[Hetalia] Revolutionary Lines :: Chapter 9
Title: Revolutionary Lines
Author: masanami
Character(s): England/America, Prussia, France, Spain, Canada, Romano
Word Count: 4,702
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: I'm so s-sorry for the delay! The next chapter will be out in December since I am taking a break for Nanowrimo. I tried really hard not to leave this chapter at a cliff-hanger so I hope you like it :)
“France sent you?”
America stood before the man, eyebrows slightly raised, arms folded across his midsection. He eyed the Prussian wearily.
Booted feet kicking up into the air and finding their way to the ground, Prussia sat up from his slumped position, tipping his hat toward the back of his head and exposing wisps of silver-white hair that just seeped from underneath the brim of the hat. “Got that right,” he said, that devious grin never leaving his lips, red eyes locked on him.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between his legs. “Sit down kid,” he said. “Because I didn’t travel all across the damn ocean for nothing.” At first America didn’t move, but when he saw that Prussia was really going to wait for him to sit down, he moved to the chair beside him and fell into it heavily. Finally, Prussia continued. “Now I’ll make this clear. I’m here for one reason and one reason only: to kick England’s ass. You don’t go ignoring ally’s interests like it was nothing and not expect to get it in return.”
America looked at him in confusion. “I don’t understand…what did England do?”
Prussia sighed and leaned back. “You really are clueless, aren’t you kid?” He shook his head, removing the hat that was perched on his head and shaking out his white hair. The red in his eyes only seemed stronger, more threatening and dangerous without the brim of the hat lessening their view. America felt a shiver run down his spine. “Since you seem to know zilch about what’s going on anywhere but what’s right under your nose allow me to fill you in. That England bastard, the one you’ve been crying over and holding hands with for most of your conscious life, decided to act like a stark ass and turn away all the friends he ever made during the Seven Years War.”
“Hey I’m not-“
“Shut up, kid, don’t interrupt me.” Snapped Prussia and his tone of voice was sharp enough to slice through the air and silence America. “Like I was saying, England decided to make an enemy of me the moment he got what he wanted and stop taking interest in what the awesome me wanted. That’s where he went wrong making an enemy of me.” A grin spread across his lips, filled with the promise of cunning revenge. “And when France approached me offering a way to kick ass…well I couldn’t ignore old ties.”
America’s lips grew taunt as he listened to Prussia.
“And here I am returning a favor and…” Prussia’s voice trailed off as he noticed the tension that filled the room, all of it very obviously located around America. A single eyebrow rose, and those lips twisted into a look half filled with anger and disbelief. “Don’t tell me…you damn well feel bad about this?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t play stupid with me, pipsqueak.” Prussia reached out a hand and grabbed him by the front of his clothes, yanking him forward until he was on his knees in front of him. Gritting his teeth, America tried to pull away but even his strength did little to budge the Prussian.
“Hey let me go, you bastard!” America snapped. “I don’t need your damn help.”
Roaring laughter filled the room. “That’s what I’m talking about.” Prussia yanked him closer until their faces were but mere inches apart. “I want to see that fire-that anger in your eyes anytime England is mentioned. War isn’t for a weak hearted pussy like Austria and those Italians. It’s a man’s game and if you act like a bedwetting kid on the battlefield then you’re going to die. Don’t go thinking you’re mightier than death, kid, because I have seen more in my life than you can imagine-death is a real fucker.”
Those red eyes locked on America’s own sky blue, and for a moment America saw the swirling of flames in their depth, the epitome of strength and darkness, of deeds that were better left forgotten instead of being etched into the back of one’s mind. For a moment, he forgot about everything, about the feelings that had flushed his body moments before, and was lost in that steely gaze that grabbed him like tentacles out of the night. It was terrifying, it was maddening, it was so surreal.
W-was this the look of absolute surrender and devotion to a single cause?
Prussia let go of him and America landed on the ground with thud. He scrambled to his feet just as the other man stood, gloved fingers straightening out of the fabric of his decorated coat, hand reaching to reclaim his hat and place it atop his head. “Come with me,” Prussia directed as he began to move toward the main hallway. America had to hurry to follow behind him, catching up just as Prussia put his hands on either side of the double-doors and pushed them open, bathing the room in afternoon light.
America blinked, shielding his eyes from the shine with one up-raised arm. Prussia was already moving to stand on the porch, hands on his hips, the grin back on those lips like a perpetual frivolous stare. Moving slowly, America stood beside him, following his gaze out into the world beyond them. Spreading out in a multitude of colors was the city of Philadelphia with its wooden buildings and the people that scurried from place to place, tension high, this new idea of freedom and independence resounding through them like a thump that America could feel thudding away in his chest.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Prussia wasn’t looking at him but he seemed to know when America nodded his head. “That’s good, kid. That’s real good.”
America turned his head to look at Prussia, watching the other man’s profile from the sharp curve of the jaw line to the wisps of white hair that splayed out about his ears. Though he could only make out the slight corner of his amber eyes, America sensed a deep insatiable thirst buried deep within them, a type of mad hunger that he could not pin down with words. Even though this person was a country like France and England-there was just something completely different in those eyes that was almost terrifying.
