal. Before it was just him and Trent, but now… What were they thinking? Did they want to die? No, of course not. Then why..?
The rest of the walk was quiet. Alfred wondered what his fellow Nations would do. He wished he could talk to one of them, to ask for advice… But Francis was all the way in Paris. And the only one who would have any experience and advice that was close by was Spain and… Well…
“Welcome back! Just in time, I could really use the help.” Alfred just nodded in response to Molly’s cheerful voice. She blinked, and he heard her ask Paul what was wrong. But Alfred stopped paying attention after that. He looked around the lobby, watching the guest’s mill in and out. Some were going to their rooms, checking in. Some were leaving, checking out. Others were lounging in some chairs, sitting by tables…
He spotted Bill seated at one of the tables, playing chess with a red-headed guest. Alfred barely paid the man any mind however, storming forward and slamming his hands on the table to gain the older man’s attention. Bill merely looked up, not phased in the least by the blonde’s action, his eyes returning to the board moments later. “What’s up Al?”
“What’re you guys planning?” He spat out almost immediately, hands forming fists against the wooden surface. “You and Ruben and Vincent! What d’you all think your doin’!? Its my fight!”
“Oh, that,” he responded, moving his bishop and taking the guests knight. “We’re givin’ you a hand.”
“Trent’ll kill you guys!”
“And he’ll kill you if we sit back,” the guest had moved his queen, taking out Bill’s bishop.
“I can handle it!” Bill glanced up, before looking at the board again, moving his knight in front of his king.
“You’re still a kid, and there’s only one of you.” The guest moved his queen, taking out the rook and murmuring a simple ‘check’.
“You’ll get killed,” his throat was suddenly tight. No, he wouldn’t cry! He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
“If we die, we die.” Bill seemed to forget about the game, rising to his feet and planting both hands on Alfred’s shoulders. “Al, don’t cry. It’ll work out fine. Vin and me are good shots, and Ruben’s the best doctor around.”
“Bu-But-”
“You’re friends set with his decision.” Both turned to look at the guest who was staring at the chess board. There was a scowl on his face as he glanced up. A flash of green, and then he looked down again. He seemed familiar… But how? The man said nothing, releasing an annoyed breath as he tipped the king over in forfeit, despite the obvious move to win the game. The red head rose to his feet, grabbing a coat that had been laid over the back of his chair. “You should be grateful to have such brave allies.”
Alfred opened his mouth to retort, but whatever that had been, died before he could say it.
A gunshot echoed in the air, followed by panicked shrieks. Bill forcibly yanked Alfred down, the young Nation’s hand flying to his own guns. They could see the door to the in splinter, a bullet having gone through it and…
His eyes went wide.
“Molly!”
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“Mo-Molly…” He couldn’t tell how serious it was, fear running through his veins. His eyes burned, but he blinked back the tears. She opened her eyes, a smile on her face.
“’m alright Al…” She smiled still; despite the pain he knew she was in. “Don’t cry…”
“I know you’re in there boy!” It was Trent’s voice, from outside. Another gunshot more screams. “Get out here!”
“Al, stay,” Molly’s voice may be week, but her tone was still commanding. Alfred stared down at her, eyes still wide. He felt numb, watching as Paul tried to stop the bleeding, shouting out curses in Trent’s direction. Bill was saying something, shouting actually but the Nation couldn’t register what. His eyes were locked on Molly’s paling face, his ears echoing with Trent and his friend’s laughter…
The next thing he was aware of was that he was outside. Trent was in front of him, his friends flanking his sides.
“So the babies decided to come out and play,” he was grinning, crazed almost, pointing his gun directly at Alfred’s head. The American barely moved, another gunshot echoing in the air. He felt the bullet graze his cheek, warmth slipping down his skin.
Everything was becoming muted, his heard pounding against his chest.
“I get a friend?” The distant mocking voice questioned.
Molly’s pale face, her pained face, flashed through his mind.
Something warm, not blood, began to race down both cheeks. Tears, he realized.
Another gunshot, pain erupting from his right leg. And that was it.
The sounds of Trent’s laughter, his taunts and the townspeople’s screams vanished. Cannon fire echoed in his mind, the scent of muskets clouding his senses. He was distantly aware that he had drawn his own guns that he was taking and firing. But he was hardly aware if he was hitting anything. His mind was becoming to fuzzy. The present and past seeming to mix together. He could hear old commands, ones that had been drilled into his mind. He could see Molly’s face. Everything was merging.
“-fred!” Someone was calling him, but he couldn’t register it. The noises were too loud.
Rain, he could feel it, hear it…
“America!”
A hand clamped down on his forearm, an accented voice cutting through his trance. “Stand down soldier.”
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Alfred’s chest was heaving, choked sobs escaping him. He almost dropped the pistol, his entire body trembling from head to two. The hand however remained firm, guiding his arm back to his side, easily taking the gun out of his hands and holstering it. Pain erupting like fire in his leg, Alfred almost collapsing, an arm shot out from no wear, catching him, his glasses falling to the ground.
“You lot best get!” Bill’s voice sounded close by, Alfred turning his head to look at the blurred forms around him.
“… This ain’t over boy!” Came Trent’s response, before the man and his friend ran. Or at least Alfred assumed. He blinked, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, the world clearing at least a little.
“You alri-”
“Molly!” Was his first thought, his head snapping back to where he thought Bill was. He tried to walk forward, his right leg buckling. A small scream escaped him, the person by his side catching him with ease.
“She’ll be alright.” An accented voice replied, the same one that had ordered him to stand down. Alfred’s blue eyes widened as he looked at the blurred form. He could see the large, impish grin. He could make out the blob of platinum blonde hair, almost white. And most of all… He could see the sharp red eyes. Alfred couldn’t believe it, taking a sharp breath, speaking in disbelief.
“Gi-Gilbert!?”
I apologize for taking so long to update! I had hit a bit of a snag, in regards to how to start this segment off. And I’m still not entirely pleased with it. But then again, it seems like I’m hardly pleased with half of these segments as of late. Heh. -nervous laugh- Right! I’m also debating how long of a time skip to do. I had toyed with a few ideas… Then realize it wouldn’t fit with my vague time frame! Drat!
Again though, thank you all so much for your comments, they keep me going forward with this story~ And I only hope I can continue bringing out segments that you all enjoy. And to love you!anon… I love you too. Why? Because it was my original plot (before Trent came into the story, with the original ending) that Vincent would become evil! Though… I suppose things have changed? Hehe…
Again, thank you all for the comments, and I hope you all enjoyed this segment of the story! Thank you all again!
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And did I see Arthur ninja his way into this chapter? Could have been my imagination...
Glad to see you updated!
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Out of all the people I expected, I did not expect Prussia.
And don't think I didn't see what you did thar. England is totally there.
captcha: Amer- outvotes ...America outvotes what?
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Your story is as wonderful as ever. I noticed how you used my veteran excuse as to why Al was not being a cry baby. Soldier!America is awesome and so canon. He started with war and continued the tradition for every following generation. Better get used to your soldier side Al. I'm sure Gilbert can help.
England might not be there, but it looks like the UK is in the house /o/
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I can't wait for the next parts!
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