[Hetalia] Revolutionary Lines :: Chapter 3
Title: Revolutionary Lines
Author: masanami
Character(s): US x UK // UK x US
Word Count: 4,976
Rating: R
Genre: Drama
Timeline: American Revolution
Warnings: Graphic, angst, dark, explicit
Summary: England becomes aware of changes in young America, making him begin to see the growing colony in a different light and leading to events that will forever change their relationship.
Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone that has been reading and leaving me awesome comments! I was a little late getting this part out, but hopefully part 4 should be up by this weekend. Lots of developments and some action coming up in the next part! Enjoy :)
It had started in Boston.
America remembered when he had first heard about the group that had gathered in Boston harbor, he remembered the feel of his thighs screaming in protest as he urged himself down the dirt path from the straw-like fields, toward the small town and then down to the edge of the coast where ships bobbed up and down with the coming tide. His lungs had burned, violent and rapid breathes through pursed lips, as he shoved his way pass the crowds of people, mumbling apologizes and excuses. When he had finally pulled through the thicket he saw them there, on the edge of the pier, brown crates the color of mud as they floated up and down in the murky cold water. He could faintly hear noises--the hushed chatter of the people surrounding him--though they were all muffled by the rush of realization that dawned on him, at the tea that lay scattered in the water after its weeks spent in travel, only to be unceremoniously tossed to the fishes. Faintly the smell of herbs reached his nostrils, followed closely by a spurge of outrage and maybe even a hint of fear. What had been done?
And in that moment he remembered holding a hand to his chest, clenching his fingers tightly around his clothing, his heart aching so terribly. He could physically feel the pain of those who had acted as well as the pain of those that disapproved, and with a gut-wrenching clarity, America could feel the divide of his people. He had never experienced anything like it before and it plundered him into despair.
After that day he remembered going home in anguish; wanting, longing, just hoping for a hand that would calm the tempest of his mixed emotions. There was only one person that came to his mind: England. He wanted him to be there more than anything else, longed for him to put his arms around his shoulders, and ease their shuddering. Even though he was growing he still felt so small in that moment...but England was not there, and America knew he had to quiet the discontent that raged through the people and his body.
But that day now seemed like a long time ago and since then America had found a way to keep himself and the colonists together, even if only through a fragile hold. And because of that he had grown not just physically but emotionally as well, he learned he didn't always need England and he could do things on his own.
Those were the thoughts and memories that permeated America's mind as he stood outside in the garden beside his house. The afternoon sun was warm and inviting, and amidst his troubling thoughts he ventured outside to refresh and replenish himself in the beautiful nature that was his land.
He didn't know why the memory of that day lingered in his mind on such a welcoming afternoon, but he thought it might have to do with England and the way he had so desperately needed him in that moment. It felt similar, though not quite the same, because the need then had been for comfort and soothing, but the need now felt more whole, real, and not so terribly selfish. As much as he longed and desired to seek some wavering grasp of their former relationship or to develop these new fledging feelings, America refused to reach for it and instead reminded himself that he had to endure. He had to make it through this pain and suffering, the absolute remorse, the nights of being unable to sleep, and crying himself into utter exhaustion. He knew if he could just get through this, get over it, then England would never be able to hurt him in this way again.
"Just a little bit longer," he said to himself. Whenever the doubt and the hurt flared back to life he chanted 'never again, never again' like a mantra in his head, willing himself to endure the suffering for just one more day, one more hour, one more minute, until it would finally pass.
America sighed softly. "I never thought it would hurt like this." Love, America had realized through his suffering, could be as painful as it was beautiful.
_________________________________________________
It was raining in London.
England sat near the window, curtains drawn aside, watching as the light rain pelted against the clear glass. He cradled a cup of tea in-between his palms, the glass warm against his skin, eyes pensively watching the brewing storm. The weather had been dreary and bitter for several days, and while England remained locked away inside his study for most of it, he couldn't help but feel that the thunderous echoes reflected how he felt inside. Though he wished he could deny it, he had not felt the same since returning to London; his emotions were unstable, turbulent, and scattered to the wind. Nothing had been the same since he had left America. He had become restless, some days unable to even do his work, so drawn within himself from just remembering the hurt in those eyes, those blue eyes that he had broken into a million facets of remorse and pain. He left behind that boy knowing full well that he didn't understand, that he was confused and that he would never be the same again. It broke England's heart so much that some nights he would awaken, soaked sheets clinging to his chest, America's name a whisper off his lips. His eyes would feverishly scan the room, checking the empty space beside him, only to realize that he was still alone.
He groaned inwardly, pushing aside the memories, not allowing himself to believe that he had let things get this far. He was England, commander of the British Empire, able to take down France, Spain, and all others that dared to cross his path. But with his power came consequences he had not expected; isolation from the rest of the world as they all looked upon him as a sour rival. How had he not realized how dependent he had become on America to fill that empty place where no others would trodden? America did not judge him, he never questioned him for his battles with the other nations, and it had been so long since England could remember an innocence such as that. The Old World was soaked with blood and covered in battle scars, a history which America had been spared in his isolation across the sea, and because of that he was special.
But that innocence was gone and he had to accept it. Impossible as it seemed, part of England hoped that it would always remain, but now he knew it was foolish to think so.
England set down his cup and his eyes glanced to the small cloth covered table before him, a series of letters spread out on the surface, all from prominent men in Parliament and all concerning America.
“That dolt,” he mumbled under his breath, his emerald eyes straying to the last of the letters that he had just finished reading. There was still a pile left unopen and unattended, but England already knew they would say the same thing: America had to be stopped.
