Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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(Pretty much a straight up 'What if Arthur did shoot Alfred?' deal)
Arthur couldn't tell you one way or the other just why he was shaking so much. On one hand, it could be due to the adrenaline streaking through his veins, filling him with an inhuman acuteness to his surroundings. Everything was magnified yet dulled at the same time, resounding blasts from surrounding muskets sounded not unlike dull roars from miles away. Yet the chirping of even a single sparrow would be so clear & vibrant he could swear it was perched atop his blood stained shoulder.
The only other plausible reason, he felt, for his shaking was much more straightforward. The gun currently gripped in his own gloved hands, tightly, so tightly it was like he was gripping hope, had its barrel pointed straight at his very own son.
Smoldering cobalt eyes looked up at Arthur's, bright against the grime covering the boy's worn face. There was a defiance to Alfred's posture, even on his knees the boy was holding his head high with pride. Unflinching as his charge could be, Arthur knew no men but those who were mad beyond help could hold their nerve if they felt a mouthful of scorching lead was in their immediate future.
Yet America did not show any sign of a waning spirit as the minutes dragged on. All around them, the opposing men were fighting blinding, tearing into friend and foe alike as lightning compounded with thunder momentarily sent the hordes into a fervent confusion. A steady torrent of rain started to pour from the heavens, stinging the faces of those on the front lines as it intermingled with gusts of frigid wind.
"You're going to surrender now, Alfred." England cut to the chase, made no pretense of trying to win America back using soft words and kind promises.
"This is exactly why I want to be free, Arthur!" Alfred's voice was terribly hoarse, only just hovering above what one would call a whisper despite the tendons England could see straining in the young man's neck, "I want to make my own decisions, not the decisions everyone else wants me to!"
At first Arthur didn't respond, as America had spoke it seemed he grew weaker with each syllable, his body shuddering with the effort of making himself heard above the surrounding din. Shades of brilliant blue where starting to mesh & dull, the will to fight onward starting to truly flicker.
"How can you expect to lead a free life when you can't even speak without withering away into a fragile child?" Arthur shifted his weight to his left foot, never lowering his rifle.
From past experiences with other rebelling people of his kind, England had often found a good tongue lashing to be one of the best ways to finally fell an opponent. He did not take into account these other 'people of his kind' had not been named America, who's eyes looked almost murky, clouded with-
With hatred.
Not hatred of being on the losing side of this battle, not the hatred of having to clash with his own brother, but a hatred of Arthur.
"If either of us are weak," Alfred lurched to his feet, strength renewed through his own rage "it could only be you. What were you planning to do when you entered this battle, berate me and wave your gun around until I decided to play nice and go home?"
The burning adrenaline suddenly turned to jarring ice in Arthur's veins. It had clicked in his head, like jammed gears suddenly being freed and sent whirling at such a violent pace it would only be a matter of time before they came undone and were sent spiraling into darkness. His colony wasn't afraid of him because he knew that England would never shoot something he raised with so much care, something he loved so dearly as his own. Was that all America saw England as now, someone who was all bark and no bite, someone to be walked all over?
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"You won't shoot me." the bite of America's words- no, his command snapped England's attention back to the present.
At the end of the battle, for America to try to turn the tables and tell England what to do was beyond taboo. Beyond any insult or injury. If this was going to end, it would be on Arthur's own terms and not that of his ward. Perhaps Alfred's mind had been warped with madness, it had been so long since Arthur had been close enough to tell now. Maybe the madness had ebbed enough today that Alfred could charge into battle, but not enough so that he could make rational decisions.
"My boy, I have started to think that you may not be in your right mind," taking a deep breath to steady not only his hands, but his voice, Arthur continued on "surrender to me. We'll take the first boat home, I'll take care of you and make sure to put you in your right mind."
Somehow this all seemed to be going horribly off course, England had vowed not to try coaxing America back under his wing. He would make America surrender and teach the boy a long deserved lesson in humility. That had been before he had really seen Alfred, though. The mental image Arthur had carried in his mind every waking moment, and even during those he spent sleeping, had been the cheery & rambunctious America.
