Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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Well, the next he was lying in a bed, his eyelids refusing to open. His head throbbed; it felt as if he was in a fog. There were voices around him; he registered that after a moment. They were all speaking in soft whispers, they sounded so distant…
“Think he’ll be alright?” Paul. It was Paul speaking…
“The wounds pretty bad, but he should fine,” Ruben’s voice registered next. “You worked pretty fast at gettin’ the bullet out Mr… Er…”
“Gilbert’s fine,” came the Prussian accented voice, with a laugh. “I didn’t want to hang around and wait for you to show up, with Alfred losing all that blood. He’s just lucky I’ve had to treat wounds on the battlefield.”
“You’re a soldier?”
“’Course!” Gilbert laughed again. “Pretty high ranking officer in the Prussian Army as a matter of fact! I’m also just pretty damn awesome!”
There were two snorts at that, a familiar voice following. “Now, now mon ami, have we not talked about letting your ego show?”
“Oi, like your one to talk!” The other speaker laughed, it was so familiar. With an almost inaudible groan, Alfred finally forced his eyes open. The room hushed in an instant, and he was sure all eyes had turned to him. But everything was blurred, Alfred desperately trying to make out the blobs he knew was his friends. Trying desperately to spot the two familiar voices, he knew one belonged to Prussia but the other… It couldn’t be…
“Take it easy Al,” it was Bill’s voice, a hand resting on his shoulder when the American made an attempt to sit up. “You lost a lot of blood back there.”
“I did?” His voice sounded hoarse. Laughter was his answer, and he allowed himself to be pushed back down. Blinking blearily he glanced around again, before a sudden thought struck him. He forgot what he had just been told, sitting bolt upright despite the hands that were trying to keep him down. But Alfred had always been known for his strength, and despite his weakened state, he still managed to fight against them. His eyes were wide, darting around the room in a growing panic. “Molly! Is she-”
“I’m fine,” at the sound of her voice, he turned his head to the side. She was nearby, her blurred form moving closer. It was only then that he allowed the hands to push him down, the wide eyes still staring at Molly’s blurred form. The bed dipped when she sat down, her hand reaching out. He yelped out of surprise as she hit him over the head. “And next time I tell you to stay put, you stay put!”
He rubbed the spot where she hit, the worry still present. “You’re alright?”
“My arms a bit sore, but it’s nothing bad.” She stated quite firmly, brushing hair out of his eyes. “Next time listen, alright?”
He just nodded, looking down quietly.
“How are you feeling?” It was Ruben.
“I’m okay… Leg’s sore.”
“Not surprising,” Alfred’s eyes went wide as saucers at that familiar voice. His head spun around to his right; to the blurred form of one of the people who had tried to keep him down, the one who had spoken earlier. Without his glasses, he could barely make out the blurred form of the Nation, but there was no mistaking it. It was him…
“Francis!?”
“Oui,” came the amused reply. “Why do you look so shocked? In your letter, did you not say I should see this West for myself?”
Alfred just nodded dumbly, staring at the other. The Frenchman laughed again, and Alfred was sure he was smiling. “Well that is exactly what I am doing. Though, these two decided to tag along.”
“Oi! It sounded like fun, and I was bored.”
“He was worried,” Francis whispered to Alfred with an amused tone. The younger Nation jumped in surprised, not realizing how close Francis had gotten to him in such a short amount of time. But then again, it was Francis. “But you know Gilbert…”
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His stomach knotted uneasily at that notion. Glasses were expensive to replace… And that pair in particular…
The world suddenly cleared, Texas resting against the bridge of his nose. Startled, the American looked up at the person that now stood beside Francis. Automatically, he felt his chest tighten, words of thanks dying on his lips.
“Really, I don’t check in for a while and you go and nearly get yourself killed,” the Spanish accented voice teased, before Anto- Spain reached out, ruffling his hair. “What am I going to do with you amigo?”
“What are…?” Alfred began, but trailed off. His eyebrows knitted together further, unable to understand what Spain was doing here. He hated Alfred, didn’t he? After what happened years ago… What was he doing here? Acting concerned?