It had begun with the Seven Years War in which England had laid claim to France’s territories in North America and Spain’s possessions in East and West Florida. He had given America the lands with the expressed order that the colonists were not to settle in the new lands, but it seemed as if America was ignoring him and reports were filing in that more settlers were spreading further and further west.
England sighed, rubbing his temples in slow circular motions. It had been weeks since he had left America and his mind could only reason that this had started in response to what he had told him. What other reason would there be for this sudden disregard of his explicit instructions? The whispers in Parliament were growing louder as threat of American defiance was roaring more obviously before them.
Rein him in.
That was what Parliament wanted. The threat lay in the fact that if the colonies dispersed themselves further west controlling them would become even more difficult with the growing insubordination. The colonies on the coast could be controlled with the Royal Navy, but as settlers moved further west there would be no way for England to enforce his hold over the people. Controlling the colonies was already difficult and England could not afford to let things get even more out of control. He had no doubt in his mind, if for some reason the control of North America fell into disintegration, that France or Spain would be there to pick off the colonies he had worked so hard to build one by one. And there was no way that England was going to let that wine bastard take away America from him.
But that was not the only concern that plagued England. After defending America from the latest war, he was pulled further into debt and the homeland’s people could not be taxed further than they already were. Knowing this, England knew that Parliament was looking to the Americas to pay for their own defense, something which England did not doubt that America would violently disagree to. America and his colonists already showed opposition from previous attempts and England was doubtful that their opinion on the matter had changed.
Hence, the worsening of his already piling problems. He couldn’t sleep, barely eat, with the way this was driving him mad. “That damn git,” he mumbled underneath his breath. He couldn’t let this insubordination continue, he had to pull the colonies together, whether they liked it or not. But the real issue lay with America. If America was tolerating the current situation in the same matter as him...well, could he really blame the young colony for being unable to hold the people together? Again, England found himself at the center of the problem and with no one else to blame, and all arrows pointing back to that night when he had made an awful mistake.
No matter what he did, it seemed like his emotion-based decision was going to be his ruin.
________________________________________
France rarely, if ever, ventured into America’s territory because if there was one thing England had always been cranky about-and oh there were so many things that got those two bushy brows furrowed-it was someone messing around with his beloved colony across the sea. But France always had an itch to start something, and while he usually didn’t provoke England through his much endeared colony, France did like to push the boundaries from time to time.
In comparison to the counterpart that had raised him, America was usually friendly, cheerful, and astonishingly nice to France. It wasn’t particularly unusual for him to drop by just to ruffle England’s feathers whenever he was in the area, so he knew America wouldn't surprised when he showed up at the young colony’s door, immaculately dressed and a bottle of wine tucked underneath one arm. However, when the door was opened and America stood in front of him, all he could notice were the swollen eyes black lined from a lack of sleep, the way his shoulders slumped forward in exhaustion, and the slight dullness in those baby blue iris. He looked, for a lack of better word, horrid.
"A-america..." France began as he collected himself. "You look horrible."
"Why thanks France," America asked, his sarcasm not lost despite appearances.
France flashed the young colony a beautiful smile and shouldered his way into the house. "I thought I would come visit my rival's favorite little pet." He reached over and planted a delicate kiss on America's cheek despite the look of reproach he got in return. "My, how you've grown, mon cher." It had been a while since his last visit and he could clearly see the height that America had gained and the way his lanky figure was filling out with definition. The adolescent America seemed to be waning in the distance these days and France would certainly be lying if he didn't notice how attractive the young man had become. He had always been adorable as a child, but this...well this was a different type of adorable.
"Come America, let's sit and have a drink." He held up the bottle of wine as if showing off a prized trophy. "I brought the wine and you can tell me what has been keeping you up all night." A sly smirk turned the corners of his lips. "And if you're not feeling better after we're done...well, then I will take it upon myself to lay you in bed until you are too tired to keep your eyes open." Ignoring the roll of eyes that his suggestion had received, France strode into the main living room and sat down on the plush couch. He popped the cork on the wine bottle just as America brought two glasses and sat down on the couch directly opposite.
“So what’s bothering you so terribly that you look like your about to fall to pieces, hm?” France asked, pouring out the wine into the two glasses and then slouching his glass between two manicured fingers. He would be lying if he said he hadn't come here without knowing something had been up in the North American continent, but he didn't expect it to be this bad. Being a rather big gossiper, France had heard of the tension in the air between the once very close colony and empire, so whenever France heard about the disturbance he had to go to the source to scrounge for details. But America, being the defiant little ass that he was, probably wasn’t going to budge on the details and knowing how it irked him, France had come prepared with wine to help ease his tongue. After England had stolen away most of his claims in the New World, France had every intention of using whatever information he coaxed out of America against England. And maybe, he thought as he once again looked over the young colony, he would push his luck in other areas...
"I'm fine, never been better." America said as he looked at the glass of wine but didn't touch it.
"Please, mon cher, just one look at you and I can tell something is bothering you." He raised a single eyebrow. "Does it have something to do with England?"
"No," America answered too quickly. He bit at his lower lip, finally reaching for the glass of wine and taking a hearty gulp.
France smiled as he twirled a lock of blonde hair between his fingers. "Really?" He asked, feigning disinterest. "I could have sworn something had happened...especially after everything I have been hearing in the Old World."
America's eyes blinked wide. "What did you hear?"
"Oh, just that England has been rather...strained lately." He answered vaguely.
"Oh..." America held the glass in his hands for a moment before finally setting it down on the table.
