[fic][hetalia/1776] A Little Hope
I'm sure all of you have better things to do with your time on a Saturday, but.
A Little Hope
a hetalia/1776 crossover
Summary: John Adams thinks Philadelphia sucks. Then one day he comes home to a kid from the Army on his doorstep.
Rating: G
Philadelphia was a miserable place to be in the summertime. Between the flies, the heat, and his clothes, John Adams was fairly sure God could concieve of no greater punishment for the working man than the stinking humid streets of the city. And there would be no relief inside his small flat; the air hung still and heavy as though before a storm, but there wasn't a cloud in the evening sky. No breezes would ease his rest tonight. Not that he would get any rest: there were still committee papers about so many frivolous things it made his head ache, and tomorrow he would need to speak with Franklin on the matter of gaining more support for a formal declaration of independence. Why is this such a struggle? With the word from England that we have been declared in rebellion, we might as well rally ourselves and get on with it!
Adams thought longingly of his home in Braintree as he started up the stairs to his rented room, loosening his cravat as he did so. Boston was near stifling itself this time of year, but in the countryside on his farm the wind was free to blow. Instead of the sounds of the marketplace he would hear his children studying together, and Abigail sitting by his side ... and what a relief it would be to get away from the politic life. Ah, I lie to myself. Abigail would tell me, after all, that I am an ambitious man. As if he could abandon his cause at this, the most crucial hour!
He did not see the young man sitting on his steps until he stood. Adams drew back, startled; the man, little more than a boy it seemed, drew his shoulders up. "I didn't mean to startle you, sir," the boy said.
He was dressed in the uniform of the Continental Army; now that Adams looked at him, he could see his clothes were mudspattered as if he had not had time to clean them. A messenger from the front lines, then, but it was rare for one to come to his home, even if he was the head of the War Comittee. He was fairly tall, and with several steps between them, Adams had to look up quite a bit to meet his eyes. "Nonsense," Adams scoffed. "Did you have a letter for me?"
"Ah, not ... exactly," the boy said, almost nervous. He scrubbed a hand through his short blond hair. "You're Mister John Adams, right?"
"Yes," Adams answered, a little testy, but curious about the boy's business with him.
"I read Thomas Paine's pamphlet - Common Sense," the boy said. "It gave me a lot to think about."
John had read it himself; the widely-circulated pamphlet had outlined the reasoning for independence with rhetoric and patriotism for a country that did not yet quite exist. While the sentiment was not far from his own, he disliked how it incited rabble. It had come at a good time, though, if America were to rally behind a separation from England. Still, he temporized. "I assume you're in some agreement with it," he said, waving his hand towards the young man's uniform.
"Ah, yes, well - I generally am," the young man agreed. "But ... I feel like I'm - we're - fighting with England just to fight now. Sometimes." He visibly struggled for words. "I love England, I do, but I - I mean, we - can't grow like this. We need to be our own country now. We're too different."
Not the most eloquent of words, perhaps, but the young man was clearly not given over to the headstrong passion of most youth his age. "England has given us much to be proud of. But I agree: we have to separate. She uses us--" - the boy flinched slightly for no reason Adams could discern, and Adams paused. "But what did you come to talk to me about? Surely not Common Sense." If he had been a lesser man, Adams might have rolled his eyes.
The boy smiled for the first time, but it was a thin, strained smile. Much too old for his face, John thought. "No. I - I wanted to thank you," the boy blurted.
Adams blinked. "Whatever for?"
"For - for giving m--us a voice in Congress!" The boy drew to his full height now. "For fighting to give us freedom! I can't ... I can't thank you enough for that. Please don't stop. I believe in you."
John stared at him. The goings-on in Congress were kept entirely confidential, for safety's sake; although the secret of the Continental Congress was something of an open one, the actual proceedings were never discussed outside its members. How could this boy know what he was arguing for? Well, it may not be much of a secret that I argue for independence in general. "... What I do in there," Adams started, struggling for the right words. "It ... I argue for a mere formality." He didn't believe it himself, though. It was vitally important that the colonies united and declared independence, just as important as it was to rally and fight.
"No you don't," the boy said. He shrugged a little, then, looking down and away for a moment, before he put out his right hand. "I think we're really lucky you are here," he said. "And I look forward to when we can rally behind your hard work."
Adams hesitated for a moment before taking the boy's hand and shaking it firmly. "I ... thank you for your kind words," he answered, a little bewildered. "I don't believe I caught your name?"
"Oh, it's not important," the boy said. He started down the steps, brushing past Adams and glancing back over his shoulder before he left with a quick, conspiratorial smile. "We can figure that part out later."
He turned the corner and was gone, leaving Adams to stare after him in contemplative silence. Then he turned to the steps, a little smile on his face. At least I know I'm giving someone hope.
fin
I MAKE NO APOLOGIES FOR THIS
EDITED FOR ACCURACY BECAUSE I AM DUMB AND FORGOT HISTORY LOL.