“These are yours, aren’t they?” The Spaniard tilted his head to one side in mock confusion, pointing at the frames on his face. “I gave them to you years ago, sí?”
And there was a small smile that formed across Spain’s face, a playful wink. Alfred understood the hidden meaning immediately. He stared at Spain for a moment, feeling the burning in his eyes. Quickly, he looked away, hands forming tight fists. “Hey! What’s wrong?”
“N-Nothin’!”
“Al, are you cryin’ again?” Paul teased, and Alfred felt his cheeks grow hot, spinning around to glare at his friend. Small tears were already sliding down his cheeks, despite how Alfred fought them down.
“I-I’m not!” At least, he wasn’t crying out of sadness, out of pain. He was crying from happiness.
Spain merely laughed at the small exchange, ruffling his blonde hair again and clucking his tongue. “Usted es tan joven...”
Alfred wiped his eyes stubbornly.
“Tan muy joven, pequeña América…”
The tears were growing hotter, Alfred trying desperately to get them to stop. Because he didn’t want to cry. Not in front of his friends, in front of the three Nations. He had grown so much, hadn’t he? He had stopped crying at everything, or at least gotten better about hiding it. He didn’t want to cry, not over something that was so good. Because Spain was worrying about him. Spain was smiling at him. Spain…
“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, and suddenly, he felt someone pull him into a tight embrace. It was Spain, stroking his hair as Alfred sobbed into his shoulder. “I-I’m so sorry!”
“We must do what’s best for our people, América,” Spain whispered in his ear, low enough so only he could hear. “It’s alright. Now please, don’t cry. This should be a happy reunion.”
“Bu-But…”
“No buts!” Spa- Antonio responded with a bright smile, wiping the large tears.
And Alfred cried more.
“Seriously Alfred…”
“N-No,” he choked out, hiding his eyes behind one arm. “I-I’m not up-upset…”
He was happy.
He was happy beyond belief.
Because, he realized as he looked tearfully at the three Nations that stood by his bed. The Nations who had aided him in gaining independence. Who would check in on him from time to time. The three Nation who were smiling at him. At Antonio who was still holding onto the tearful American, to Gilbert who was rolling his eyes saying something in his native tongue (Alfred only catching his name), to Francis who was just smiling.
And Alfred realized. He wasn’t alone.
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I promise to update with something better very soon! And blame my friend for the Bad Friends Trio appearance. Heh, I had asked her who to throw in, and her response was Gilbert. And as I was already planning Francis to appear~ Antonio just had to tag along.
Also, what he is saying here is “You are so young” and then “so very young, little America”. Now, I had to use an online translator, as I fail at Spanish. So if there is an error please feel free to correct it! I would love you immensely in fact, if you do!
I apologize if this was pure crap. Thank you all again for all the lovely comments! Really, they keep me motivated!
The next update will be better! I swear!
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Bad Friends Trio ftw! But now won't people start asking questions on who the Trio are and how they know Alfred?
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My Spanish is fail as well so I can't help you too much. There might be something wrong with the structure, but heaven knows that I have the worst awareness of structure for languages, even English. XD I did notice this, though:
Usted es tan joven I don't think Spain would used "usted" when referring to Al since Spain is his senior and they seem pretty well acquainted.
Tan muy joven, pequeña América It should be pequeño not pequeña. Though the name America is feminine, he's referring to the person America, who is male.
If I'm wrong, please someone correct me for being a dunce. I love you authoraonon and can't wait for your next update. :)
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I agree with the above anon about the Spanish, as far as I can tell it is technically correct, save that female adjective. With the "usted" thing, not only is Antonio older than Alfred, they are more than just well-acquainted. If Author!anon wished to show in another way that Alfred has been forgiven, Antonio speaking as a friend would do it.
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The only thing I might have done differently is use Tú instead of Usted. Usted is a more formal way of saying you, while tú is more friendly/familiar. Nothing wrong with using usted though.
And as someone else mentioned the pequeña being changed to pequeño, but it's hard to say since America the word is feminine while the character is masculine. ...I guess either one would work?
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And forgot to say it, I can't wait for the next update, I love this fic ♥
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I'm so happy that badass trio is there. I love them dearly.