France sighed, leaned back, and took a slow sip from his glass. It was going to take heavier coaxing to get information out of this young man. Whatever had happened it must have been deep because France couldn’t remember a time when the young man wouldn’t let even a little tiny detail slip. Normally America had no problems boasting and forgetting when he should hold his tongue on certain matters. Indeed, America was certainly acting strange. “Mon cher, I'll ask bluntly: are you fighting with England? I've heard murmurs from here as well, that your people aren't quite as happy as they used to be. You know, if you ever decide to do something--oh, such as finally leave that crabby Brit--then I would welcome you with open arms.”
America looked up from where he sat across from France.
That did the trick, France thought, and a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He waited through the silence, knowing if it lasted long enough that surely America would break and would say something, and oh did he hope it was juicy.
“If I leave England, it wouldn't be to go with you.” The young colony finally said.
“Hm?”
“If I leave….I-I…” He looked down at his feet for a moment, biting his lower lip. “If I leave, I’ll do it on my own.” He whispered the last, the words barely reaching off his lips.
That statement was enough to cause France to shift his position though he gave away nothing with his expression. “Is that so?” It was just too good to be true. Was England precious colony really feeling the stirrings of rebellion against his parent country? He hadn't honestly heard about it going that far, to the point where even America would suggest dissolving bonds with England, despite all the clamoring of dissatisfaction that he had heard. He expected a fight, maybe a heated argument, but nothing like this.
What had happened between the two of them?
The young colony sighed, leaning back in his chair and brushed his hands through his blonde hair. “Not like I’d do anything that stupid anyway. England’s been good to me.” He said lightly, his tone picking up, but France could tell it was strained around the edges. The kid was trying to put up a show but France had been around for a long time, he could see a lie when he saw one. “Some people are upset right now, and there was all that rioting after the Stamp Act…but it’s not like we’d do anything crazy like that.”
He sipped at his glass of wine and watched America over the rim of his glass. “I suppose so…” he mumbled almost indiscernibly. “But…my dear, if you ever decide to change your mind then you will have my complete support.”
“I wouldn’t need it anyway. You know, my people are really tough. I bet a lot of people think we’re just a bunch of farmers, but we’ve got more strength than a lot of people out there!” His azure eyes seemed to light up when he spoke about the colonists, the pride he had in them was obvious.
France pushed further. “Yes, but I can bring European support. I’m not the only one that would like to see England taken down a few notches.”
America’s brow furrowed. “Don’t talk like that France, no one can take England down.”
So there was still something there. Was it a flash of protectiveness? After all France knew he shouldn’t be surprised, America considered himself the same as England, much unlike the other colonies that England controlled under his Empire-America was special and had always been that way. And perhaps America was right, no one could take England down at the height of his power, unless of course, it was someone very close and precious to him...
France smirked, waving a hand about haphazardly. “Don’t get upset, I’m merely making conversation.” The boy seemed to relax a little as the tension passed through him. “But you do realize you’re his weakness, don’t you?” France smiled when the boy looked up with him, blue eyes trying not to betray the interest that France easily read.
America crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. “You’re wrong. I’m just a colony to England. He’s already made that clear.”
Ah, so this was what had started the fight? France slowly stood up after setting down his glass of wine. He sauntered to America’s side, delicately sitting down on the plush couch. He leaned over toward America, already sitting so close that their thighs touched and smiled. “So England has been naughty with his toy, has he?” The colony scoffed and was about to get up when France held him down a gentle pressure on his shoulders. “Don’t get upset, mon cher.”
“I-I’m not upset. I just don’t like you sitting so close to me.”
“Why? You don’t like…being close to someone? Would you rather play a game?”
America shoved him away. “Like I would I want to play one of your ‘games’. Back off.”
France leaned back in the other direction and laughed. “Okay then, little colony.” He retrieved his glass from the table and sipped. “I find it hard to believe that England would stop loving that little boy he incessantly talked about.” France began, reminiscing about America’s childhood. “Or is that the case? Do you think that England has stopped loving you? You have grown so much recently.”
There was a longing in America’s eyes but he didn’t say anything. “Ah,” France mumbled more to himself than the boy. France was, after all, the country of love and there was no way he could not decipher the young’s colony's longing. The boy thought that he wasn’t loved anymore, and whatever England had done to make him feel this way was enough to spread fledging thoughts of leaving into the colony’s mind, but he was still attached. He was still attached by a thin string that maybe England might still love him after all, and while he might not even be realizing it, France saw that America was desperately grasping for it.
Curiously, France wondered if there were reciprocal feelings from England’s end. While never particularly enjoying the other nation’s company, France had known England longer than anyone else, and as much as he loathe to admit it, he knew how England was as a person. Whenever America had become his colony something had changed in him and it seemed, for the longest time, that the only person that had ever had that effect on him had been America. And while it seemed that maybe both England and America wanted an accepting type of love, perhaps it ran deeper than just the love between brothers. Maybe they were really in love.
France couldn’t imagine a better scenario. This was just too delicious for words. As this point he couldn't even be sure that America knew he was in love, but if he did, he was trying not to show it. England, France knew from experience, would venomly deny any feelings until his death, but America was different, he was vocal and outgoing in a way that France didn't think would be able to contain his feelings unless there was a good reason. Like, perhaps, trying to get over being in love.
He sighed, running a hand through the blonde curls of his hair and stared at the young man beside him. Indeed, this was going to be very interesting.
________________________________________
America was grateful when France finally left. Sometimes he understood why England's face always dropped and became darker whenever France was mentioned; it was hard enough keeping off his advances, but now he kept going on and on about how wonderful it was being on his own. As if America would ever...
He may be angry, upset, and hurt, but he wasn't stupid. England had raised him, given him so much, there was no way he could turn his back on that just because there was a disagreement between them about taxes and because of one night of...
