Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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”There was somethin’ in that guys eyes,” Bill had remarked. “He knew what was goin’ on, and how to snap you outta it.”
‘Outta’ what, Alfred was still in the dark about…
“Look like a soldier,” Vincent’s voice remarked, drawing Alfred out of his musings. A small secretive smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Oh how true that statement was…
The other man, however, continued to scowl. “As if a cry-baby orphan like you could be a soldier.”
“Vincent,” Bill hissed, but Alfred laughed. In fact, he laughed so hard that the men gave him a confused look. But Alfred could not stop, especially when he imagined how they would react if they did indeed find out he was a soldier, a high ranking one at that. “Al… You alright?”
“Ye-Yeah, heh, sorry.” The grin turned sheepish as he readjusted his hat. “Just, um, thought of somethin’ funny…”
“And why do I get the feelin’ it involved me, brat?” Vincent growled, Alfred smiling innocently in response.
“… Pardon moi,” a French accented voice cut in, all three turning their heads. Francis was standing in front of them, an amused smiling on his face. Alfred saw Vincent and Bill exchange curious, and concerned, looks before they stared at the Frenchmen. “I apologize if I am interrupting anything. I need to speak with Alfred.”
“Ah, can’t it wait Francis?”
“I’m afraid not, mon frère,” The Nation’s tone made Alfred mind go into sudden alertness. Nodding simply, he rose to his feet, favoring his injured leg ever so slightly. He glanced at his two friends, well, one friend and one acquaintance.
“I’ll be back later.”
“Be careful…”
“Don’t let Trent shoot ya full of lead.”
“Vincent!”
With a small laugh, Alfred followed Francis out of the inn, limping ever so slightly. His stomach was knotting as he glanced at his friend’s uncharacteristic serious face. What was wrong? Something had to be wrong. But what? Alfred couldn’t imagine anything…
What if something had happened to Canada? Francis still had to be in contact with his brother… What if…
“You remember how to ride a horse properly, correct?” Came an almost amused question. Alfred snapped out of his thoughts, not realizing he had been staring at the brown horse is first ally held the reins too. Francis was smiling again, laughing he suspected, at Alfred’s face. “They don’t bite.”
“I know that!” He responded hotly, taking the reins from Francis. The man laughed again, saying something in his native tongue. “And of course I remember how to ride! Er… But where are we goin’ that we need to take a horse too? You just said we needed to talk…”
“Ah, that is a secret!” The Frenchmen winked, already sitting in the saddle. Alfred wasted no time climbing onto his own as well, pouting like a child.
“I hate secrets…”
“I know,” Francis grinned, “And I do hope you’ve managed to retain some of my lessons.”
His amusement was still present, a teasing smile on the others face. Maybe things weren’t as serious as Alfred first had thought. “Alright then, mon frère, follow me! And do try to keep up!”
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“Nah! This is just how you’re really suppose to ride!”
Something was muttered in French, along with the mention of Antonio (though Alfred didn’t get that last part. He would ask later). Alfred shot his friend a cocky grin. “So, where are we goin’?”
“I already told you, it is a surprise.” Came the equally cheeky response. “Patience, my dear Alfred, patience.”
Alfred really hated the ominous tone that accompanied those words. He really did not like that…
They continued to ride in silence, Alfred becoming more and more concerned by just how far out they were getting. Just where was Francis taking him? What was so important that they needed to go so far away from town?
Maybe it was more serious than he had originally thought…
They finally stopped, and Alfred did not want to think just how far out they had gone. He dismounted silently, watching his friend. Francis was stroking the horse’s mane, already on the ground, whispering something in French. The other blonde glanced towards Alfred, before walking off to the side. Alfred followed him almost immediately, a small scowl on his face.
“Francis, what the He-”
He was never able to finish his sentence.
A gunshot had cut him off.
Blue eyes went wide as he saw blood seep through the front of Francis’s shirt, trailing down the shocked Nation’s chin. Alfred rushed forward, catching Francis as he fell forward. The American felt his blood run cold. Francis’s blood staining his shirt, running down his arms as he held the older Nation.
