[fanfic] Bitter/Sweet
Title: Bitter/Sweet
Genre: Drama, broken up by fluff
Pairing(s): Slight USxUK, Spain with a hint of SpainxS.Italy, mentions of France and Prussia
Rating/Warnings: G~?
Summary: The American Revolution, and all the angst that comes with it, broken up by glimpses into America and England's past.
"Spain? Are you there?”
Spain turned towards the door, recognizing America’s voice on the other side. He opened it, a bit surprised to see the young colony.
“America! You look so cute in your uniform. Ah… what's wrong?” The colony didn’t look like himself and seemed very self-conscious and uneasy. Spain motioned for him to enter the room and America took a seat on the bed.
He was silent for several minutes and then asked, “Do.. do you think I should go through with this?”
Spain took sat beside him on the bed and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was unsure of how to answer America’s question and his thoughts kept going back to his own colonies and how painful it was to see them leave.
“Hmm... have you asked France what he thinks? Or Prussia?”
America frowned, “I asked France, but all he said was: “If you are lonely, America, you may become a colony of France! And Prussia just said, “Kick England’s butt! Yeah!”
Spain laughed and shook his head, “I would expect as much. Listen, America, in life we have to make tough choices. Sometimes those choices hurt others, or hurt us, but… we have to make them for our people.” He turned to face America and was startled. For a second he swore he was looking at South Italy, but then America got up from the bed and gone were the curled brown locks and hazel eyes. America opened the door and paused in the doorway. He turned to face Spain.
“Thank you. I know what I have to do.”
“Just remember that it won’t always be this way, America. There’s too much in the past.”
“England! England!”
England stood on the veranda overlooking the field. He could see America’s head bobbing in the tall grass and chuckled when the child crashed into his legs.
“Look what I caught, England!” America exclaimed as he held up a jar with a captured firefly in it.
“Oh, wow! How beautiful!” England said as he peered into the jar and the child’s face lit up with pride. “How pretty. But you need to release it soon, America.”
“What? Why?” America scowled, hugging the jar to his chest.
“Because for living things to keep on living, they need freedom.” The older nation stated matter-of-factly and pried the jar out of the young colony’s hands. He unscrewed the lid with a bit of flourish and the firefly flew off into the darkness of the field.
America watched as it flew off. “Freedom…”
“Freedom! England, that’s what I want!” America’s voice rung across the battlefield. His soldiers hollered in agreement, their guns pointed at the recipient of the young colony’s request.
America expected a sarcastic comment, a snide remark, but instead England wordlessly lunged at America with his musket, sending the other man’s gun flying. A few of America’s soldiers looked ready to charge, but America held up a hand to signal for them to stay back. England’s musket was pointed directly at his chest, his heart.
England felt uneasy, as if someone was watching him. He turned around to see America standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at him intently.
“Amer-”
“Will I ever be as tall as you?” America interrupted.
England laughed as he picked up the child and placed him on his seat at the table, “As long as you eat what I feed you!” He produced a plate of unidentifiable black food in front of the young colony.
“Do you think I’ll ever be taller than you?”
England laughed again, “Sure, America, sure.” America smiled and began to eat his dinner.
In between mouthfuls the boy promised, “England, when I’m bigger than you and stuff, I’m gonna protect you! No one will ever hurt you while I’m there.”
England smiled, “Finish your dinner.”
America looked down at the musket aimed at him. He could see the tip shaking at his chest. His eyes traveled up the gun to England’s hands. They were scratched and bloody, the knuckles white.
It seemed like time had stopped now, the rain suspended by silvery threads from the sky. All was quiet except for the heavy breathing of the soldiers. America looked up from the musket, eyes aligning with England’s.
England’s face was pale, almost ghostlike, with an expression not of malice, but of anguish. He let out a pained cry and America watched as the older nation threw his gun to the side and sank to his knees in the mud. He watched as England covered his face with roughened hands, trying to hide the tears from America.
Between muffled sobs and the thunder overhead, America could barely make out what England was saying. “As if I could ever hurt you… Dammit, America, I thought… I thought we’d be together forever.”
America, too, felt tears coming, but turned to the rain to mask them. England looked so tiny, so vulnerable. America had brought him to his knees, reduced him to this crying wreck. He never wanted it to be like this.
“You used to be so big.”
America ran through the house, finally spotting England sitting outside embroidering. He pushed the threadwork off of the Briton’s lap and climbed up. England smiled at this interruption and asked, “What’s that you’ve got there?”
“A book I wrote for us!” America explained, placing the paper book onto his lap. It had been hastily bound together with leftover threads of England’s. “Want me to read it to you?”
England laughed, “Yes, I would love for you to read it to me.”
America beamed and began his story. “Once upon a time there was a king who ruled many lands and did tons of great stuff.” He paused and pointed at England, “The king is you, by the way.” England grinned and nodded. America continued, “The king was protected by a knight,” he paused and pointed at himself, “who was always by the king’s side and loved the king very, very much.”
“But one day, while the king and the knight were on an adventure in a foreign land, a dragon came out from nowhere! He attacked the king and knight and killed the rest of the men with them! The dragon corned the knight and the king on top of a mountain so they couldn’t run away. The dragon began to breath fire and aimed it at the king, but the knight jumped in front of him and… and…”
“And…?”
“Oh, well, I didn’t finish the story yet!” America admitted sheepishly. “I got kinda bored.”
England laughed, “Well, can you at least tell me if it’ll have a happy ending?”
America looked shocked, “Of course it will! We’re heroes! We deserve a happy ending!” The young boy paused and then added, now unsure, “…Don’t you think?”
England leaned back in his chair and smiled, “Yes, America. We definitely deserve a happy ending.”