And how Spain was so nice to America even after the war is so heartwarming.
<3 <3 <3
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I agree with the the previous two anons that the "Usted" in the first phrase should be changed into a "tu" seeing is he is calling America little, himself. Along with that, the phrase "so very young" has been literally translated, creating a repetition that doesn't work in Spanish. I think we should take out one of the repeated words.
Now, on the issue of using the masculine or feminine for America, I agree that Alfred is male an should be dressed as one, but the problem is that in this sentence, Antonio is saying "little America" as opposed to "little Alfred". So, it is my personal preference (based on the noun we're addressing and because feminine sounds correct when it's next to America), I would keep it as feminine.
So, for me it would be:
“Tu eres tan joven...”
“Tan joven, pequeña América…” OR "Muy joven, peqeña America" (First preferred because they both start with the same sound at the start of the sentence and repetition)
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And I can't wait for more, author!anon.
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It was when he realized this numbing fact, he was even more grateful for the unexpected arrival of the self-proclaimed Bad Friends Trio (seriously, where did that name come from?).
“Just shoot ‘im.” Was Gilbert’s straight to the point advice. Alfred just snorted at that response, lounging with the Prussian and Antonio in the lobby. He’d finally been allowed up, Ruben shocked at how healed Alfred’s wound already was. Alfred had shared a secretive glance with his fellow Nations after the doctor had expressed the surprise. Nations, while they could be injured just like any of their citizens, could also heal much faster.
“It’s not that simple Gilbert,” Alfred retorted, watching as the Prussian beat Antonio in another round of chess.
“Dios, why are you so good at this Gilbert?”
“Because I am awesome,” was the automatic response, one that both Alfred and Antonio mouthed. Gilbert noticed this, scowling at the two. “Haha, very funny. And don’t think you’ve avoided the subject. Why isn’t it that simple? You take the gun and fill him full of lead!”
“Because,” Alfred began, resting his chin in his palm. “Even if I shoot him, and win… He’s got like, a gang of friends!”
“So? You have friends too,” came Gilbert’s retort as he finished setting the pieces up. Antonio merely raised a hand, declining the invitation to play another round. The Prussian snorted at that, before looking at Alfred who shook his head. “Tch, you’re both cowards!”
“That’s just the problem,” Alfred stated, running his hands down his face. “My friends can get hurt, killed. I could never forgive myself if that happened…”
“Alfred…” Antonio began, a concerned look crossing his generally joyful face.
“Oi, you forget,” Gilbert began with a snort. “You have us around now. We’ll help you with this creep!”
Alfred shook his head at that, hands forming fists. Gilbert cocked an eyebrow at the action. Before the Prussian could continue though, Alfred spoke again, keeping his hands locked on his lap. “I appreciate that offer… But… This is my fight.”
“Alfr-”
“I have to deal with it!”
“I get tha-”
“An-And I know I’m in over my hea-” Gilbert’s hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth, an annoyed look overcoming the Prussian’s face.
“Fuck man, I know Kirkland taught you some of his stuffy manners! I’m trying to say something, so shut the Hell up and let me speak.” Alfred nodded mutely, the older Nation removing his hand and crossing his arms over his chest. “Right. As I was trying to say. We get it. This is your fight. That Bill guy says you’ve been telling everyone that from the beginning. But newsflash kid, friends don’t let friends go into fights alone!”
“And allies,” came a familiar French-accented voice. Alfred turned his head, watching as Francis joined them (where the man had been previously was a mystery, though they assumed the saloon). “Stand by one another, mon frère. However, if it is your wish to face this matter alone…”
“Which he won’t,” Antonio butted in, grinning from ear-to-ear. “You have good friends out here Alfred, they won’t stand by idly.”
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“If you wish, mon frère, I will not involve myself,” Francis began, taking a seat beside Alfred. “Until, that is, matters escalate. And then, well, then I can just not stand idly by while my friend is threatened.”
“I won’t like it, but if you really don’t want help, I’ll stand back too.” Antonio was frowning, worry creasing in his forehead. Gilbert just mumbled something in his own tongue, turning to face Francis.