His heart, he had been shot through the heart…
“Al-Alfred,” Francis’s choked voice caught his attention. Francis was a Nation. He was France! A gunshot wound wouldn’t… “Run, mon frère.”
He saw Bill’s face, fear gripping his heart.
“Wh-What?” He couldn’t just…
“I get a friend?” A snide voice sounded, and another gunshot sounded. Alfred was shoved out of the way, blue eyes wide as he saw blood seep through Francis’s shoulder. The younger blonde’s breathing became quick, his whole body trembling.
He saw Paul.
There was a man in front of them now, face hidden by his hat and a bandana. Trent? Francis had planted himself in front of Alfred now, his face pained.
Everything was beginning to grow hazy.
The masked man strode forward, pulling the hammer back on his pistol.
And Alfred felt frozen.
Distant sounds of a battlefield began to echo, but Alfred fought to stay aware this time. Francis needed him, he couldn’t-
“Alfred! Run!” He saw Molly, remembered her words to stay put.
Another gunshot, and this time, Francis fell back. A bullet hole between his eyes.
He saw Annie.
Cannon fire sounded in his mind.
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mon frère = my brother
Dios = God
Irish Slang:
Sprog = Kid
Rossie = Brat
Scuttered = Drunk
orz, again, I apologize for such a long wait. So this update is long! Like, uber long… Like, I got carried away… Hehe… Sorry bout that…
I still am very sorry, and I do not know how long it will be until the next update… As, you know… School is starting back up. And as much as I love writing this story… School work comes first.
I also apologize. I really do not have much experience writing Francis and Antonio, and only a little with Gilbert. I hope that I am portraying them well! And if I am not, please tell me? I love the Bad Friends, so I really want to learn how to portray their characters properly!
And for all of you who corrected the fail Spanish, thank you so much! I made sure to make the corrections, so that they will be right if I ever post this somewhere else. Thank you so much!
Alfred’s reasoning behind not accepting the Bad Friends help is simple. He’d willingly accept it most likely during a war. But as he got into this predicament himself, as a human so to speak, he really wants to prove that he can handle it himself. Of course, he’s finally caved on letting others help him… And we all know the Bad Friends probably won’t keep their promises!
And for all of you who thought Arthur was going to show up. Haha, had you fooled~ Though, a member of the UK has appeared. And man is Irish slang fun!
As always, thank you for your comments! They warm my heart and brighten my days /corny
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This was soo good anon!! Really excited for what happens next!
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France, nooooooooooooo! Paul you sonnovabitch. Mess with one member of the Bad Friends Trio and you're messing with the whole lot. Prepare to be conquered so hard. Conquistador!Spain, Badass (when is he not?)!Prussia and Napoleon Era!France. If America allows it. Stop being stubborn, dammit. D:
And also, school first. We don't want you to get failing marks. If we have to wait, so be it. This fic is worth waiting for a long time, anyway.
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And I know some punk did not just shoot France. A certain gang is about to become nothing but a bad memory very soon. But it is suspicious that Francis took him out so far...I hope Paul and Bill are okay. Molly and Vincent too. Is Alfred's nationhood about to be discovered?
Chess playing Prussia is always love. Spain=love. Bad Friends Trio FTW. ♥
Good luck with school authoranon! Study hard! As much as I love this fill, you should definitely focus on school.
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Recaptcha says: armful revolution. Oh, I have a feeling the next chapter will be kick ass!
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This man had harmed his friend. This man across from him could have killed his friend. The anger surged through him. More orders were shouted, more shouts.
Alfred could hear the rain falling as he fired again, breathing labored.
Again he fired, ignoring his orders, running forward. Before he even registered what he was doing, he had tackled the man to the ground.
More shouts of war, of death. He planted his pistol against the man’s temple.
Green eyes stared back at him. Alfred’s breathe hitching in his throat.
England! It was England. In the uniform of a British soldier, stained with mud and blood… Just like that day…
It was England, staring at him with cold, hateful eyes.