America sighed as he headed back toward the house. After France had left he had so many things that needed to be done and was exhausted by the time he finished, wanting nothing more than a good meal and some sleep. “Oh man, I’m so tired!” He muttered to himself as he walked into the house. He stretched his arms over his head and was making a beeline for the kitchen when he noticed a stack of letters sitting on the table near the entranceway. He went over to the pile, absently thumbing through the various notices and invitations that had been left for him. But his fingers stopped suddenly when he saw one letter in particular; the handwriting immediately recognizable with its near perfect penmanship, the outer covering of the letter worn and dirtied from a long travel. Carelessly, America dropped the rest of the letters on the table when he saw England’s letter.
This was the first time he had heard from the elder nation since he had left. It had been weeks. Usually England would write him almost every day whenever he left but this had been the longest he had gone by without hearing a word.
His heart clenched, not quite sure whether he should be excited or filled with dread, so he just ripped open the envelope and his fingers scurried to open the letter tucked neatly inside. His eyes quickly scanned the document.
Dear America,
Due to recent events in the Empire, Parliament has declared an increase on taxation and other legislation in the American colonies. Your representative in Parliament has agreed to these measures and you can expect documentations to arrive in the post soon with more details. I am informing you early so that you can make preparations in case there is any opposition among your people. I trust that you will make sure that all of the legislation is completed as specified.
Sincerely,
England
America crumbled the letter between his fingers. “Is this…for real?” He breathed the last word through an angry heave.
Ever since France’s visit America had been trying hard to forget the things that he had mentioned. It was true, America was angry and hurt by England, but was this really necessary? Why was England taking it this far?
But regardless of the anger that welled inside of him, America couldn’t break through the wall of sadness that he had erected around his heart. He wanted to be indifferent and not care about the fact that England saw him as nothing more than a colony, but is was so hard. And England wasn’t making it any easier for him to deal with the confliction of emotions, the strangulation between anger and hurt, and the desperate desire to just forget about him and the way he felt.
America ventured into the study knowing he needed to do something about this. The unrest of the people felt like aches and pains that lay scattered all over his body. It physically hurt and England was only going to make matters worse by acting like this. Was he trying to make him suffer? The house was empty and painfully quiet, so he made sure to light several candles to chase away the approaching darkness that always made him feel unsteady. Sitting at the single desk that dominated the room that he rarely used-preferring to spend his time outdoors rather than stuffed inside an office-he pulled out a piece of paper and quill.
“How am I going to write this?” He picked up the quill and started to write, but within moments he crumbled up the paper and tossed it over his shoulder where it landed silently on the floor. “I don’t want to do this,” he mumbled, leaning his head into his arms as he slumped over the desk. He sighed deeply, his shoulders shudder with the motion. It was just so hard, he didn't even know if he pin down his feelings on paper.
He forced himself to pick up the quill and start writing. He had to do this right. It wasn’t just about him, it was about his people and calming over those that wanted to take a more drastic approach to England's demands. He had to think about everyone and push away the feelings that arose whenever he thought about the person he was writing this letter to.
In the back of his mind he couldn’t help recalling France’s word.
If you leave England…you will have my complete support.
With France’s naval power, finances, and support it could literally decide the difference between a win and a loss. The hatred that ran deep between England and France was not something unknown to himself, which meant that siding with France-well, it would have irrevocable consequences.
But if France came then it was likely other countries would come to him as well. They might support him, in an off handed attempt to crush the British Empire. But could he really do that to England? To the person who had given him so much?
“Why am I thinking like this? It’s not like I would ever so anything so crazy.” He brushed away the thoughts. It was nonsense. He could never do that, never in a million years could he betray England.
You’re just a colony.
America’s blue eyes lowered, their depths a darkened blue abyss at the lingering thoughts. Even though time had passed those echoed words still vibrated in his heart. Though he didn’t want to admit it, the fact that he was even entertaining those words that France spoke were interlaced with what England had told him.
Dear England,
Please allow me to address Parliament on behalf of my people. There is growing unrest about the increase in taxation and the other legislation that Parliament has been passing.
“And the fact that you’re just exploiting us for your own gains,” America mumbled.
I believe it’s only fair that we have representation. Please, allow me to come.
America
Sealing the letter, America set it aside to be sent out with the mail in the morning. He hoped that somehow his words would reach England and that they could put aside what happened. If he could just do that, get them something, it might smooth over things with the colonists. He knew that they trusted him and if he could represent them then everything would change, but if England wouldn't allow it then the tension would only worsen until the people hit a breaking point.
Two weeks later America received a reply to his letter in the form of British soldiers.
------
-The Seven Years War was a global war that included the French and Indian War in America. I decided to go with the "Seven Years War" since from England's perspective it seemed more appropriate. The British Empire gained territories in Florida, Canada, and areas further west of the Mississippi River from Spain and France after they were defeated. Due to the increase in power after being victorious in the Seven Years War, England became more isolated as other nations feared them as a threat.
-The Boston Tea Party was a protest from the colonists against the British government over taxation.
-The Stamp Act was a piece of tax legislation that the British government imposed on the colonists and led to violent protests.
-The British government wanted to tax the colonies for the cost of the French and Indian War as well as to pay for the costs of additional troops that had to be kept in the New World in order to keep the people under British control--especially after all the protesting from the Stamp Act. The colonists believed that the British government was exploiting them and did not agree to England's idea of "virtual representation" within Parliament.
-The Proclamation Line was established after the Seven Years War in which colonists were forbidden to settle further west. England feared that with the increase in insubordination among the colonists that they would be able to impose more control and direction from London if the colonies were sequestered in one area instead of being allowed to spread thin. England feared that disintregration would occur because of internal conflicts and that France would pick off the disbanded colonies. It was also believed that the coastal colonies could be controlled by the Royal Navy but the inner colonies could not. British troops were eventually sent to the colonies in order to better control them.