“Just remember that, remember that feeling…” Prussia turned to meet his gaze and that grin was gone, instead a seriousness clouding over his face like a sudden heavy downpour. “Because in the next few weeks, months, and hell, maybe years, you’re going to find it harder and harder to go on. And there are going to be times when you just want to give up, but you can’t. You can’t forget this feeling, because its something worth fighting for. Here.” He placed a hand on America’s chest, right over his heart and then swept his hand across to bath in the entirety of the city and beyond. “You’ve gotta fight for all of them, even when they feel like giving up too.”
America’s voice was soft. “England…”
“You’ve got to forget about him.” Prussia stated. “What you felt before, whatever lingering thoughts you’re holding on. You’ve got to let them go. If you can’t then you might as well go running back to him on your hands and knees, begging for forgiveness.” He snickered. “I’m sure he’d like that.”
“It’s not that.” America met Prussia’s gaze, eyes wild like a torrent of raging waves. “I’ve already made that decision.”
“Good,” Prussia said with a smirk. “Then that will already make things easier.”
“Easier?”
“Kid, I know you may think you know what real war is like but you have no idea.”
“I was in the French and Indian War. I was at Concord and Lexington. I know what I’m getting myself into.”
“You mean you were in a handholding war with England, a super power that totally dominated France and those Indians? I bet he wouldn’t even let you any where near the front lines, let alone take a few steps away from his hip.”
America looked flustered at his comment but could say nothing in return.
“If you think what you saw in Concord and Lexington was anything…well then you’ve got another thing coming. These people may have kept you back during those others fights, during the one you’ve been calling Bunker Hill and Saratoga, so that you won’t get hurt because you’re so damn important or some other bullshit reason, but me…” He pointed a finger toward his chest. “I want you right in the center of the battle. Because that’s where a nation needs to be, that’s where you need to be.”
Prussia was right and there was no doubt in America’s mind. He was a nation now, he was independent whether England wanted to acknowledge it or not. This war, it wasn’t about defeating England or revenge for America, it was about making England realize that he was no longer part of an empire that he didn’t want to belong to anymore. He could do this alone, he didn’t need him anymore.
“Can you handle that kid? Because if you can’t then I don’t have any reason for staying.”
America’s gaze hardened. “Prussia, I’m never going to let anyone push me down again. Never again. Not England, not France. No one.”
A grin spread across Prussia’s lips. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
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England’s grip tightened around the piece of parchment, seemingly unaware how his fingers rip and tore through the delicate fabric as he read the words inked across its surface. The stroke of the pen was large, long, and deliberately plain and clear across the rumpled piece of brown paper that still smelled of the New World, of America. But it was not the scent that had filled his body with a tingling sense of unease and rising anger despite how nostalgic and tempting it was to let his thoughts drift in that direction-but instead his attention was drawn to the rather large declaration spread so widely and openly across the surface.
Independence.
America and his bloody colonists were demanding-demanding that he acknowledge them as an independent country.
Finally, he could not take it anymore, and the paper snapped into two as he split it down the middle, the sickening rip of paper almost pleasant against the heavy breathes leaving in and out of his chest.
Did America really believe that it would be so simple? That he could win a few minor battles and suddenly be allowed to leave on his own? England was caught between anger and pity for the poor colony that obviously did not know the predicament that he was in-trying to demand something that was so obviously not going to happen-was a fool’s mistake on America’s part.
Wearily, England sat down at his desk, shoving aside the other papers that had collected around him when he heard a knock on the door. “What is it?” He called out irritably, his sour mood worsened.
With no immediate response, England was about to ignore the interruption, but then he heard the creak of the door opening and his green eyes shot up in time to meet the smiling gaze of blue. His lips turned into a scowl and his thick eyebrows furrowed together.
“What are you doing here you bastard?” England snapped, fingers already reaching for the weapon slung across the back of the chair where he sat.
France stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I come under neutral terms, mon cher. No need for weapons.” France raised his hands before him in mock defense, opening up the gold laced and frilled long jacket that he wore to show that he held no weapons in hiding.
England settled back, leaving the weapon where it remained while his gaze intently focused on the Frenchman. “What are you doing France? You’re not welcome here, even under neutral terms. Get the bloody hell out.”
France clicked his tongue, smirking. “Ah, such a naughty mouth is better used in other activities than offensive language.” He said as he moved closer, reaching out a hand to try and cup underneath England’s chin but England smacked him away before he even came close. “Testy as ever I see.”
“This is the last time I will ask before I get my pistol. Why are you here, frog?” England said, irritation dripping from his voice. He was in no mood to humor France and his reasons for coming here.
“Why, mon cher, I only came to tell you something about your precious little boy.”
England froze. “A-america?” His emerald eyes narrowed, trying to hide the slight hitch in his voice. “What do you know about America? Spit it out.” He barked, fingers curling into a fist.
The Frenchman sat down in the chair across from his desk, propping his feet upon the edge of the old wooden base and casually resting his manicured hands across his stomach. “My, my…hungry for information are we?”
“Do you want to die? I have every reason to cut you down for interfering in events between myself and my colony.”
“Mon cher, I believe that crumbled up paper-“
“If you finish that bloody sentence I will cut you down, damned be the consequences.”
