[Hetalia] Revolutionary Lines :: Chapter 11
Title: Revolutionary Lines
Author: masanami
Character(s): England/America, Prussia, France, Spain, Canada, Romano
Word Count: 5,200
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: *collapses* I-I finally finished this chapter...it was greatly delayed by other side projects and my busier than expected schedule with my new job. But I do have an announcement to make along with this chapter! The next chapter, chapter 12, will be the final chapter of Revolutionary Lines. I started to work on this fic back in July 2009 and it will finally be finished by the end of this month! The final chapter will be a short one that wraps up a few final threads, so expect a lot to happen in this chapter. Honestly, I think this may be one of my favorite chapters of the entire fic. Enjoy ♥
The tears did not come.
It didn’t surprise him. After all, how long had it been since the last time he had seen France? Canada was sure he had already cried every tear he would ever be able to cry for the man that had left when he was just a boy. No, the feeling that filled him when those strong arms wrapped around him was neither relief nor comfort, but some sort of strangling emotion that crept up from the depths of his gut and planted itself firmly on the tip of his tongue. It rendered him both speechless and nauseous at the same moment.
And though he buried his face into the warmth of that man’s coat, and let him run his fingers through his wavy blonde hair, Canada knew that this moment would not last long. He would not allow it to last long.
“I’ve finally come back for you, cheri.” France whispered into his ear, making Canada flinch as a cold shiver ran down the length of his spine. From this near he could feel the tingle of France’s breath on his neck, the soft warmth of each word punctuated like kisses against his skin.
It was too easy, the way that warmth could make his heart flutter and stir the core of his being. But it had been so long and how could he really let France affect him like this? How did he do it…make his head spin out of control and his heart pound against his chest?
France continued to speak and each word was like a melody against his eardrums. “I wanted to come so much sooner.” Those fingers again, brushing through his hair, caressing his scalp with their ginger touch. Like a dance, France’s voice and his words wove in and out through his mind, flooding forward the memories that always brought such smiles to his lips and happiness to even his darkest days. Here he was, after so long, he had finally come back again.
He mumbled against France’s chest.
“What was that, Canada?” He could hear the smile on France’s lips. “Won’t you look at me?”
Canada didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to get sucked into those blue pools and lost in the watery abyss. Here he was concrete, here was the real world and the cold truth. He didn’t want to drown in the lies.
“I-I…” He took a deep breath. “I can’t do this.”
“What-“
He pushed away from France and met his gaze with strength swirling in the turbulent depth of violet. “I can’t do this here and now with you. I’m at war with you.”
“But Canada…”
“Don’t give me excuses. You were the one that left and after all these years you decide to show up now?” He bit his lower lip, propelling himself forward as his fingers balled into fists at his side. “Only showing up when its convenient for you, leaving me behind with England and never once coming to see me again. How do you think that made me feel? How could you ever expect to come back so easily?”
He wouldn’t give France a chance to speak. He was afraid if he stopped that he wouldn’t be able to continue.
“I used to trust you and now I can’t trust you anymore.” His lips drew taunt lines between them. “I’m on England’s side in this.”
The silence stretched out between them.
After a moment, France sighed gently and brushed a loose strand of blonde hair from his face. And his eyes seemed saddened somehow, like they had lost some luster in their sapphire depth. But Canada wouldn’t let himself be motivated or burned by their obsession, and instead focused on the here and now, and all the things he owed to England.
“Canada, my love, that doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
France stepped forward and delicately placed a hand on Canada’s shoulder. For a moment he thought those fingertips were trembling, but he was sure it was just the cold and his imagination playing tricks on him. “England will fall. No matter how much he tries, he will not be able to over power us. He…he is already so weak and he doesn’t even realize it.”
“But-but…”
“There is nothing to discuss. Plans have already been put into motion that will end this.”
Canada’s eyes widened for a brief moment and fear flooded through him in a crippling paralysis. He felt his breath hitch in his throat and he coughed back his fear. “I have to go, I need to speak to-“ Just as he turned to leave, France grabbed his arm and yanked him back.