Author: masanami
Character(s): US x UK // UK x US
Word Count: 4,976
Rating: R
Genre: Drama
Timeline: American Revolution
Warnings: Graphic, angst, dark, explicit
Summary: England becomes aware of changes in young America, making him begin to see the growing colony in a different light and leading to events that will forever change their relationship.
Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone that has been reading and leaving me awesome comments! I was a little late getting this part out, but hopefully part 4 should be up by this weekend. Lots of developments and some action coming up in the next part! Enjoy :)
It had started in Boston.
America remembered when he had first heard about the group that had gathered in Boston harbor, he remembered the feel of his thighs screaming in protest as he urged himself down the dirt path from the straw-like fields, toward the small town and then down to the edge of the coast where ships bobbed up and down with the coming tide. His lungs had burned, violent and rapid breathes through pursed lips, as he shoved his way pass the crowds of people, mumbling apologizes and excuses. When he had finally pulled through the thicket he saw them there, on the edge of the pier, brown crates the color of mud as they floated up and down in the murky cold water. He could faintly hear noises--the hushed chatter of the people surrounding him--though they were all muffled by the rush of realization that dawned on him, at the tea that lay scattered in the water after its weeks spent in travel, only to be unceremoniously tossed to the fishes. Faintly the smell of herbs reached his nostrils, followed closely by a spurge of outrage and maybe even a hint of fear. What had been done?
And in that moment he remembered holding a hand to his chest, clenching his fingers tightly around his clothing, his heart aching so terribly. He could physically feel the pain of those who had acted as well as the pain of those that disapproved, and with a gut-wrenching clarity, America could feel the divide of his people. He had never experienced anything like it before and it plundered him into despair.
After that day he remembered going home in anguish; wanting, longing, just hoping for a hand that would calm the tempest of his mixed emotions. There was only one person that came to his mind: England. He wanted him to be there more than anything else, longed for him to put his arms around his shoulders, and ease their shuddering. Even though he was growing he still felt so small in that moment...but England was not there, and America knew he had to quiet the discontent that raged through the people and his body.
But that day now seemed like a long time ago and since then America had found a way to keep himself and the colonists together, even if only through a fragile hold. And because of that he had grown not just physically but emotionally as well, he learned he didn't always need England and he could do things on his own.
Those were the thoughts and memories that permeated America's mind as he stood outside in the garden beside his house. The afternoon sun was warm and inviting, and amidst his troubling thoughts he ventured outside to refresh and replenish himself in the beautiful nature that was his land.
He didn't know why the memory of that day lingered in his mind on such a welcoming afternoon, but he thought it might have to do with England and the way he had so desperately needed him in that moment. It felt similar, though not quite the same, because the need then had been for comfort and soothing, but the need now felt more whole, real, and not so terribly selfish. As much as he longed and desired to seek some wavering grasp of their former relationship or to develop these new fledging feelings, America refused to reach for it and instead reminded himself that he had to endure. He had to make it through this pain and suffering, the absolute remorse, the nights of being unable to sleep, and crying himself into utter exhaustion. He knew if he could just get through this, get over it, then England would never be able to hurt him in this way again.
"Just a little bit longer," he said to himself. Whenever the doubt and the hurt flared back to life he chanted 'never again, never again' like a mantra in his head, willing himself to endure the suffering for just one more day, one more hour, one more minute, until it would finally pass.
America sighed softly. "I never thought it would hurt like this." Love, America had realized through his suffering, could be as painful as it was beautiful.
_________________________________________________
It was raining in London.
England sat near the window, curtains drawn aside, watching as the light rain pelted against the clear glass. He cradled a cup of tea in-between his palms, the glass warm against his skin, eyes pensively watching the brewing storm. The weather had been dreary and bitter for several days, and while England remained locked away inside his study for most of it, he couldn't help but feel that the thunderous echoes reflected how he felt inside. Though he wished he could deny it, he had not felt the same since returning to London; his emotions were unstable, turbulent, and scattered to the wind. Nothing had been the same since he had left America. He had become restless, some days unable to even do his work, so drawn within himself from just remembering the hurt in those eyes, those blue eyes that he had broken into a million facets of remorse and pain. He left behind that boy knowing full well that he didn't understand, that he was confused and that he would never be the same again. It broke England's heart so much that some nights he would awaken, soaked sheets clinging to his chest, America's name a whisper off his lips. His eyes would feverishly scan the room, checking the empty space beside him, only to realize that he was still alone.
He groaned inwardly, pushing aside the memories, not allowing himself to believe that he had let things get this far. He was England, commander of the British Empire, able to take down France, Spain, and all others that dared to cross his path. But with his power came consequences he had not expected; isolation from the rest of the world as they all looked upon him as a sour rival. How had he not realized how dependent he had become on America to fill that empty place where no others would trodden? America did not judge him, he never questioned him for his battles with the other nations, and it had been so long since England could remember an innocence such as that. The Old World was soaked with blood and covered in battle scars, a history which America had been spared in his isolation across the sea, and because of that he was special.
But that innocence was gone and he had to accept it. Impossible as it seemed, part of England hoped that it would always remain, but now he knew it was foolish to think so.
England set down his cup and his eyes glanced to the small cloth covered table before him, a series of letters spread out on the surface, all from prominent men in Parliament and all concerning America.
“That dolt,” he mumbled under his breath, his emerald eyes straying to the last of the letters that he had just finished reading. There was still a pile left unopen and unattended, but England already knew they would say the same thing: America had to be stopped.
It had begun with the Seven Years War in which England had laid claim to France’s territories in North America and Spain’s possessions in East and West Florida. He had given America the lands with the expressed order that the colonists were not to settle in the new lands, but it seemed as if America was ignoring him and reports were filing in that more settlers were spreading further and further west.