France seemed to think twice before continuing, the obvious flames of anger swirling behind England’s gaze enough to silence him for a moment. “Oh very well…” He muttered with a frown, one finger reaching up to twirl a strand of silky blonde hair that had come loose from the tie at the nape of his neck. “It’s not as if I came here for any consequence of your own or America’s for that matter.” Blue eyes narrowed dangerously close, a sly grin spreading across those wine-loving lips. “I came about Canada.”
Slowly, England’s fingers unraveled from their clenched state and he sat down heavily on the other side of the desk. The pieces gently fell into place, like clicking chimes of a clock. “Canada?” England repeated as he leaned back and regarded the man before him, cautious and untrusting as ever. “I assume you want him back.”
For a fraction of a second, France’s eyes drifted away before coming back to focus onto the dying ambers of green. “Precisely. You give me Canada and I will make sure that you get your precious America back.”
“What makes you think I need your help to keep America under control? A little rebellion is nothing. Must I remind you that I am the British Empire or do I need to take your lush colonies in the West Indies as evidence?”
France’s back straightened at England’s comment, though the smirk never left his visage. “Ah, but force is so cruel, mon cher. Do you really think America will so easily return to his subservient state after this? With the way he has been prancing around with Prussia as a-“
England moved too fast for the Frenchman to react, his fingers snaking around the frilled tie and yanking him down against the wooden desk with a bone crushing thud that knocked the other man’s hat across the tabletop. Partially standing with one foot on the table, the other in the chair where he had been sitting moments before, England pinned down the other man, bringing his knee down to rest against his neck even as France struggled to get up. England’s words were slow and filled with a terrifying sense of incredulous calm. “You…brought Prussia into this?”
“Mon-“ England slammed his knee harder into France’s neck and the Frenchman groaned in pain, his body buckling under the pressure. “You know that damnable Prussia, the moment he heard about this he was interested in paying you back for forgetting about him after the Seven Years War!” The tension on the back of France’s neck eased just slightly and the Frenchman gulped in air frantically.
“Bloody untrustworthy Prussian.” England mumbled underneath his breath. “I assume you bloody well brought Spain into this as well, you git.” France’s silence was enough of an answer. “Just to force my hand to give you Canada back.”
He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more-the fact that France was trying to use America as leverage to get back Canada or the fact that he was leading America on, making him actually believe that he might have a chance of keeping this fledging notion of independence. America had fought him for the idea of independence, demanded it through this declaration, and now he was going to have to fight if he wanted it-because there was no way in bloody hell he was going to let his empire slip through his fingers so seamlessly.
And this business with Prussia…it had the potential to make things even more difficult. Prussia wasn’t the type to listen to anyone, even if France tried to pull back the reins. Prussia always did what he wanted and didn’t listen to anyone.
He released France from his grip and the Frenchman was on his feet at once, blonde hair a wavy mess about his face and blue eyes piercing in anger. He bellowed a string of curse words, but England just ignored him as he sat back down at the desk.
“You nearly-“
“Leave France.” England interrupted bluntly. “Now.”
For a moment, France merely stared at him from across the table, rubbing the back of his neck where England had pinned him down. “And Canada…?”
“Canada will remain where he belongs-right at my side. And America will be there again soon enough.”
France’s lips twisted into a snarl so unusual for the Frenchman that, for a brief moment, even England was taken back. “You will regret this England, I am sure of that.” He straightened his jacket, fierce eyes a stabbing blue. “After this you are going to have to acknowledge that America is independent whether you like it or not.”
“I highly doubt it.” England flicked a wrist. “Leave with your tail in-between your legs like the pathetic creature you are. Even if you came here under neutral intentions, do not think I will let you leave so easily next time-especially after all the trouble you have caused me.”
France found his hat and placed it on his head. He opened to his mouth to say more, but the hollow words never left his lips. Instead, he turned on his heels and strode out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
When he was finally gone only then could England think.
“America, you bloody dolt.” He mumbled underneath his breath, a heavy sigh heaving from between his lips as he glanced at the empty table before him. At the moment he wasn’t ready to acknowledge how utterly gripping it had felt when France had dared to use someone so-so precious to him as a bargaining chip, but it also surprised him how that feeling was bathed in such a seething rage. As much as he wanted to get America back, he also wanted to punish him. His behavior had been unacceptable and this ridiculous business about independence was ludicrous. There was no way he would be able to survive in the Old World without his aid and protection, otherwise he would surely be eaten alive by all those that wanted to claim the offers of the New World…
England’s eyes snapped up and the sound of his chair scrapping against the ground rattled against his temples as he reached for his coat.
It was time to leave, there was someone he needed to see.
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Canada frowned.
England wanted to see him and Canada wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was the first time since the fighting between America and England had begun that England had even acknowledged his existence-and something about the note that had come out of no where left him feeling queasy and uncertain. Since America’s visit and their argument, Canada didn’t know what to do with himself nor what he could do to mend the hurt that America had left him with. He was frustrated, angry, and alone. But then had come the call from England, completely unexpected and surprising, and Canada found himself traveling to see his charge without hesitation despite his concerns.
Maybe it was because of his anger toward America, or some other deeper and elusive feeling, but Canada knew he could not resist England’s call. He had asked for him to come, at once, and Canada knew he could not disappoint the person that had cared for him for so long.