“Oi, play me in chess.”
“And lose? No thank you,” came the amused tone. “However, I’m sure Monsieur Kirkland would not mind.”
Kirkland!? England was here!? Blue eyes widened, the young Nation jumping to his feet in a flash. It was rewarded with somewhat panicked shouts from the other three, and a sharp pain to shoot up his leg. While it was healing nicely, it still hurt. His knees buckled, Alfred losing his balance. With wide eyes he flailed his arms out, with a hope that he could regain some of his balance. Alas, that proved to be fruitless, Alfred squeezing his eyes shut as he began to fall forward.
And straight into someone’s arms. Still surprised, he cracked his eyes back open, looking up at his unexpected savior (not that a fall would have been too bad). Soon though, his eyes had become wide as saucers, his heart pounding into his chest as he met with familiar green eyes, and an equally familiar scowl. The red-headed guest from days earlier, rolled those familiar eyes as he pushed Alfred back into his chair, turning to face the other three Nations. “Shouldn’t the Sprog be resting?”
His accent was Irish, Alfred hadn’t noticed t that earlier. And the young Nation could not stop staring. Those eyes, so much like his… But it couldn’t be him, it just-
“Alfred, I would like you to meet Patrick Kirkland,” Francis supplied, Alfred turning to face him with still wide eyes. “He’s from Ireland.”
Alfred caught the emphasis, turning his wide eyes back to the scowling Irishman. No, not just any Irishman… To the Nation of Ireland himself. To England’s brother…
Well that explained why their eyes and scowl were so similar. Hell, Alfred saw the trademark Kirkland eyebrows beneath the man’s mop of red hair (though long bangs were attempting to hide them). Patrick was still scowling looking at the other three. “Oi, I asked you blokes a question.”
“He’s fine,” Gilbert responded waving his hand dismissively. “You up for a game of chess Patty.”
“Don’t call me that!” He shouted, freckled face flushing with anger. So much like his brothers…
“Wh-Why are you here Ire- Pat-… Mister Kirkland?”
“Patrick’s fine, Alfred,” Ireland responded taking a seat across from Gilbert as the two began their game. “And I’m here for a holiday. I’ve heard some interesting stories about you from the rossie.”
“You mean-”
“Artie, yeah,” came the blunt remark as the Irishman took Gilbert’s pawn. “He’s always rantin’ and ravin’ about you. Especially when he’s scuttered. Ho-boy, is it hilarious then!”
“I had mentioned my visit to Arthur,” Francis remarked lounging in his chair. “Patrick happened to over here and requested to accompany us. I do hope you don’t mind…”
“Ah… No, its fine…” A little more warning would have been nice, but then again, Alfred hadn’t even been told Francis and the others were coming. “How is…”
“Fine.” Came the curt response, Patrick’s eyes flicker at him. And for a moment there seemed to be a pained look in them, but Alfred couldn’t understand why…
“So Patty-”
“Oi! What did I say about callin’ me that kraut!?”
“-What d’you think Alfred here should do 'bout this whole ‘crazy-ass-Trent-guy’ situation?” Gilbert continued, without hesitating at the interruption. Alfred watched still with minor curiosity. So much of Patrick’s mannerisms reminded him of Arthur. But that again, maybe that was to be expected? They were brothers! Brothers shared similarities…
After all… He thought, gripping the fabric of his shirt, above his heart where the burn scar lingered. Canada had burnt down his government buildings as well…
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“Ah! Oh, uh, sorry,” smiling sheepishly he rubbed the back of his neck. A blank came to mind as he tried to recall what they had been talking about. When the blank continued to stretch, he smiled a nervous smile. “What was your question again..?”
Paul rolled his eyes in frustration. “How d’you know them? Those guys don’t live here.”
“Oh! Um, well my guardian knew them,” he began truthfully. Paul continued to stare at him with curiosity. After all, Alfred had never been one to talk about his family, just the mention of it more often than not would upset him. At least, in the past. True, as he continued to speak he shifted more and more awkwardly, his chest paining at the distant memories of happier times, of that rainy day, of that fire… “When I was little my Mother died… I had never met my Father. Arthur took me in, and I would see Francis from time to time, sometimes Antonio too. When Arthur and me got into a huge fight… Those three stood by me. If it wasn’t for them…”
If it wasn’t for the three of them, he would not be sitting besides Paul. He would not be free. He would be a colony, trapped in a bird cage for the remainder of his life.