England sighed, rubbing his temples in slow circular motions. It had been weeks since he had left America and his mind could only reason that this had started in response to what he had told him. What other reason would there be for this sudden disregard of his explicit instructions? The whispers in Parliament were growing louder as threat of American defiance was roaring more obviously before them.
Rein him in.
That was what Parliament wanted. The threat lay in the fact that if the colonies dispersed themselves further west controlling them would become even more difficult with the growing insubordination. The colonies on the coast could be controlled with the Royal Navy, but as settlers moved further west there would be no way for England to enforce his hold over the people. Controlling the colonies was already difficult and England could not afford to let things get even more out of control. He had no doubt in his mind, if for some reason the control of North America fell into disintegration, that France or Spain would be there to pick off the colonies he had worked so hard to build one by one. And there was no way that England was going to let that wine bastard take away America from him.
But that was not the only concern that plagued England. After defending America from the latest war, he was pulled further into debt and the homeland’s people could not be taxed further than they already were. Knowing this, England knew that Parliament was looking to the Americas to pay for their own defense, something which England did not doubt that America would violently disagree to. America and his colonists already showed opposition from previous attempts and England was doubtful that their opinion on the matter had changed.
Hence, the worsening of his already piling problems. He couldn’t sleep, barely eat, with the way this was driving him mad. “That damn git,” he mumbled underneath his breath. He couldn’t let this insubordination continue, he had to pull the colonies together, whether they liked it or not. But the real issue lay with America. If America was tolerating the current situation in the same matter as him...well, could he really blame the young colony for being unable to hold the people together? Again, England found himself at the center of the problem and with no one else to blame, and all arrows pointing back to that night when he had made an awful mistake.
No matter what he did, it seemed like his emotion-based decision was going to be his ruin.
________________________________________
France rarely, if ever, ventured into America’s territory because if there was one thing England had always been cranky about-and oh there were so many things that got those two bushy brows furrowed-it was someone messing around with his beloved colony across the sea. But France always had an itch to start something, and while he usually didn’t provoke England through his much endeared colony, France did like to push the boundaries from time to time.
In comparison to the counterpart that had raised him, America was usually friendly, cheerful, and astonishingly nice to France. It wasn’t particularly unusual for him to drop by just to ruffle England’s feathers whenever he was in the area, so he knew America wouldn't surprised when he showed up at the young colony’s door, immaculately dressed and a bottle of wine tucked underneath one arm. However, when the door was opened and America stood in front of him, all he could notice were the swollen eyes black lined from a lack of sleep, the way his shoulders slumped forward in exhaustion, and the slight dullness in those baby blue iris. He looked, for a lack of better word, horrid.
"A-america..." France began as he collected himself. "You look horrible."
"Why thanks France," America asked, his sarcasm not lost despite appearances.
France flashed the young colony a beautiful smile and shouldered his way into the house. "I thought I would come visit my rival's favorite little pet." He reached over and planted a delicate kiss on America's cheek despite the look of reproach he got in return. "My, how you've grown, mon cher." It had been a while since his last visit and he could clearly see the height that America had gained and the way his lanky figure was filling out with definition. The adolescent America seemed to be waning in the distance these days and France would certainly be lying if he didn't notice how attractive the young man had become. He had always been adorable as a child, but this...well this was a different type of adorable.
"Come America, let's sit and have a drink." He held up the bottle of wine as if showing off a prized trophy. "I brought the wine and you can tell me what has been keeping you up all night." A sly smirk turned the corners of his lips. "And if you're not feeling better after we're done...well, then I will take it upon myself to lay you in bed until you are too tired to keep your eyes open." Ignoring the roll of eyes that his suggestion had received, France strode into the main living room and sat down on the plush couch. He popped the cork on the wine bottle just as America brought two glasses and sat down on the couch directly opposite.
“So what’s bothering you so terribly that you look like your about to fall to pieces, hm?” France asked, pouring out the wine into the two glasses and then slouching his glass between two manicured fingers. He would be lying if he said he hadn't come here without knowing something had been up in the North American continent, but he didn't expect it to be this bad. Being a rather big gossiper, France had heard of the tension in the air between the once very close colony and empire, so whenever France heard about the disturbance he had to go to the source to scrounge for details. But America, being the defiant little ass that he was, probably wasn’t going to budge on the details and knowing how it irked him, France had come prepared with wine to help ease his tongue. After England had stolen away most of his claims in the New World, France had every intention of using whatever information he coaxed out of America against England. And maybe, he thought as he once again looked over the young colony, he would push his luck in other areas...
"I'm fine, never been better." America said as he looked at the glass of wine but didn't touch it.
"Please, mon cher, just one look at you and I can tell something is bothering you." He raised a single eyebrow. "Does it have something to do with England?"
"No," America answered too quickly. He bit at his lower lip, finally reaching for the glass of wine and taking a hearty gulp.
France smiled as he twirled a lock of blonde hair between his fingers. "Really?" He asked, feigning disinterest. "I could have sworn something had happened...especially after everything I have been hearing in the Old World."
America's eyes blinked wide. "What did you hear?"
"Oh, just that England has been rather...strained lately." He answered vaguely.
"Oh..." America held the glass in his hands for a moment before finally setting it down on the table.
France sighed, leaned back, and took a slow sip from his glass. It was going to take heavier coaxing to get information out of this young man. Whatever had happened it must have been deep because France couldn’t remember a time when the young man wouldn’t let even a little tiny detail slip. Normally America had no problems boasting and forgetting when he should hold his tongue on certain matters. Indeed, America was certainly acting strange. “Mon cher, I'll ask bluntly: are you fighting with England? I've heard murmurs from here as well, that your people aren't quite as happy as they used to be. You know, if you ever decide to do something--oh, such as finally leave that crabby Brit--then I would welcome you with open arms.”
