[Hetalia] "Sorry"
Title: "Sorry"
Author: shuriken7
Claim: Hetalia: America/Canada
Table: General # 1
Word Count: 445
Prompt: Graveyard @ 10_hurt_comfort, Written in the Stars/A10. You'll have the chance to right a past wrong
Rating: PG
Summary: America is tired of battles and losing people, and he feels bad for the times he's hurt Canada.
A/N: This is an incomplete idea, I'll probably revisit this. I also seriously need to write some fluff for these two... way too much angst lately :P
Warnings: Slash. Hetalia deals with the personifications of nation-states. Some of the stories may be historical in nature and others will be examining them as just people.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
It had been fifty years since the end of his Civil War and America still found it hard to stand here and look at the lines of headstones of the men who had perished during the war. He would sit there on his knees and feel broken, still hearing Confederacy’s last words ringing within his head. They would always haunt him, “Why do you get freedom, but I don’t?” The irony in the statement rang through him, repeating over and over, like the ghosts that invaded his attic. The ghosts that sent him crawling under his blankets holding his hands over his ears hoping to keep out their laughter. He had been told to do things over and over and he wondered if the bright dreams he had envisioned when he was fighting to free himself would ever come true. These men died fighting their countrymen, trapped in duty, some of them barely setting foot on his shores before having a musket shoved into their hand and told to go to war.
He jumped when he felt someone put their hand on his shoulder, he looked up to see Canada looking at him seriousness on his face. He reached over to wipe one of the tears off America’s cheek. “How many of them were mine, I wonder?” he mused, it had been no secret that some of his people had wandered across the border to join America’s to fight. America leaned against him.
“Who knows?” he replied, he didn’t want to think about it, “I’m sorry Matt.” He felt Canada stiffen in surprise, America didn’t blame him, it was highly uncharacteristic. He turned his head to look into the northerner’s surprised face. His purple eyes were wide, as he thought of something to reply with. Suspicion crept into his gaze.
“For what?”
“For every time I cause you trouble.” America meant it, in that moment at least. Who knows how he would feel tomorrow. He wondered if it was possible to get tired of fighting, he wondered if he was getting old.
“You never apologize.”
“Well, today I feel like it. Just accept it.”
“Then I do.”
“Good.” He said turning away from the white headstones of Arlington Cemetery, not wanting to think about the soldiers that may join them in the future. “Want to go get a Coca-cola? They’re all the rage.” he said, forcing a smile on his face, looking towards tomorrow, he never liked dwelling on the past.
“Sure, since you never stop talking about it.” A small smile came across his face, no doubt relieved at the other’s shift in behavior back to his usual self.
“Let’s go then.”
“Let’s.”
Author: shuriken7
Claim: Hetalia: America/Canada
Table: General # 1
Word Count: 445
Prompt: Graveyard @ 10_hurt_comfort, Written in the Stars/A10. You'll have the chance to right a past wrong
Rating: PG
Summary: America is tired of battles and losing people, and he feels bad for the times he's hurt Canada.
A/N: This is an incomplete idea, I'll probably revisit this. I also seriously need to write some fluff for these two... way too much angst lately :P
Warnings: Slash. Hetalia deals with the personifications of nation-states. Some of the stories may be historical in nature and others will be examining them as just people.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
It had been fifty years since the end of his Civil War and America still found it hard to stand here and look at the lines of headstones of the men who had perished during the war. He would sit there on his knees and feel broken, still hearing Confederacy’s last words ringing within his head. They would always haunt him, “Why do you get freedom, but I don’t?” The irony in the statement rang through him, repeating over and over, like the ghosts that invaded his attic. The ghosts that sent him crawling under his blankets holding his hands over his ears hoping to keep out their laughter. He had been told to do things over and over and he wondered if the bright dreams he had envisioned when he was fighting to free himself would ever come true. These men died fighting their countrymen, trapped in duty, some of them barely setting foot on his shores before having a musket shoved into their hand and told to go to war.
He jumped when he felt someone put their hand on his shoulder, he looked up to see Canada looking at him seriousness on his face. He reached over to wipe one of the tears off America’s cheek. “How many of them were mine, I wonder?” he mused, it had been no secret that some of his people had wandered across the border to join America’s to fight. America leaned against him.
“Who knows?” he replied, he didn’t want to think about it, “I’m sorry Matt.” He felt Canada stiffen in surprise, America didn’t blame him, it was highly uncharacteristic. He turned his head to look into the northerner’s surprised face. His purple eyes were wide, as he thought of something to reply with. Suspicion crept into his gaze.
“For what?”
“For every time I cause you trouble.” America meant it, in that moment at least. Who knows how he would feel tomorrow. He wondered if it was possible to get tired of fighting, he wondered if he was getting old.
“You never apologize.”
“Well, today I feel like it. Just accept it.”
“Then I do.”
“Good.” He said turning away from the white headstones of Arlington Cemetery, not wanting to think about the soldiers that may join them in the future. “Want to go get a Coca-cola? They’re all the rage.” he said, forcing a smile on his face, looking towards tomorrow, he never liked dwelling on the past.
“Sure, since you never stop talking about it.” A small smile came across his face, no doubt relieved at the other’s shift in behavior back to his usual self.
“Let’s go then.”
“Let’s.”