“It’s too late Canada.”
“N-no, it’s not! You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to go! I don’t believe you anymore.” He tried to yank his arm free but France held firm. “He won’t give up, he won’t stop until America is back.”
“Yes, I know…and that is precisely what will break him.”
“B-but he doesn’t know…” Now Canada felt sobs heave his chest and tears stream down the contours of his face. “He doesn’t understand because I lied.” He whispered the last, his words almost carried away on the breeze.
“Mon cheri...?” Spoke France’s tentative voice.
“Don’t you get it?” Flustered and unable to control the tears anymore, Canada looked at him in exasperation. “I lied. England doesn’t understand.”
He took a deep breath and tried to calm the beating of his chest.
“He doesn’t understand that America still loves him.”
==================================
“How long has it been amigo?” Spain asked from where he sat at the table, legs crossed and elbow leaning against the sturdy wooden frame. From here his green eyes watched as Prussia paced the room like a cat in need of a pole. The man’s anxiety permeated throughout the entire room, the dim light of a single candle providing the only reflection and warmth from the chill outside. From here the cold winds banged against the small cabin’s frame and whistled through the night air, but inside they were shielded from the storm of snowflake flurries.
But inside Prussia was about to wear a hole into the floor.
“Calm down, Prussia.” He reminded his friend.
“I can’t be calm when I want to tear England to pieces.” The other man spoke through bared teeth.
With a sigh, Spain stood and straightened out the folds of his long coat. There was no use trying to calm Prussia down when he got like this, when he was too strung out on a battle high to think rationally. America’s capture was certainly troublesome, but it wouldn’t be the first time something had put them in a compromising situation. After all, England certainly wasn’t going to win that easily.
He glided over to the small window cut from the logs of the cabin, his eyes staring out over the dwindling light to watch the troops as they huddled together and prepared camp. Amongst the crowd he caught sight of the Netherlands, tall and focused with an imposing force that kept the American soldiers on their toes. He refused to come inside and deal with the matter at hand, and Spain found himself slightly irritated by the other’s nonchalant behavior when it came to planning and deciding upon their strategy. Romano was out there as well, and for a moment Spain let his thoughts drift to the sun-kissed skin of the Italian, of the night when he would lay down beside the other man and curl his fingers through the chestnut hair. This cold and dreary place was not to his liking, but at least he could capture a taste of the warmth of Madrid in Romano’s scent and touch.
“We’re going to have to get him back.” Prussia said from behind him, and slowly Spain turned to regard his old friend. The grin spread across Prussia’s face and the malice buried within those red orbs spoke of the depth of his seriousness.
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“Fucking will be when we capture England in the process.”
“Certainly, if we could get England…”
“-then we will win this war.” Prussia finished for him. “He’s close, he’s vulnerable as hell with that boy around, and there’s not going to be another opportunity like this again. We do it now, we do it right. We can turn America’s idiotic mistake into a blessing.”
“And what about France?” Spain’s arms folded over his chest and he leaned back against the window, the chill of the glass panel sending a shiver down his spine.
“France has his own problems to sort out.” Prussia said with a wave of his hand. “He’s too busy sparking old flames to give a damn about the situation.”
“Ah…” Spain’s eyebrows rose in understanding. “So he decided to go after all...”
“It won’t do him any good.” Prussia snapped back, irritation lacing his words.
Spain shrugged his shoulders. “Amor, sometimes it doesn’t make sense to anyone.” He brushed a hand across his chin and a smile came to his lips. “Then I suppose this will be left to us, though it won’t be easy.”
Prussia grinned. “Damn right.” He cracked his knuckles. “It wouldn’t be any fun if it was easy.”
Easy, was the last thing Spain thought this would be.
==================================
It hurt.
It hurt when he breathed, it hurt when he moved, it even seemed to hurt if he thought about moving.
But there was one thing America was sure about, and it was that the hurt was a good thing. It meant he was still alive and alive was a lot better than dead. And even as he fidgeted between consciousness and unconsciousness, his mind a clouded mess covered with a thick shroud, the moments leading up to the pain played before his eyes.