America looked up from where he sat across from France.
That did the trick, France thought, and a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He waited through the silence, knowing if it lasted long enough that surely America would break and would say something, and oh did he hope it was juicy.
“If I leave England, it wouldn't be to go with you.” The young colony finally said.
“Hm?”
“If I leave….I-I…” He looked down at his feet for a moment, biting his lower lip. “If I leave, I’ll do it on my own.” He whispered the last, the words barely reaching off his lips.
That statement was enough to cause France to shift his position though he gave away nothing with his expression. “Is that so?” It was just too good to be true. Was England precious colony really feeling the stirrings of rebellion against his parent country? He hadn't honestly heard about it going that far, to the point where even America would suggest dissolving bonds with England, despite all the clamoring of dissatisfaction that he had heard. He expected a fight, maybe a heated argument, but nothing like this.
What had happened between the two of them?
The young colony sighed, leaning back in his chair and brushed his hands through his blonde hair. “Not like I’d do anything that stupid anyway. England’s been good to me.” He said lightly, his tone picking up, but France could tell it was strained around the edges. The kid was trying to put up a show but France had been around for a long time, he could see a lie when he saw one. “Some people are upset right now, and there was all that rioting after the Stamp Act…but it’s not like we’d do anything crazy like that.”
He sipped at his glass of wine and watched America over the rim of his glass. “I suppose so…” he mumbled almost indiscernibly. “But…my dear, if you ever decide to change your mind then you will have my complete support.”
“I wouldn’t need it anyway. You know, my people are really tough. I bet a lot of people think we’re just a bunch of farmers, but we’ve got more strength than a lot of people out there!” His azure eyes seemed to light up when he spoke about the colonists, the pride he had in them was obvious.
France pushed further. “Yes, but I can bring European support. I’m not the only one that would like to see England taken down a few notches.”
America’s brow furrowed. “Don’t talk like that France, no one can take England down.”
So there was still something there. Was it a flash of protectiveness? After all France knew he shouldn’t be surprised, America considered himself the same as England, much unlike the other colonies that England controlled under his Empire-America was special and had always been that way. And perhaps America was right, no one could take England down at the height of his power, unless of course, it was someone very close and precious to him...
France smirked, waving a hand about haphazardly. “Don’t get upset, I’m merely making conversation.” The boy seemed to relax a little as the tension passed through him. “But you do realize you’re his weakness, don’t you?” France smiled when the boy looked up with him, blue eyes trying not to betray the interest that France easily read.
America crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. “You’re wrong. I’m just a colony to England. He’s already made that clear.”
Ah, so this was what had started the fight? France slowly stood up after setting down his glass of wine. He sauntered to America’s side, delicately sitting down on the plush couch. He leaned over toward America, already sitting so close that their thighs touched and smiled. “So England has been naughty with his toy, has he?” The colony scoffed and was about to get up when France held him down a gentle pressure on his shoulders. “Don’t get upset, mon cher.”
“I-I’m not upset. I just don’t like you sitting so close to me.”
“Why? You don’t like…being close to someone? Would you rather play a game?”
America shoved him away. “Like I would I want to play one of your ‘games’. Back off.”
France leaned back in the other direction and laughed. “Okay then, little colony.” He retrieved his glass from the table and sipped. “I find it hard to believe that England would stop loving that little boy he incessantly talked about.” France began, reminiscing about America’s childhood. “Or is that the case? Do you think that England has stopped loving you? You have grown so much recently.”
There was a longing in America’s eyes but he didn’t say anything. “Ah,” France mumbled more to himself than the boy. France was, after all, the country of love and there was no way he could not decipher the young’s colony's longing. The boy thought that he wasn’t loved anymore, and whatever England had done to make him feel this way was enough to spread fledging thoughts of leaving into the colony’s mind, but he was still attached. He was still attached by a thin string that maybe England might still love him after all, and while he might not even be realizing it, France saw that America was desperately grasping for it.
Curiously, France wondered if there were reciprocal feelings from England’s end. While never particularly enjoying the other nation’s company, France had known England longer than anyone else, and as much as he loathe to admit it, he knew how England was as a person. Whenever America had become his colony something had changed in him and it seemed, for the longest time, that the only person that had ever had that effect on him had been America. And while it seemed that maybe both England and America wanted an accepting type of love, perhaps it ran deeper than just the love between brothers. Maybe they were really in love.
France couldn’t imagine a better scenario. This was just too delicious for words. As this point he couldn't even be sure that America knew he was in love, but if he did, he was trying not to show it. England, France knew from experience, would venomly deny any feelings until his death, but America was different, he was vocal and outgoing in a way that France didn't think would be able to contain his feelings unless there was a good reason. Like, perhaps, trying to get over being in love.
He sighed, running a hand through the blonde curls of his hair and stared at the young man beside him. Indeed, this was going to be very interesting.
________________________________________
America was grateful when France finally left. Sometimes he understood why England's face always dropped and became darker whenever France was mentioned; it was hard enough keeping off his advances, but now he kept going on and on about how wonderful it was being on his own. As if America would ever...
He may be angry, upset, and hurt, but he wasn't stupid. England had raised him, given him so much, there was no way he could turn his back on that just because there was a disagreement between them about taxes and because of one night of...