But it was strange returning to America’s colonies. He could almost feel the change in the atmosphere, the heavy thrum that passed through the lands as he traveled the British controlled roadways to his destination. Even in the fall, with the spectacular canopy of red and brown leafs that drifted down from the branches, Canada couldn’t ignore the growing sense of unease he felt in the pit of his stomach. It was a grumbling sensation, like the licking and churning flames of a fire about to splutter out of control.
Did America feel like this? Was America really this angry?
It was peculiar, being here and knowing that America was off some place else and that all the people that saw him watched him with a scrutiny he could not ignore. For once he felt uncertain whether they were watching him because they thought he was his brother or because of the red coat he wore. Everywhere he looked eyes that fell on redcoats were sharp as knives, and it was clear how much so many of the colonists resented the British presence that was teeming across the lands. Their lands, Canada thought, because of the declaration that America’s people had signed and delivered to England-trying to force their provider’s hand to just let them go.
America was idiot. He had to know that England would never do such a thing.
When Canada finally arrived at the house, he drew his horse to a stop in front of the wooden fence and clumsily dismounted. He was nervous, as silly as it felt, because of this gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him something was just wrong. But he couldn’t turn back, and he had to keep stepping forward because for once in his life England had actually called on him and it had been so long since he could remember getting this type of attention, despite the fact that America was gone and he was the only one left to call upon.
Gulping he stepped up the stairs to the front of the house where his brother lived-where his brother used to live-because since the beginning of the fighting America had all but disappeared. There were rumors but no one knew his exact location, the rebels trying hard to conceal the precious person that strengthened their side. He knew England had been searching for him, scouring all the troops that had been captured and the fields of dead after battles, all in looking for the colony. But America had vanished, and even Canada didn’t know where to look for the brother that he hardly recognized or understood anymore. America had changed too much.
Canada put up a hand to knock on the door but it opened on its own, creaking hinges groaning with the slightest push. It was quiet as he stepped inside. “England? It’s me, Canada.” He called out into the silence but heard nothing in return.
“Hm…” He mumbled, worried but still pressing forward. The lights were out and the faint sunlight seeping in from the setting sun left soft caresses of light in the darkened hallways.
“Maybe I should go.” He didn’t like it here, in this house, and the memories it conjured up in his mind. Why would England even come here instead of the main camp? Was there some reason strong enough to bring him here? Surely, he didn’t think America would be…
The loud sound of breaking glass echoed through the hallway and Canada jumped back in surprise.
“W-what was that?” He said between trembling lips. He took several deep breathes, one hand resting over his racing heart. “Calm down Canada, you can do this.” There was more noise and this time Canada was certain it was coming from the kitchen.
Propelling himself forward before he had a chance to let fear grip him, Canada stepped toward the doorway leading to the kitchen. Maybe it was nothing, just the wind blowing over a glass that had been sitting close to the edge, or maybe England…
“England?” Canada called out tentatively as he stepped through the doorway.
Those twin emerald eyes looked up at him, bloodshot and heavy, when he stepped into the doorway. They widened as they focused on the person in front of him. “It’s you,” came the heavy and hoarse voice. His hat was low on his forehead and Canada could barely make out the expression that donned that visage, but something in the back of his mind made him clench the ends of his coat in trepidation. England he…he looked terrible. What had happened to him?
But Canada wasn’t stupid. Internally he wanted to deny it, but he knew exactly what had happened: America. Being here, in this place that England had visited so often was more than enough to drag England to this state; he could smell the stench off liquor even from a distance. The reek of the broken bottle, empty save a small dash of hard liquor, was telling enough.
“Are you okay?” He took a cautious step forward, violet eyes wide and careful. “Maybe you should lie down…” The moment he was within reach, England’s hands shot out and grabbed him by the shoulders. The nation slumped against him heavily and Canada nearly toppled over from the sudden weight that was launched at him.
“I never thought you would come back…” England mumbled, his arms wrapping around Canada’s thin shoulders. “You’d never leave me America…”
Canada felt his shoulders stiffen. “E-england…I…I’m not…” But he was silenced by the lips that clamped down against his own with a hurried need. Canada’s violet eyes widened and he tried to push away, but England had his fingers locked around the front of his shirt and drew him close, blocking any chance of escape.
But then Canada felt his balance weaken and they both tumbled to the ground, Canada landing with a hard thud against the solid wooden floor, a groan escaping from his lips at the shudder of pain that quaked through his body. England landed on top of him, heavy and pinning him down against the ground. The other man’s head lay against his chest and for a moment he didn’t even seem to move, not even breath, and Canada became panicked. But then England mumbled something almost indiscernible, and Canada was only able to pick out one single word.
America.
Canada lay his head down against the ground, painfully aware that he could not move nor would it be a good idea with England in his current state. The only thing that was racing through his mind was what could have happened between America and England, and how could things change so drastically in such a short time? And why had England forced himself on him like that, assuming as so many did that he was America?
And with those thoughts Canada couldn’t help but feel a deep surfacing of anger at America. Something he had done had caused England to act like this. America should have known how important he was to England-how he was the one person that could effect England on such a deep level. Why were they both so obviously blind to each other? Without a doubt Canada now knew they were both hurting, but even so Canada could only think to blame one of them.