The rain began to fall, beating against him as he stared down at the older Nation. No words were said, Alfred’s finger still against the trigger.
It was like that day… That day so long ago…
“Pull it.” The British man responded, eyes narrowing into slits. “Go ahead.”
But Alfred’s throat had suddenly become dry. He couldn’t speak. It was like something had been shoved into his mouth, gagging him. England continued to stare with pure hatred, before shifting. Alfred yelped out of pure response, suddenly pinned against the dirt, England straddling him. The other mans pistol was pressed beneath his jaw. There was no hesitance in England’s eyes, his face stoic.
“This is a battlefield, America! Do not give mercy to your enemies. Do not hesitate! I have taught you that.” The Brit snapped, pulling the hammer of the gun back. “Do you see? The situation has turned in my advantage!”
“En-England…” His voice sounded so heavy, his eyes widening in pure shock, before they slipped shut. The sounds grew louder, harsher. People were shouting his name. Over and over again…
“They’ll all die y’know,” another voice whispered. “All your friends. They’ll die because of you. Because you can’t do anything. They’ll die, just like Annie did.”
His eyes shot back open, looking up at a smirking England. Trent’s face flashed into mind, and Alfred reacted without thinking. A savage growl escaped him, Alfred freeing his hands, shoving England back over, pinning his former guardian to the ground. His fist rose, prepared to smash the bastard’s face in. Shocked green eyes staring up at him.
A hand suddenly gripped his wrist, a curt, accented voice cutting through the rain that pounded against him, through the cannon and musket fire, through his own thoughts. “Stand down soldier.”
And suddenly, the feeling of rain fall vanished. The sounds of guns firing was replaced by the peaceful silence of the West, and England…
England was replaced with a very nervous looking Antonio.
Alfred reeled back, blue eyes widening, the hand on his wrist releasing him. “An-Antonio!? Bu-But-”
Antonio just continued to smile sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head as he pulled the bandana down. The same bandana that man had worn… The one who he had thought to be the enemy, who had…
“Francis!” He whirled around, stumbling to his feet and barreling past someone else without a second thought. He reached where the French Nation still lay. His heart all but wedged in his throat, a shaky hand reaching out to rest on his friend’s uninjured shoulder. He felt nauseas, seeing all the blood that had pooled around his friend. Again, images of the others filled his mind. But he quickly shook his head, banishing those images, swallowing a lump in the process. “Fr-Francis? Are you…”
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“Ah, but it does sting.” Alfred jumped, toppling over in pure shock. It resulted in laughter from both Antonio, and a now sitting up Francis. The French Nation continued to smile, though it became sheepish under Alfred’s stare. His hand pressed against the head wound. “Je suis désolé. but we needed to test a theory.”
“A… Theory…?”
“You thought you were in a war, didn’t you?” Gilbert spoke up, Alfred glancing up at him. Eyebrows knitted together as he thought back to what had just occurred. It was already fuzzy, but yes, yes he remembered. It was like he was in a war. It was like… “A battle during your revolution?”
“Yeah…”
“You thought I was England.” It wasn’t a question. Antonio sat beside him, shooting an annoyed Francis a sheepish look. “I’m sorry…”
“You… You shot Francis…”
“We had to trigger you somehow.”
“It’s alright,” Francis responded with a small chuckle, pulling his hand away to stare at the blood that stained his fingers. He clucked his tongue slightly, before fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket, pressing it against the head wound, while Antonio sorted through a bag Gilbert had handed him. “I had, so to speak, offered. I’m closer to you then either Gilbert or Antonio. It would have more of an impact. Now, Alfred… What exactly did you see? You looked so stricken…”
Alfred looked at him, before at the other two Nations. Antonio was still smiling sheepishly, pulling bandages and other first aid supplies out of the bag, beginning to take care of the gunshot wounds for Francis. The other in turn continued to assure the Spaniard there was no true harm done, though if he had been a normal human, there would be room to argue that statement. Meanwhile Gilbert continued stared down at him, arms crossed over his chest, a strange glint in his eyes. “Well? What did you see?”