“Why haven’t you mentioned ‘em before? Or your guardian..?”
“Never crossed my mind,” with a shrug, Alfred stretched his arms above his head. “Never in a billion years would I’d’ve thought all three would show up here together!”
“How’d they meet?” Alfred shrugged again, unsure of that himself. But he did have a distinct feeling that Grandpa Rome guy and Germania were involved. “They gonna help out with this whole thing?”
Alfred shook his head, earning an exasperated sigh. “God damn Al! Learn to accept some help! And don’t you ‘it’s my fight’ me! We all get it. But what you get through that thick skull of yers is that we’re all still backin’ you up! Whether you like it or not!”
Alfred opened his mouth, but the annoyed Paul cut him off. “Annie wouldn’t’ve wanted you fightin’ alone.”
Again, his chest pained, Alfred looking away from his friend. They said nothing, Paul leaving a few minutes later, mentioning something about an errand. Alfred wasn’t sure. He remained seated, staring blankly ahead of him. He knew his friends weren’t going to just let him fight alone. He’d been reminded of that by everyone.
He could imagine little Annie, she would be kicking and screaming, trying to help him herself. If she was still with them… If he had…
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“Whaddya mean?” Blue eyes glanced at the Irishman.
“You keep on insisting you’re fine on your own, that you can fight by yourself.” Patrick laughed, again, though a scowl had replaced the smirk. “When’re you going to see your aren’t alone?”
“I…” But his voice faltered. Green eyes met with blue, Alfred’s eyebrows knitting together in frustration. Clearing his throat, he began again, speaking softly. “I don’t want to see them hurt…”
“I think they feel the same way ‘bout you getting hurt.” Patrick pointed out, shaking hair out of his eyes. “What’s your other reason? It better be better then that load of crap.”
Startled, Alfred stared at the other Nation with wide eyes. Slowly though, he gazed down at his scuffed boots, frowning contemplatively. Silence sat between them as the younger of the two chewed his lower lip. He glanced up again, for a moment just staring at Patrick. He was waiting patiently, but again, Alfred was reminded so much of his brother. Of England. The way he was seated, arms crossed over his chest, a frown on his lips (but amusement in his eyes), it was the same way England had often stared at him when he was a young colony.
The stance had to run in the family, along with the oversized eyebrows.
The scowl deepened slightly, Patrick’s large eyebrow twitching from behind his hair. And for a moment, Alfred saw England sitting beside him.
“I want to prove that I’m strong. That I’m not a child, not a cry-baby. If I turn around and accept their help-”
“Shows that you are by far, stronger than any of them give you credit for.” Patrick cut in, rising to his feet. Alfred was about to respond, but the words died on his lips. A gentle hand rested on top of his head. Patrick’s hand, the Irishman smiling at him. So much like England. So much like his brother… “It takes great strength, America, to admit you need help.”
And before he could say another word, the red head had gone.
And Alfred could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks.
-
“So no word from Trent?”
“Nope.”
“That’s a bad thing, ain’t it?”
“Yup.”
“I’m really screwed, ain’t I?”
“Nah,” Bill laughed, patting the somewhat sulking blonde’s back. “For one thing, you aren’t alone. Whether you like that fact or not.”
“It takes great strength, America, to admit you need help.” Patrick’s words from days earlier echoed. Alfred was quiet for a moment, before just resting his cheek in his palm, staring sullenly at the men sitting with him.
“I don’t like it, but I don’t have much of a choice.”
“The cry-baby’s finally getting the idea,” Vincent snorted, leaning back in his chair. Bill just smiled a little, before continuing on like he had never been interrupted.
“You’re also a damn good shot, Al.”
“A scary shot,” Vincent piped in again, the four legs of his chair slamming back down. Molly shouted something at him, but he waved it off. “Back there, from what I saw, you looked goddamn possessed!”
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