“Oh America…why did you cause all this mess?” Canada mumbled with hitched breathes.
Author: masanami
Character(s): England/America, Prussia, France, Spain, Canada, Romano
Word Count: 4,702
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: I'm so s-sorry for the delay! The next chapter will be out in December since I am taking a break for Nanowrimo. I tried really hard not to leave this chapter at a cliff-hanger so I hope you like it :)
“France sent you?”
America stood before the man, eyebrows slightly raised, arms folded across his midsection. He eyed the Prussian wearily.
Booted feet kicking up into the air and finding their way to the ground, Prussia sat up from his slumped position, tipping his hat toward the back of his head and exposing wisps of silver-white hair that just seeped from underneath the brim of the hat. “Got that right,” he said, that devious grin never leaving his lips, red eyes locked on him.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between his legs. “Sit down kid,” he said. “Because I didn’t travel all across the damn ocean for nothing.” At first America didn’t move, but when he saw that Prussia was really going to wait for him to sit down, he moved to the chair beside him and fell into it heavily. Finally, Prussia continued. “Now I’ll make this clear. I’m here for one reason and one reason only: to kick England’s ass. You don’t go ignoring ally’s interests like it was nothing and not expect to get it in return.”
America looked at him in confusion. “I don’t understand…what did England do?”
Prussia sighed and leaned back. “You really are clueless, aren’t you kid?” He shook his head, removing the hat that was perched on his head and shaking out his white hair. The red in his eyes only seemed stronger, more threatening and dangerous without the brim of the hat lessening their view. America felt a shiver run down his spine. “Since you seem to know zilch about what’s going on anywhere but what’s right under your nose allow me to fill you in. That England bastard, the one you’ve been crying over and holding hands with for most of your conscious life, decided to act like a stark ass and turn away all the friends he ever made during the Seven Years War.”
“Hey I’m not-“
“Shut up, kid, don’t interrupt me.” Snapped Prussia and his tone of voice was sharp enough to slice through the air and silence America. “Like I was saying, England decided to make an enemy of me the moment he got what he wanted and stop taking interest in what the awesome me wanted. That’s where he went wrong making an enemy of me.” A grin spread across his lips, filled with the promise of cunning revenge. “And when France approached me offering a way to kick ass…well I couldn’t ignore old ties.”
America’s lips grew taunt as he listened to Prussia.
“And here I am returning a favor and…” Prussia’s voice trailed off as he noticed the tension that filled the room, all of it very obviously located around America. A single eyebrow rose, and those lips twisted into a look half filled with anger and disbelief. “Don’t tell me…you damn well feel bad about this?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t play stupid with me, pipsqueak.” Prussia reached out a hand and grabbed him by the front of his clothes, yanking him forward until he was on his knees in front of him. Gritting his teeth, America tried to pull away but even his strength did little to budge the Prussian.
“Hey let me go, you bastard!” America snapped. “I don’t need your damn help.”
Roaring laughter filled the room. “That’s what I’m talking about.” Prussia yanked him closer until their faces were but mere inches apart. “I want to see that fire-that anger in your eyes anytime England is mentioned. War isn’t for a weak hearted pussy like Austria and those Italians. It’s a man’s game and if you act like a bedwetting kid on the battlefield then you’re going to die. Don’t go thinking you’re mightier than death, kid, because I have seen more in my life than you can imagine-death is a real fucker.”
Those red eyes locked on America’s own sky blue, and for a moment America saw the swirling of flames in their depth, the epitome of strength and darkness, of deeds that were better left forgotten instead of being etched into the back of one’s mind. For a moment, he forgot about everything, about the feelings that had flushed his body moments before, and was lost in that steely gaze that grabbed him like tentacles out of the night. It was terrifying, it was maddening, it was so surreal.
W-was this the look of absolute surrender and devotion to a single cause?
Prussia let go of him and America landed on the ground with thud. He scrambled to his feet just as the other man stood, gloved fingers straightening out of the fabric of his decorated coat, hand reaching to reclaim his hat and place it atop his head. “Come with me,” Prussia directed as he began to move toward the main hallway. America had to hurry to follow behind him, catching up just as Prussia put his hands on either side of the double-doors and pushed them open, bathing the room in afternoon light.
America blinked, shielding his eyes from the shine with one up-raised arm. Prussia was already moving to stand on the porch, hands on his hips, the grin back on those lips like a perpetual frivolous stare. Moving slowly, America stood beside him, following his gaze out into the world beyond them. Spreading out in a multitude of colors was the city of Philadelphia with its wooden buildings and the people that scurried from place to place, tension high, this new idea of freedom and independence resounding through them like a thump that America could feel thudding away in his chest.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Prussia wasn’t looking at him but he seemed to know when America nodded his head. “That’s good, kid. That’s real good.”
America turned his head to look at Prussia, watching the other man’s profile from the sharp curve of the jaw line to the wisps of white hair that splayed out about his ears. Though he could only make out the slight corner of his amber eyes, America sensed a deep insatiable thirst buried deep within them, a type of mad hunger that he could not pin down with words. Even though this person was a country like France and England-there was just something completely different in those eyes that was almost terrifying.