He cringed at the Prussian’s authoritative voice, trailing his finger through the dirt. “My friends… I saw my friends, instead of you Francis. Paul, Molly, all of them…”
“Is that what happened last time?”
“No… Last time… I donno, I just got so angry and…” Alfred frowned, scratching the back of his head as he thought. It had been somewhat similar to what had just occurred; at least he felt it was. Just like last time, when he had seen Molly shot, he had rushed in without thinking. Everything had become so distant. And then, slowly but surely, the sound of the battlefield surrounded him. But this time… Alfred’s arms rose, wrapping around himself subconsciously, a small terror working its way down his spine. What would have happened if he had fired? If it hadn’t been Antonio on the other end of the barrel? What if it had been one of his friends trying to stop him? Calm him down? He would’ve shot them, killed them. Blue eyes became wide as saucers, a nauseas feeling spreading through him. “Last time wa-wasn’t as vivid. Last time, last time I just heard everything. But this time I-I…”
He looked up at the others. All eyes were trained on him, Antonio pausing in wrapping Francis’s head. “Last time… I didn’t see England… No one talked to me last time.”
More panic began to set in, Alfred hugging himself tighter, breathing coming quick. “Wh-What’s wrong with me!? This never happened before! Wh-Wha-”
He didn’t finish. Gilbert had knelt down in an instance, his fist colliding with the younger Nation’s face. Alfred fell over as a result, staring at the red-eyed Nation. “What was that for!?”
“Feel less panicky?” The Prussian smirked, remaining in a squat position, tilting his hat back to look at Alfred. That serious glint was in his eyes still. Again, it unnerved Alfred. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“But-”
“Alfred, do not interrupt,” Francis cut in, wagging his finger playfully at him. “Gilbert has an explanation. So try and contain your questions until the very end.”
Almost pouting, Alfred did as told, rubbing his cheek. Gilbert had been right; the punch had knocked him straight out of his panic. But still, couldn’t he have found a better way to go about do it?
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Alfred scowled, opening his mouth to interject, but one look from Francis made him shut up.
“Colonies are different, America. They don’t have the same duties as a Nation. You should realize that now. Back when you were a colony, did you feel your men die on battle fields?” Alfred shook his head, looking at his hands, eyebrows knitted together. He had always felt some discomfort when things were happening with his lands back when he was small. But never to the extent he felt during the Revolutionary War, or the battles to follow. After he had begun his fight for his independence, he began to feel the pain of his people more strongly than before. It had been surprising to him, but Alfred had never really thought about it.
“You gained your status of a Nation through war. And the only conflicts you’ve had up until this Trent guy, like life-threatening conflicts, have been on the battle field. Correct?” Again, Gilbert paused, waiting until Alfred nodded. When he did, he barreled onward. “Right, so obviously, only real experience you have with life-threatening situations is through war. Right? Right.”
Alfred really wondered what the purpose of Gilbert asking his opinion was when he kept going, without even hesitating. And he still didn’t understand what the other was getting at.
“When I was still a Teutonic Knight, I would have something similar happen to me.” Red eyes were staring off, up at the sky. “One time Hungary and me were playing with some village kids. Things got really rough. Some older kids started beating the younger ones up, includin’ Hungary. I heard battle commands after one knocked her down, split her lip and made her lose a front tooth. I donno what happened, she tells me I just snapped, tackled the guys to the ground. I snapped out of it to one of the older knights hauling me off one of the boys. He was dead.”
“Gilbert…”
“I don’t regret it,” the Prussian snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “And don’t you go tellin’ that frying-pan wielding she-devil this. Cause I didn’t lose it just for her, some of those other village kids were my friends. And to them, me and her weren’t Nations… We were Gilbert and Elizaveta. Just how like, to these people out here. You’re Alfred, not America. But I won’t lie… Even my amazing self was a bit shaken up by the experience. To know that I could so easily lose control of myself… It was the one and only thing I ever feared. And the first time I took someone’s life off of the battle field.”