America sighed as he headed back toward the house. After France had left he had so many things that needed to be done and was exhausted by the time he finished, wanting nothing more than a good meal and some sleep. “Oh man, I’m so tired!” He muttered to himself as he walked into the house. He stretched his arms over his head and was making a beeline for the kitchen when he noticed a stack of letters sitting on the table near the entranceway. He went over to the pile, absently thumbing through the various notices and invitations that had been left for him. But his fingers stopped suddenly when he saw one letter in particular; the handwriting immediately recognizable with its near perfect penmanship, the outer covering of the letter worn and dirtied from a long travel. Carelessly, America dropped the rest of the letters on the table when he saw England’s letter.
This was the first time he had heard from the elder nation since he had left. It had been weeks. Usually England would write him almost every day whenever he left but this had been the longest he had gone by without hearing a word.
His heart clenched, not quite sure whether he should be excited or filled with dread, so he just ripped open the envelope and his fingers scurried to open the letter tucked neatly inside. His eyes quickly scanned the document.
Dear America,
Due to recent events in the Empire, Parliament has declared an increase on taxation and other legislation in the American colonies. Your representative in Parliament has agreed to these measures and you can expect documentations to arrive in the post soon with more details. I am informing you early so that you can make preparations in case there is any opposition among your people. I trust that you will make sure that all of the legislation is completed as specified.
Sincerely,
England
America crumbled the letter between his fingers. “Is this…for real?” He breathed the last word through an angry heave.
Ever since France’s visit America had been trying hard to forget the things that he had mentioned. It was true, America was angry and hurt by England, but was this really necessary? Why was England taking it this far?
But regardless of the anger that welled inside of him, America couldn’t break through the wall of sadness that he had erected around his heart. He wanted to be indifferent and not care about the fact that England saw him as nothing more than a colony, but is was so hard. And England wasn’t making it any easier for him to deal with the confliction of emotions, the strangulation between anger and hurt, and the desperate desire to just forget about him and the way he felt.
America ventured into the study knowing he needed to do something about this. The unrest of the people felt like aches and pains that lay scattered all over his body. It physically hurt and England was only going to make matters worse by acting like this. Was he trying to make him suffer? The house was empty and painfully quiet, so he made sure to light several candles to chase away the approaching darkness that always made him feel unsteady. Sitting at the single desk that dominated the room that he rarely used-preferring to spend his time outdoors rather than stuffed inside an office-he pulled out a piece of paper and quill.
“How am I going to write this?” He picked up the quill and started to write, but within moments he crumbled up the paper and tossed it over his shoulder where it landed silently on the floor. “I don’t want to do this,” he mumbled, leaning his head into his arms as he slumped over the desk. He sighed deeply, his shoulders shudder with the motion. It was just so hard, he didn't even know if he pin down his feelings on paper.
He forced himself to pick up the quill and start writing. He had to do this right. It wasn’t just about him, it was about his people and calming over those that wanted to take a more drastic approach to England's demands. He had to think about everyone and push away the feelings that arose whenever he thought about the person he was writing this letter to.
In the back of his mind he couldn’t help recalling France’s word.
If you leave England…you will have my complete support.
With France’s naval power, finances, and support it could literally decide the difference between a win and a loss. The hatred that ran deep between England and France was not something unknown to himself, which meant that siding with France-well, it would have irrevocable consequences.
But if France came then it was likely other countries would come to him as well. They might support him, in an off handed attempt to crush the British Empire. But could he really do that to England? To the person who had given him so much?
“Why am I thinking like this? It’s not like I would ever so anything so crazy.” He brushed away the thoughts. It was nonsense. He could never do that, never in a million years could he betray England.
You’re just a colony.
America’s blue eyes lowered, their depths a darkened blue abyss at the lingering thoughts. Even though time had passed those echoed words still vibrated in his heart. Though he didn’t want to admit it, the fact that he was even entertaining those words that France spoke were interlaced with what England had told him.
Dear England,
Please allow me to address Parliament on behalf of my people. There is growing unrest about the increase in taxation and the other legislation that Parliament has been passing.
“And the fact that you’re just exploiting us for your own gains,” America mumbled.
I believe it’s only fair that we have representation. Please, allow me to come.
America
Sealing the letter, America set it aside to be sent out with the mail in the morning. He hoped that somehow his words would reach England and that they could put aside what happened. If he could just do that, get them something, it might smooth over things with the colonists. He knew that they trusted him and if he could represent them then everything would change, but if England wouldn't allow it then the tension would only worsen until the people hit a breaking point.
Two weeks later America received a reply to his letter in the form of British soldiers.
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-The Seven Years War was a global war that included the French and Indian War in America. I decided to go with the "Seven Years War" since from England's perspective it seemed more appropriate. The British Empire gained territories in Florida, Canada, and areas further west of the Mississippi River from Spain and France after they were defeated. Due to the increase in power after being victorious in the Seven Years War, England became more isolated as other nations feared them as a threat.
-The Boston Tea Party was a protest from the colonists against the British government over taxation.
-The Stamp Act was a piece of tax legislation that the British government imposed on the colonists and led to violent protests.
-The British government wanted to tax the colonies for the cost of the French and Indian War as well as to pay for the costs of additional troops that had to be kept in the New World in order to keep the people under British control--especially after all the protesting from the Stamp Act. The colonists believed that the British government was exploiting them and did not agree to England's idea of "virtual representation" within Parliament.
-The Proclamation Line was established after the Seven Years War in which colonists were forbidden to settle further west. England feared that with the increase in insubordination among the colonists that they would be able to impose more control and direction from London if the colonies were sequestered in one area instead of being allowed to spread thin. England feared that disintregration would occur because of internal conflicts and that France would pick off the disbanded colonies. It was also believed that the coastal colonies could be controlled by the Royal Navy but the inner colonies could not. British troops were eventually sent to the colonies in order to better control them.