A boy with boundless energy & spirit as free as the winds that filled England's sails on the voyage here. Lustrous hair the color of wheat, vibrant sapphire eyes that could hold a wild beast in place. Not this mockery that stood, if one would even call it that, before him.
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Durf, just wanted to get that bit of part 1 in due to the character limit. :B
P.S. CASUAL AS SUNDAY BRUNCH.
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beautiful and painful, the emotions were so raw and just perfect ;.;
thanks for writing this. not OP, but I'm truly in love with this... I cannot wait for more. you're truly talented, author!anon.
recaptcha: shooting the. the what, reca? the american? o.o
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I have it finished for the most part already, but I'll probably keep posting it in parts so I have longer to look it over & make the necessary edits. :D
(The captcha is so buddy-buddy with Arthur, I swear)
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"I'm not going anywhere, Arthur," a stoic expression had spread across the colony's features. "unless it's six feet under."
"You don't know what you're saying, Alfred. This trigger doesn't need to be pulled, but it will be if you refuse to acknowledge me -"
"I acknowledge you as nothing but a coward!" Alfred's face contorted with rage "I belong to no one but my own people, so run back with your tail between your legs or shoot me."
Too much time had passed, the madness left unchecked for so long nothing could control it now. Not Alfred, not Arthur, not anyone or anything but the one thing more powerful than the insanity.
Death.
Arthur shook his head wearily as he mentally prepared himself for the task ahead. It's for the boy's own good, he repeatedly reminded himself, the life of a madman is no life at all. Muscles tensed in his neck & jaw as he gritted his teeth. Alfred's face remained unchanging and unblinking, still set in the thought that the trigger was not be pulled.
Should he shut his eyes when he pulled the trigger, or keep them open? Watching his own creation become nothing more than a lifeless corpse was not something he ever thought he would have to do. Not only that, but to be the one passing this judgment seemed too much for him, for anyone. With eyes closed tight, there would be a risk of messing up the shot. Alfred would be gravely injured no doubt, but Arthur didn't want to dole out such suffering when he wanted it to be a quick end.
It felt like time had stilled completely while he weighed his options, but he knew it wouldn't last long. The sound of a clock ticking down was so very loud in his ears, each tock of the hand bringing him one second closer to murder- no, this was a mercy killing!
A sharp buzzing snap in the back of his mind told him time was up, and without having made a conscious decision his body made one for him instead. In that singular moment before the bullet tore through the air, Alfred's expression changed completely.
At last he had realized this wasn't as simple a game as he first thought, that Arthur wasn't a predictable old man that would bend to his charge's whims at the end of the day. Every feature on Alfred's face began to crumple to fear. An unabashed fear that he was about to be shot by his own kin. Terror shaking his body to the point where it looked as if his limbs were to be torn from him.
The deafening blast that signaled the pulling of a trigger showed no effect on the men fighting around them. But it had a deep, irreversible one between the nation and his colony.
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Author's Notes: 'Sup cliffhanger, nice of you to stop by. ,':]
This isn't the end, not by a long shot. I'd say that 1/3rd of the tale has been posted so far, leaving us a good stretch to go.
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I'm glad that this isn't the end. I look forward to more :)
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"Are those space pants? 'Cause your ass in out of this world! ,':]"
"If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put u and i next to each other. ,':]"
Not pictured: The dejected smilie after being TURNED DOWN.
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With a start of surprise, Arthur hefted his gun aside, gasping with horror. Alfred however, made not made the faintest peep as his body slid forwards, and only a stomach churning slosh was audible as the American's face met with the muddy earth.
England immediately threw himself to his knees at Alfred's side, rolling the boy over with as much haste as was possible to muster. The bullet had shredded its was right through the coat, leaving a gaping, pulsing wound open on the boy's chest. Every strained breath sending a new stream of red down his chest.