He remembered England, he was remembered the gun blast, and he remembered far too clearly the moment when darkness had descended upon his vision. But like a fog, it was steadily clearing and even now he could hear noises just outside the maze of pain. There was the scrap of a chair, the sound of boots falling against sturdy ground, even an occasional sigh.
He was afraid to open his eyes.
He didn’t know what he would find and that was what scared him the most. Here in this dark place there was some measure of comfort because truly things could not get worse, but out there…out there in the light things could get much worse.
If he opened his eyes then he would have to accept what he had seen. He would have to come to terms with that deadness he had seen in England’s eyes, the way he had looked at him with such seething discontent. There was no telling what horrors lay within those eyes now.
The light would be unforgiving, but here in the darkness he could hide away.
==================================
Canada’s words kept playing over in his head.
America doesn’t love you anymore. He told me himself. He hates you now.
He only wants freedom from you.
England gritted his teeth as he paced back and forth within the small room. Even though the roaring fire in the corner warmed the room, England felt a cold shiver travel the length of his spine.
From across the room, the muffled groans and uneven breathing caught his attention, and his thick burrows furrowed as he looked toward the bed. He moved silently but quickly across the space, until he was looking down at America’s sweat-soaked face and the grimace of pain that had twisted his features.
How…did he grow so much in such a short time?
He looked so much different than the boy he remembered. The lines of his face were more defined, those eyes less innocent even when clouded over with pain. His hands were callused and hardened, worn and torn from training. This was no longer the boy he remembered bringing gifts to from the Old World, the young child that had so eagerly awaited his arrival.
He had been telling himself those very words all this time but here-with said person right before his eyes-England felt his heart shudder.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled underneath his breath as he clenched his fingers together until he felt the sting of his own fingernails digging into his skin.
He had been so confident that he could do this, that he could take America by force. He had pulled the bloody trigger for goodness sake! But seeing the way America withered in pain, his wound bandaged but saturated with blood despite the best attempts to stop the bleeding, England felt that icy chill in his heart crack.
America’s lips were slightly parted with panting breathes, and England was sure if he reached out a hand to place against the delicate skin that it would feel so warm to the touch…
He pulled his hand away before he did anything else.
No, no he couldn’t do this. Canada had told him that America no longer loved him, no longer cared for him, and that America wanted nothing more than to be free. If America wanted to be free then England would not so easily give into his demands. He was done being sentimental and sweet, the child he loved was gone-now only a stranger remained.
Or so he told himself over and over again, even as his emerald eyes strayed to that sleeping face that he remembered so well.
==================================
“Cheri, what do you mean?”
Canada looked around desperately, as if an answer lay buried somewhere out in the field of snow.
Now the tears really did fall-not because of France or America-but mostly for England. Because the lie he told him was meant to ease his pain, but instead it twisted England into something far worse then Canada imagined. He hated himself for being too scared to change things on his own, and now things were only more confusing than they had begun.
It was pathetic.
He felt his bottom lip tremble, and the place where France’s arms had been was so cold without the other man’s warmth.
The silence stretched out thick and heavy between them until, finally, France sighed. He took a step forward and placed a hand on the side of Canada’s tear-streaked face, thumb brushing against the wet skin.
“Canada, its okay.” His lips pulled apart with a small smile that showed the white of his teeth. “I think I understand now.” He brushed stray strands of blonde hair away. “But you don’t need to fret, mon cheri…because those two will eventually figure it out for themselves.”
After all these years Canada knew he shouldn’t believe France, that the words of someone that had abandoned him were laced with sweetness meant to deceive. But as he heard those words and saw the gentleness in his blue eyes, Canada couldn’t help but believe him. He wanted to believe him, more than anything, to right this wrong. Maybe his words changed everything, ended any chance of possible of reconciliation between England and America, or perhaps they had done nothing to deter the course of history, but the pain he had seen was real-and that was enough to convince Canada that his words had done irreversible damage.