“Just remember that, remember that feeling…” Prussia turned to meet his gaze and that grin was gone, instead a seriousness clouding over his face like a sudden heavy downpour. “Because in the next few weeks, months, and hell, maybe years, you’re going to find it harder and harder to go on. And there are going to be times when you just want to give up, but you can’t. You can’t forget this feeling, because its something worth fighting for. Here.” He placed a hand on America’s chest, right over his heart and then swept his hand across to bath in the entirety of the city and beyond. “You’ve gotta fight for all of them, even when they feel like giving up too.”
America’s voice was soft. “England…”
“You’ve got to forget about him.” Prussia stated. “What you felt before, whatever lingering thoughts you’re holding on. You’ve got to let them go. If you can’t then you might as well go running back to him on your hands and knees, begging for forgiveness.” He snickered. “I’m sure he’d like that.”
“It’s not that.” America met Prussia’s gaze, eyes wild like a torrent of raging waves. “I’ve already made that decision.”
“Good,” Prussia said with a smirk. “Then that will already make things easier.”
“Easier?”
“Kid, I know you may think you know what real war is like but you have no idea.”
“I was in the French and Indian War. I was at Concord and Lexington. I know what I’m getting myself into.”
“You mean you were in a handholding war with England, a super power that totally dominated France and those Indians? I bet he wouldn’t even let you any where near the front lines, let alone take a few steps away from his hip.”
America looked flustered at his comment but could say nothing in return.
“If you think what you saw in Concord and Lexington was anything…well then you’ve got another thing coming. These people may have kept you back during those others fights, during the one you’ve been calling Bunker Hill and Saratoga, so that you won’t get hurt because you’re so damn important or some other bullshit reason, but me…” He pointed a finger toward his chest. “I want you right in the center of the battle. Because that’s where a nation needs to be, that’s where you need to be.”
Prussia was right and there was no doubt in America’s mind. He was a nation now, he was independent whether England wanted to acknowledge it or not. This war, it wasn’t about defeating England or revenge for America, it was about making England realize that he was no longer part of an empire that he didn’t want to belong to anymore. He could do this alone, he didn’t need him anymore.
“Can you handle that kid? Because if you can’t then I don’t have any reason for staying.”
America’s gaze hardened. “Prussia, I’m never going to let anyone push me down again. Never again. Not England, not France. No one.”
A grin spread across Prussia’s lips. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
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England’s grip tightened around the piece of parchment, seemingly unaware how his fingers rip and tore through the delicate fabric as he read the words inked across its surface. The stroke of the pen was large, long, and deliberately plain and clear across the rumpled piece of brown paper that still smelled of the New World, of America. But it was not the scent that had filled his body with a tingling sense of unease and rising anger despite how nostalgic and tempting it was to let his thoughts drift in that direction-but instead his attention was drawn to the rather large declaration spread so widely and openly across the surface.
Independence.
America and his bloody colonists were demanding-demanding that he acknowledge them as an independent country.
Finally, he could not take it anymore, and the paper snapped into two as he split it down the middle, the sickening rip of paper almost pleasant against the heavy breathes leaving in and out of his chest.
Did America really believe that it would be so simple? That he could win a few minor battles and suddenly be allowed to leave on his own? England was caught between anger and pity for the poor colony that obviously did not know the predicament that he was in-trying to demand something that was so obviously not going to happen-was a fool’s mistake on America’s part.
Wearily, England sat down at his desk, shoving aside the other papers that had collected around him when he heard a knock on the door. “What is it?” He called out irritably, his sour mood worsened.
With no immediate response, England was about to ignore the interruption, but then he heard the creak of the door opening and his green eyes shot up in time to meet the smiling gaze of blue. His lips turned into a scowl and his thick eyebrows furrowed together.
“What are you doing here you bastard?” England snapped, fingers already reaching for the weapon slung across the back of the chair where he sat.
France stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I come under neutral terms, mon cher. No need for weapons.” France raised his hands before him in mock defense, opening up the gold laced and frilled long jacket that he wore to show that he held no weapons in hiding.
England settled back, leaving the weapon where it remained while his gaze intently focused on the Frenchman. “What are you doing France? You’re not welcome here, even under neutral terms. Get the bloody hell out.”
France clicked his tongue, smirking. “Ah, such a naughty mouth is better used in other activities than offensive language.” He said as he moved closer, reaching out a hand to try and cup underneath England’s chin but England smacked him away before he even came close. “Testy as ever I see.”
“This is the last time I will ask before I get my pistol. Why are you here, frog?” England said, irritation dripping from his voice. He was in no mood to humor France and his reasons for coming here.
“Why, mon cher, I only came to tell you something about your precious little boy.”
England froze. “A-america?” His emerald eyes narrowed, trying to hide the slight hitch in his voice. “What do you know about America? Spit it out.” He barked, fingers curling into a fist.
The Frenchman sat down in the chair across from his desk, propping his feet upon the edge of the old wooden base and casually resting his manicured hands across his stomach. “My, my…hungry for information are we?”
“Do you want to die? I have every reason to cut you down for interfering in events between myself and my colony.”
“Mon cher, I believe that crumbled up paper-“
“If you finish that bloody sentence I will cut you down, damned be the consequences.”