Gunpowder stung at Arthur's eyes, it tried to blot out what very well could be the last time he'd see his boy alive. He could feel Alfred, feel the boy shaking uncontrollably like a rabbit in the talons of a hawk. Blinking away the own stinging in his eyes, Arthur could even see that his boy was crying.
Arthur could count on one hand how many times he had seen Alfred cry in his entire life.
Wiping the mud from Alfred's face, Arthur tried to get any response out of him he could. Time passed at an unbearably slow pace, so slow were the long and labored gaps between seconds that it seemed time could very well be going in reverse. England pressed a hand to the pulsing injury, cringing every time he felt a fresh leak of life escaping his boy.
"F-Father." Alfred's gasping of the word caused the blood to seep more freely "Where is it?"
England stared mutely at the bullet wound. Could he really not feel the burning lead so snugly nestled within his chest? Or perhaps he could feel it, but didn't want to accept it. Or the most stomach churning explanation, Alfred had been so weakened & wounded from the war already it could be that his entire body was in constant, fiery pain.
Receiving no response from his Father figure, Alfred wearily groped at his own uniform. Prodding & squeezing here and there, attempting to find the entrance wound of the bullet. His hand moved steadily upwards, growing ever closer not only to his chest, but to the truth.
"It only grazed your shoulder, you'll be fine." Arthur's voice was unwavering as he deftly moved the traveling hand back to the boy's side. "Will you ever forgive me? Are you really going to leave me!?"
England's last words had more than a hint of hysteria in them, giving away the seriousness of the injury if America had been at all fooled. Alfred squeezed his hands into balled up fists a few times, seemingly unsure of what to say at this point .
"Father." there was a long pause, America's eyelids seemed to be fluttering with less strength as he gathered his thoughts "I-I apologize for doing this to you, to Mattie, to everyone..." another gasp for air, this one audibly wet. "Will you grant me a single favor?"
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Author's Notes: Have some musical notes so you don't feel too sad. IT GETS HAPPIER I PROMISE. ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫
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I hope it gets happier. Alfred...Arthur... T_T
The music notes did help...♥
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I just... I don't even know. I like the way you write, author!anon. Your... metaphors. Yes. Nice.
*too sad to think*
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Also yeah, this piece isn't exactly a feel good story so far. I'm tempted to just post a handful of parts tomorrow to get past the BAAAW part and onto lighter stuff.
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Also sorry for the lack of update these past two days, haven't been able to access a computer for more than a few minutes. If I can I'll update tonight or at least by tomorrow.
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Alfred moved a hand to rest it against Arthur's cheek, but only managed to graze the older man's collar before his hand fell back to the wet earth with a thud. England thought he felt his son laugh as well by how his chest heaved- and how the blood flowed through his fingers- but the only noise he could make out was something akin to a carriage making its way down a gravel road.
"You're avoiding-" Alfred's body spasmed violently for a moment before stilling slightly. "that favor." his words came out with a grating tone, and Arthur realized where the rickety noise had been coming from.
Except it wasn't so much that Arthur had only just now grasped the idea of liquid filling his son's lungs with every struggling breath. As a seasoned fighter he knew these injuries could happen to any man, woman or child. He just didn't want to accept that it could happen to his son.
"I'll do it! I'll do any favor you want and more- just don't leave me!" sobs wracked Arthur's own chest as he leaned over his son, still trying to keep even pressure on the bullet wound. "You can't leave. You can't leave! Not me, not anyone!" the last words came out as horrific shrieks, like the noise ones soul must emit when their world is burning in front of their own eyes.
Burning by their own hand.
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Author's Notes: I apologize profusely for not only the delay in posting this part, but also for the shortness of it. Decided early this morning to rewrite a bit of what happens after this part of the story, but without much computer access right now I don't want to rush it. ):
Tonight I'm going to be sleeping at my Step-Sister's home to babysit my nephew, and she doesn't have a lick of internet connection over there. More updates will [hopefully] be posted tomorrow night.
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