A Little Hope
a hetalia/1776 crossover
Summary: John Adams thinks Philadelphia sucks. Then one day he comes home to a kid from the Army on his doorstep.
Rating: G
Philadelphia was a miserable place to be in the summertime. Between the flies, the heat, and his clothes, John Adams was fairly sure God could concieve of no greater punishment for the working man than the stinking humid streets of the city. And there would be no relief inside his small flat; the air hung still and heavy as though before a storm, but there wasn't a cloud in the evening sky. No breezes would ease his rest tonight. Not that he would get any rest: there were still committee papers about so many frivolous things it made his head ache, and tomorrow he would need to speak with Franklin on the matter of gaining more support for a formal declaration of independence. Why is this such a struggle? With the word from England that we have been declared in rebellion, we might as well rally ourselves and get on with it!
Adams thought longingly of his home in Braintree as he started up the stairs to his rented room, loosening his cravat as he did so. Boston was near stifling itself this time of year, but in the countryside on his farm the wind was free to blow. Instead of the sounds of the marketplace he would hear his children studying together, and Abigail sitting by his side ... and what a relief it would be to get away from the politic life. Ah, I lie to myself. Abigail would tell me, after all, that I am an ambitious man. As if he could abandon his cause at this, the most crucial hour!
He did not see the young man sitting on his steps until he stood. Adams drew back, startled; the man, little more than a boy it seemed, drew his shoulders up. "I didn't mean to startle you, sir," the boy said.
He was dressed in the uniform of the Continental Army; now that Adams looked at him, he could see his clothes were mudspattered as if he had not had time to clean them. A messenger from the front lines, then, but it was rare for one to come to his home, even if he was the head of the War Comittee. He was fairly tall, and with several steps between them, Adams had to look up quite a bit to meet his eyes. "Nonsense," Adams scoffed. "Did you have a letter for me?"
"Ah, not ... exactly," the boy said, almost nervous. He scrubbed a hand through his short blond hair. "You're Mister John Adams, right?"
"Yes," Adams answered, a little testy, but curious about the boy's business with him.
"I read Thomas Paine's pamphlet - Common Sense," the boy said. "It gave me a lot to think about."
John had read it himself; the widely-circulated pamphlet had outlined the reasoning for independence with rhetoric and patriotism for a country that did not yet quite exist. While the sentiment was not far from his own, he disliked how it incited rabble. It had come at a good time, though, if America were to rally behind a separation from England. Still, he temporized. "I assume you're in some agreement with it," he said, waving his hand towards the young man's uniform.
"Ah, yes, well - I generally am," the young man agreed. "But ... I feel like I'm - we're - fighting with England just to fight now. Sometimes." He visibly struggled for words. "I love England, I do, but I - I mean, we - can't grow like this. We need to be our own country now. We're too different."
Not the most eloquent of words, perhaps, but the young man was clearly not given over to the headstrong passion of most youth his age. "England has given us much to be proud of. But I agree: we have to separate. She uses us--" - the boy flinched slightly for no reason Adams could discern, and Adams paused. "But what did you come to talk to me about? Surely not Common Sense." If he had been a lesser man, Adams might have rolled his eyes.
The boy smiled for the first time, but it was a thin, strained smile. Much too old for his face, John thought. "No. I - I wanted to thank you," the boy blurted.
Adams blinked. "Whatever for?"
"For - for giving m--us a voice in Congress!" The boy drew to his full height now. "For fighting to give us freedom! I can't ... I can't thank you enough for that. Please don't stop. I believe in you."
John stared at him. The goings-on in Congress were kept entirely confidential, for safety's sake; although the secret of the Continental Congress was something of an open one, the actual proceedings were never discussed outside its members. How could this boy know what he was arguing for? Well, it may not be much of a secret that I argue for independence in general. "... What I do in there," Adams started, struggling for the right words. "It ... I argue for a mere formality." He didn't believe it himself, though. It was vitally important that the colonies united and declared independence, just as important as it was to rally and fight.
"No you don't," the boy said. He shrugged a little, then, looking down and away for a moment, before he put out his right hand. "I think we're really lucky you are here," he said. "And I look forward to when we can rally behind your hard work."
Adams hesitated for a moment before taking the boy's hand and shaking it firmly. "I ... thank you for your kind words," he answered, a little bewildered. "I don't believe I caught your name?"
"Oh, it's not important," the boy said. He started down the steps, brushing past Adams and glancing back over his shoulder before he left with a quick, conspiratorial smile. "We can figure that part out later."
He turned the corner and was gone, leaving Adams to stare after him in contemplative silence. Then he turned to the steps, a little smile on his face. At least I know I'm giving someone hope.
fin
I MAKE NO APOLOGIES FOR THIS
EDITED FOR ACCURACY BECAUSE I AM DUMB AND FORGOT HISTORY LOL.