France seemed to think twice before continuing, the obvious flames of anger swirling behind England’s gaze enough to silence him for a moment. “Oh very well…” He muttered with a frown, one finger reaching up to twirl a strand of silky blonde hair that had come loose from the tie at the nape of his neck. “It’s not as if I came here for any consequence of your own or America’s for that matter.” Blue eyes narrowed dangerously close, a sly grin spreading across those wine-loving lips. “I came about Canada.”
Slowly, England’s fingers unraveled from their clenched state and he sat down heavily on the other side of the desk. The pieces gently fell into place, like clicking chimes of a clock. “Canada?” England repeated as he leaned back and regarded the man before him, cautious and untrusting as ever. “I assume you want him back.”
For a fraction of a second, France’s eyes drifted away before coming back to focus onto the dying ambers of green. “Precisely. You give me Canada and I will make sure that you get your precious America back.”
“What makes you think I need your help to keep America under control? A little rebellion is nothing. Must I remind you that I am the British Empire or do I need to take your lush colonies in the West Indies as evidence?”
France’s back straightened at England’s comment, though the smirk never left his visage. “Ah, but force is so cruel, mon cher. Do you really think America will so easily return to his subservient state after this? With the way he has been prancing around with Prussia as a-“
England moved too fast for the Frenchman to react, his fingers snaking around the frilled tie and yanking him down against the wooden desk with a bone crushing thud that knocked the other man’s hat across the tabletop. Partially standing with one foot on the table, the other in the chair where he had been sitting moments before, England pinned down the other man, bringing his knee down to rest against his neck even as France struggled to get up. England’s words were slow and filled with a terrifying sense of incredulous calm. “You…brought Prussia into this?”
“Mon-“ England slammed his knee harder into France’s neck and the Frenchman groaned in pain, his body buckling under the pressure. “You know that damnable Prussia, the moment he heard about this he was interested in paying you back for forgetting about him after the Seven Years War!” The tension on the back of France’s neck eased just slightly and the Frenchman gulped in air frantically.
“Bloody untrustworthy Prussian.” England mumbled underneath his breath. “I assume you bloody well brought Spain into this as well, you git.” France’s silence was enough of an answer. “Just to force my hand to give you Canada back.”
He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more-the fact that France was trying to use America as leverage to get back Canada or the fact that he was leading America on, making him actually believe that he might have a chance of keeping this fledging notion of independence. America had fought him for the idea of independence, demanded it through this declaration, and now he was going to have to fight if he wanted it-because there was no way in bloody hell he was going to let his empire slip through his fingers so seamlessly.
And this business with Prussia…it had the potential to make things even more difficult. Prussia wasn’t the type to listen to anyone, even if France tried to pull back the reins. Prussia always did what he wanted and didn’t listen to anyone.
He released France from his grip and the Frenchman was on his feet at once, blonde hair a wavy mess about his face and blue eyes piercing in anger. He bellowed a string of curse words, but England just ignored him as he sat back down at the desk.
“You nearly-“
“Leave France.” England interrupted bluntly. “Now.”
For a moment, France merely stared at him from across the table, rubbing the back of his neck where England had pinned him down. “And Canada…?”
“Canada will remain where he belongs-right at my side. And America will be there again soon enough.”
France’s lips twisted into a snarl so unusual for the Frenchman that, for a brief moment, even England was taken back. “You will regret this England, I am sure of that.” He straightened his jacket, fierce eyes a stabbing blue. “After this you are going to have to acknowledge that America is independent whether you like it or not.”
“I highly doubt it.” England flicked a wrist. “Leave with your tail in-between your legs like the pathetic creature you are. Even if you came here under neutral intentions, do not think I will let you leave so easily next time-especially after all the trouble you have caused me.”
France found his hat and placed it on his head. He opened to his mouth to say more, but the hollow words never left his lips. Instead, he turned on his heels and strode out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
When he was finally gone only then could England think.
“America, you bloody dolt.” He mumbled underneath his breath, a heavy sigh heaving from between his lips as he glanced at the empty table before him. At the moment he wasn’t ready to acknowledge how utterly gripping it had felt when France had dared to use someone so-so precious to him as a bargaining chip, but it also surprised him how that feeling was bathed in such a seething rage. As much as he wanted to get America back, he also wanted to punish him. His behavior had been unacceptable and this ridiculous business about independence was ludicrous. There was no way he would be able to survive in the Old World without his aid and protection, otherwise he would surely be eaten alive by all those that wanted to claim the offers of the New World…
England’s eyes snapped up and the sound of his chair scrapping against the ground rattled against his temples as he reached for his coat.
It was time to leave, there was someone he needed to see.
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Canada frowned.
England wanted to see him and Canada wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was the first time since the fighting between America and England had begun that England had even acknowledged his existence-and something about the note that had come out of no where left him feeling queasy and uncertain. Since America’s visit and their argument, Canada didn’t know what to do with himself nor what he could do to mend the hurt that America had left him with. He was frustrated, angry, and alone. But then had come the call from England, completely unexpected and surprising, and Canada found himself traveling to see his charge without hesitation despite his concerns.
Maybe it was because of his anger toward America, or some other deeper and elusive feeling, but Canada knew he could not resist England’s call. He had asked for him to come, at once, and Canada knew he could not disappoint the person that had cared for him for so long.