“We call it a Soldier-Mode,” the Prussian carried on, glancing at his two companions solemnly. “What happens during this even is that, essentially, you’re mind plays a trick on you. When you are threatened, as if you’re a normal human, military training kicks in. Your mind tricks you into believing that you are indeed on a battle. Sometimes it brings you back to a memory of a past war. Much like what you described happened to you. The longer you go without snapping out of it, the more vivid the illusion gets.”
Alfred felt his stomach churn uneasily.
“You know, mi hermano, sí?” Alfred nodded a bit confused by Antonio’s sudden remark. Last he had heard the two weren’t even on speaking terms… So then why was the Spaniard smiling, ever so slightly. “Then, I’m sure you’ve seen that scar on his cheek.”
“Yeah… Said he got it from a fight… I figured it was some battle.” Antonio just laughed, but it wasn’t his normal laugh. It was bitter, one that made Alfred shudder.
“Oh, if only that were true… No, Alfred, I was the one who gave him that scar. Back when we were both still very young, still fledgling countries. Up until that point, I had only ever needed to fight for my life on the battle-field, the same with João. But then one day, when we were having a rare moment of not bickering-”
“Which is really rare for those two.”
“Very,” Gilbert and Francis interjected, both snickering when Antonio shot them an annoyed look.
“W-We aren’t that bad!”
“Yes you are.”
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“And… And Portugal?”
“At the time, he was more worried how I was,” the Spaniard laughed, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose at times he can be a good big brother…”
“We call Antonio’s mode, his Conquistador-mode.” Gilbert interjected, running a hand through his hair, shooting the Nation in question a look. “You really did use to lose it.”
Antonio just smiled sheepishly.
“Gilbert and Antonio have far more experience with this Soldier-mode,” Francis remarked, Alfred glancing at the last member of the Trio. “The first time I encountered it was after...”
He trailed off, briefly shutting his eyes.
Gilbert picked up for him, his voice surprisingly soft. “After Jeanne’s death.”
“Jeanne..?”
“You might know her better as Joan of Arc.”
“Joan of…”
“One day, sit down a look up a woman by the name of Joan of Arc. It is an order I still regret fulfilling…” England’s words reentered his mind, Alfred recalling the ghostly encounter he had had long ago. He wanted to question more, but from the look of it…
“Francis, you don’t gotta tell me,” Alfred commented. But the Frenchman shook his head, opening his eyes. They looked damp…
“Non, I’m alright. I just had to remember the story.” He was forcing a smile, Alfred could tell. But he decided not to comment…
Jeanne… Joan… She had to have been important to Francis to affect him so much.
“After her death, I withdrew into myself really. But then, one day when I was walking I stumbled across a group of men attacking a young girl.” Alfred didn’t need to ask him to clarify ‘attack’. “… I saw her for a brief moment. And that was enough. I attacked those men, killed each one of them. And the girl…”
He trailed off, a frown forming at the memory. Gilbert snorted, earning him a glare. Alfred just blinked in confusion, Francis snapping something in German, while the Prussian snorted.
“The girl got scared and kicked him in the vital regions,” Antonio whispered, amusement in his voice. Alfred did his best to suppress the laughter that followed, storing it away for later.
However, when Gilbert burst out into peals laughter, well, it was contagious. And before Alfred knew it, he was laughing along with him, Antonio following. Francis shouted something, face flushed. But it did not take long for him to start laughing too, the four Nations lying on the dirt earth, their chests heaving. And Alfred felt a bit of the weight lift off his shoulders…
Until Gilbert brought his attention back to the meaning behind this event. Propping himself up on his shoulders as he stared at Alfred.
“You understand why we told you all this America?”
“Not… Not really…”
“All three of us have experienced this Jones. That’s why we told you this. We know what it’s like.” Gilbert sat back up, looking at America with narrowed eyes. “And so we can help you learn how to control it.”
“I can keep that from happening?”