Genre: Drama, broken up by fluff
Pairing(s): Slight USxUK, Spain with a hint of SpainxS.Italy, mentions of France and Prussia
Rating/Warnings: G~?
Summary: The American Revolution, and all the angst that comes with it, broken up by glimpses into America and England's past.
"Spain? Are you there?”
Spain turned towards the door, recognizing America’s voice on the other side. He opened it, a bit surprised to see the young colony.
“America! You look so cute in your uniform. Ah… what's wrong?” The colony didn’t look like himself and seemed very self-conscious and uneasy. Spain motioned for him to enter the room and America took a seat on the bed.
He was silent for several minutes and then asked, “Do.. do you think I should go through with this?”
Spain took sat beside him on the bed and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was unsure of how to answer America’s question and his thoughts kept going back to his own colonies and how painful it was to see them leave.
“Hmm... have you asked France what he thinks? Or Prussia?”
America frowned, “I asked France, but all he said was: “If you are lonely, America, you may become a colony of France! And Prussia just said, “Kick England’s butt! Yeah!”
Spain laughed and shook his head, “I would expect as much. Listen, America, in life we have to make tough choices. Sometimes those choices hurt others, or hurt us, but… we have to make them for our people.” He turned to face America and was startled. For a second he swore he was looking at South Italy, but then America got up from the bed and gone were the curled brown locks and hazel eyes. America opened the door and paused in the doorway. He turned to face Spain.
“Thank you. I know what I have to do.”
“Just remember that it won’t always be this way, America. There’s too much in the past.”
“England! England!”
England stood on the veranda overlooking the field. He could see America’s head bobbing in the tall grass and chuckled when the child crashed into his legs.
“Look what I caught, England!” America exclaimed as he held up a jar with a captured firefly in it.
“Oh, wow! How beautiful!” England said as he peered into the jar and the child’s face lit up with pride. “How pretty. But you need to release it soon, America.”
“What? Why?” America scowled, hugging the jar to his chest.
“Because for living things to keep on living, they need freedom.” The older nation stated matter-of-factly and pried the jar out of the young colony’s hands. He unscrewed the lid with a bit of flourish and the firefly flew off into the darkness of the field.
America watched as it flew off. “Freedom…”
“Freedom! England, that’s what I want!” America’s voice rung across the battlefield. His soldiers hollered in agreement, their guns pointed at the recipient of the young colony’s request.
America expected a sarcastic comment, a snide remark, but instead England wordlessly lunged at America with his musket, sending the other man’s gun flying. A few of America’s soldiers looked ready to charge, but America held up a hand to signal for them to stay back. England’s musket was pointed directly at his chest, his heart.
England felt uneasy, as if someone was watching him. He turned around to see America standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at him intently.
“Amer-”
“Will I ever be as tall as you?” America interrupted.
England laughed as he picked up the child and placed him on his seat at the table, “As long as you eat what I feed you!” He produced a plate of unidentifiable black food in front of the young colony.
“Do you think I’ll ever be taller than you?”
England laughed again, “Sure, America, sure.” America smiled and began to eat his dinner.
In between mouthfuls the boy promised, “England, when I’m bigger than you and stuff, I’m gonna protect you! No one will ever hurt you while I’m there.”
England smiled, “Finish your dinner.”
America looked down at the musket aimed at him. He could see the tip shaking at his chest. His eyes traveled up the gun to England’s hands. They were scratched and bloody, the knuckles white.
It seemed like time had stopped now, the rain suspended by silvery threads from the sky. All was quiet except for the heavy breathing of the soldiers. America looked up from the musket, eyes aligning with England’s.
England’s face was pale, almost ghostlike, with an expression not of malice, but of anguish. He let out a pained cry and America watched as the older nation threw his gun to the side and sank to his knees in the mud. He watched as England covered his face with roughened hands, trying to hide the tears from America.
Between muffled sobs and the thunder overhead, America could barely make out what England was saying. “As if I could ever hurt you… Dammit, America, I thought… I thought we’d be together forever.”
America, too, felt tears coming, but turned to the rain to mask them. England looked so tiny, so vulnerable. America had brought him to his knees, reduced him to this crying wreck. He never wanted it to be like this.
“You used to be so big.”
America ran through the house, finally spotting England sitting outside embroidering. He pushed the threadwork off of the Briton’s lap and climbed up. England smiled at this interruption and asked, “What’s that you’ve got there?”
“A book I wrote for us!” America explained, placing the paper book onto his lap. It had been hastily bound together with leftover threads of England’s. “Want me to read it to you?”
England laughed, “Yes, I would love for you to read it to me.”
America beamed and began his story. “Once upon a time there was a king who ruled many lands and did tons of great stuff.” He paused and pointed at England, “The king is you, by the way.” England grinned and nodded. America continued, “The king was protected by a knight,” he paused and pointed at himself, “who was always by the king’s side and loved the king very, very much.”
“But one day, while the king and the knight were on an adventure in a foreign land, a dragon came out from nowhere! He attacked the king and knight and killed the rest of the men with them! The dragon corned the knight and the king on top of a mountain so they couldn’t run away. The dragon began to breath fire and aimed it at the king, but the knight jumped in front of him and… and…”
“And…?”
“Oh, well, I didn’t finish the story yet!” America admitted sheepishly. “I got kinda bored.”
England laughed, “Well, can you at least tell me if it’ll have a happy ending?”
America looked shocked, “Of course it will! We’re heroes! We deserve a happy ending!” The young boy paused and then added, now unsure, “…Don’t you think?”
England leaned back in his chair and smiled, “Yes, America. We definitely deserve a happy ending.”