But it was strange returning to America’s colonies. He could almost feel the change in the atmosphere, the heavy thrum that passed through the lands as he traveled the British controlled roadways to his destination. Even in the fall, with the spectacular canopy of red and brown leafs that drifted down from the branches, Canada couldn’t ignore the growing sense of unease he felt in the pit of his stomach. It was a grumbling sensation, like the licking and churning flames of a fire about to splutter out of control.
Did America feel like this? Was America really this angry?
It was peculiar, being here and knowing that America was off some place else and that all the people that saw him watched him with a scrutiny he could not ignore. For once he felt uncertain whether they were watching him because they thought he was his brother or because of the red coat he wore. Everywhere he looked eyes that fell on redcoats were sharp as knives, and it was clear how much so many of the colonists resented the British presence that was teeming across the lands. Their lands, Canada thought, because of the declaration that America’s people had signed and delivered to England-trying to force their provider’s hand to just let them go.
America was idiot. He had to know that England would never do such a thing.
When Canada finally arrived at the house, he drew his horse to a stop in front of the wooden fence and clumsily dismounted. He was nervous, as silly as it felt, because of this gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him something was just wrong. But he couldn’t turn back, and he had to keep stepping forward because for once in his life England had actually called on him and it had been so long since he could remember getting this type of attention, despite the fact that America was gone and he was the only one left to call upon.
Gulping he stepped up the stairs to the front of the house where his brother lived-where his brother used to live-because since the beginning of the fighting America had all but disappeared. There were rumors but no one knew his exact location, the rebels trying hard to conceal the precious person that strengthened their side. He knew England had been searching for him, scouring all the troops that had been captured and the fields of dead after battles, all in looking for the colony. But America had vanished, and even Canada didn’t know where to look for the brother that he hardly recognized or understood anymore. America had changed too much.
Canada put up a hand to knock on the door but it opened on its own, creaking hinges groaning with the slightest push. It was quiet as he stepped inside. “England? It’s me, Canada.” He called out into the silence but heard nothing in return.
“Hm…” He mumbled, worried but still pressing forward. The lights were out and the faint sunlight seeping in from the setting sun left soft caresses of light in the darkened hallways.
“Maybe I should go.” He didn’t like it here, in this house, and the memories it conjured up in his mind. Why would England even come here instead of the main camp? Was there some reason strong enough to bring him here? Surely, he didn’t think America would be…
The loud sound of breaking glass echoed through the hallway and Canada jumped back in surprise.
“W-what was that?” He said between trembling lips. He took several deep breathes, one hand resting over his racing heart. “Calm down Canada, you can do this.” There was more noise and this time Canada was certain it was coming from the kitchen.
Propelling himself forward before he had a chance to let fear grip him, Canada stepped toward the doorway leading to the kitchen. Maybe it was nothing, just the wind blowing over a glass that had been sitting close to the edge, or maybe England…
“England?” Canada called out tentatively as he stepped through the doorway.
Those twin emerald eyes looked up at him, bloodshot and heavy, when he stepped into the doorway. They widened as they focused on the person in front of him. “It’s you,” came the heavy and hoarse voice. His hat was low on his forehead and Canada could barely make out the expression that donned that visage, but something in the back of his mind made him clench the ends of his coat in trepidation. England he…he looked terrible. What had happened to him?
But Canada wasn’t stupid. Internally he wanted to deny it, but he knew exactly what had happened: America. Being here, in this place that England had visited so often was more than enough to drag England to this state; he could smell the stench off liquor even from a distance. The reek of the broken bottle, empty save a small dash of hard liquor, was telling enough.
“Are you okay?” He took a cautious step forward, violet eyes wide and careful. “Maybe you should lie down…” The moment he was within reach, England’s hands shot out and grabbed him by the shoulders. The nation slumped against him heavily and Canada nearly toppled over from the sudden weight that was launched at him.
“I never thought you would come back…” England mumbled, his arms wrapping around Canada’s thin shoulders. “You’d never leave me America…”
Canada felt his shoulders stiffen. “E-england…I…I’m not…” But he was silenced by the lips that clamped down against his own with a hurried need. Canada’s violet eyes widened and he tried to push away, but England had his fingers locked around the front of his shirt and drew him close, blocking any chance of escape.
But then Canada felt his balance weaken and they both tumbled to the ground, Canada landing with a hard thud against the solid wooden floor, a groan escaping from his lips at the shudder of pain that quaked through his body. England landed on top of him, heavy and pinning him down against the ground. The other man’s head lay against his chest and for a moment he didn’t even seem to move, not even breath, and Canada became panicked. But then England mumbled something almost indiscernible, and Canada was only able to pick out one single word.
America.
Canada lay his head down against the ground, painfully aware that he could not move nor would it be a good idea with England in his current state. The only thing that was racing through his mind was what could have happened between America and England, and how could things change so drastically in such a short time? And why had England forced himself on him like that, assuming as so many did that he was America?
And with those thoughts Canada couldn’t help but feel a deep surfacing of anger at America. Something he had done had caused England to act like this. America should have known how important he was to England-how he was the one person that could effect England on such a deep level. Why were they both so obviously blind to each other? Without a doubt Canada now knew they were both hurting, but even so Canada could only think to blame one of them.
“Oh America…why did you cause all this mess?” Canada mumbled with hitched breathes.