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“Can’t have you goin’ crazy when you get into bad situations amongst your people,” Gilbert snorted, now standing, wiping his hands on his pants. “C’mon. Get your ass up. We’re gonna start lessons now.”
The rest of the day was spent training. And Alfred truly felt like it was the Revolutionary War all over again. By the time Gilbert decided to call it a day (and he only did so because Antonio and Francis forced him), Alfred felt asleep on his feet.
“Tch, your outta practice,” Gilbert remarked on the ride home, right after Francis reached out to steady the American as he swayed to one side sleepily. Alfred responded with an incoherent mumble, rubbing his eyes. He heard the others laugh, Antonio reaching out and ruffling his hair.
“You are still such a little kid.”
“’m not!” That only resulted in more laughter. As they approached town, Alfred was prepared to return to the inn, head straight to bed and pass out.
“’bout time you got back,” Bill remarked, glancing up from his chess match with Patrick. “Was starting… What the Hell happened to your friend?”
“… Fell off the horse.” Alfred lied quickly, Patrick snorting beneath his breath with Gilbert and Antonio. Francis meanwhile smiled, giving a simple nod.
“Ah yes, it was spooked by some of the wild life we encountered.”
“Sure you just didn’t fall on your arse?” Patrick chirped with a smirk far too much like England’s. But Alfred was far too exhausted to dwell on it.
“Go get some sleep Alfred, we’ll see you tomorrow.” Antonio gave him a playful shove in the direction of the stairs. Alfred just nodded sleepily, walking towards the stairs. He wasn’t halfway up though when he heard panicked shouts. He glanced back wearily, really not in the mood for whatever was happening downstairs…
But the moment he saw the scene before him, every ounce of exhaustion vanished.
Paul was standing in the entrance to the lobby. His shirt torn to shreds, blood running down his chest, jagged numbers carved into his chest.
4:00
“Sa-says tomorrow,” Paul choked out, swaying slightly. Bill had shot to his feet, steadying Paul, before catching the young man as he fell forward.
And Alfred felt his blood run cold.
Translations:
Je suis désolé = I’m sorry
mi hermano = My brother
Cerrado = Shut up
João = Portugal
Obviously, the lines “England” says to America are taken/altered from the drama track. God I loved that track.
And I can state quite clearly, I giggled at every comment I read from the last post, as I knew already that it wasn’t Trent or any of his goons that shot Francis. I’m very interested to see everyone’s reaction to the real culprit~
Also, explaining Solider-mode. Damn that was difficult… Especially cause I wanted each member of the Bad Friends Trio to give a story of sorts… Especially Antonio. Francis’s was a bit fail, but it did seem one of my favorite pairings (JeannexFrancis) worked its way into this story. Along with Portugal. I do hope he appears one day… But right, I’m not sure I explained Soldier-mode very well… So honestly, feel free to ask ANY questions, and I’ll try to explain it to the best of my abilities.
And as per usual… Not too pleased with parts of this chapter, especially the ending… But next segment should be quite enjoyable to write! Time skip occurring soon!
Did anon mention again how she cannot write the Bad Friends? -sweats- I’m very sorry…
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Everyone seems to like to keep me busy. XDDDDD
Anyway, I love your badass trio so much. I can't wait for more, and time skip~ <3 <3 <3
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Oh so fucking good, author!anon! Right now I can't give you a proper review seeing that my eyelids keeps dropping down and I'm studying for college entrance exams (and thus my brain is rendered mush) and I'm only commenting on this in between. Still, I was like O___O (this emoticon will serve as a replacement for a proper adjective to describe my feelings) when they shot France for experimentation (or was it demonstration I kinda forgot). So hardcore, Bad Friends Trio.
...Paul, what happened to you? That bastard Trent seems to be getting more brutal in his efforts to freak America out. Hah. I'll enjoy his ass being whooped by America. Better not mess with your own nation, you... insolent cowboy (argh what the hell is this i give up sorrt writer!anon).
Pffffffffft captcha you never cease to crack me up: toxicity England
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maybe soon someone will find out alfred's a nation?
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