Could he really hope that it was so easy as to let history take its own course?
He wanted to believe it. He had to believe that history would find a way to right this wrong.
“T-thank you, France.” He said as he reached up a hand and wiped the tears away. He stepped back again and looked at France, this time with a slight smile upon his lips. “It was good to see you, you know…”
France did not move to close the distance between them, instead smiling in understanding. If nothing else, he realized how much his Canada had grown and how things could never go back to the way they were-but there was always hope for the development of new from old. The New World was all about possibility, after all. “It was good to see you too, Canada. I’m sorry I took so long.”
“It’s okay.” Canada’s soft laughter filled the cold night with warmth. “Just don’t take so long next time, okay?”
==================================
It was impossible to resist the light.
America’s eyes fluttered open, a hazy murkiness filling the corner of his vision as he squinted his eyes against the harsh glare. He was inside, that much was obvious by the warmth of fire, but the pain in his side was too distracting for him to tell anything else.
“You’re awake.”
The sound of England’s voice made his heart beat faster and he gritted against the pain, willing the world into focus until those emerald eyes and dirty blonde hair came into sharp reality. England was leaning over him now and he could see the hard lines drawn across his face, the scowl hidden just beneath a light air of concern.
“E-england?” He groaned. It hurt to speak.
“Who else would it bloody be?” England said with a scoff.
He groaned. It was definitely England, no doubt about it.
“It’s time to give up America.” He felt the give of the bed as England sat down on the edge and folded his arms over his chest. Finally the world was brought into enough clarity that he could see.
“Y-you know…” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. “I-I can’t do that.”
England’s eyes narrowed. “You’re in no position to demand anything.”
“Doesn’t matter, England…you can’t stop me…you can’t stop my people. They’ll keep fighting, I’ll keep fighting.”
“You’re a fool. Look at you, you can’t do anything. You left yourself open, you thought you were invincible and now look at you-” He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him right off the bed until he landed painfully on his side, his hip bursting into a colorful spectacle of pain. He bit back a groan of anguish and tried to rip his arm away.
England’s hands were like steel.
“Let me go, England!” The pain in his side was throbbing in intensity and for a moment his vision swung in and out of color. He was sure he was going to pass out if he didn’t get relief, he could already feel…
“Why should I? You’re an ungrateful colony. I gave up everything for you and you abandoned me for some bullocks notion of freedom. You don’t understand anything, America.” He spit the words at him, not hiding his disgust. “For this you will have to pay. Your people will have to pay. I won’t tolerate insubordination and I’ll use you as an example.”
America looked up at him, eyes strained in their narrowing. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you can either walk or I’ll drag you through every town until this bloody war is over and every last rebel surrenders.”
==================================
The snow fell down in large clumps that drifted into Prussia’s vision and clouded out the night sky. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like he needed to see anyway. He could see well enough by the shift of the wildlife among the trees, by the distant sound of snow crunching underneath the weight of booted feet. From his vantage point it was as if the world was laid out before him like a painting coming to life before his eyes. He could see everything, including the approach of England’s troops from the north.
“They are close, huh?” Spain’s voice was soft over the howling wind.
“Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to?”
He didn’t need to look to his side to see the grin that had spread across the Spaniard’s lips. “Ah but do you really think this is the wisest idea?”
“Of course.” Prussia answered with a snort. “This is England we’re talking about. He wouldn’t go anywhere without that brat once he got his hands on him. Of all the people you should know that the best.”
The grunt beside him told him that Spain wasn’t happy with the comment, but Prussia just laughed anyway. “Just wait and see…my informant is good and when England decides to show his face it will be the last time he will turn his nose up at the rest of us. It’s time for the English Empire to fall.”
Spain just nodded and stared out into the inky darkness. “Si, mi amigo, si…”
==================================
The air was so cold.
With each breath America’s lungs burned and his chest felt a sheering pain along the wound on his side. He gritted his teeth and tried to forget about the hurt that ached across his body, the blood he felt saturating through his clothes, and the dizziness that swam before his eyes. The snow was hard to walk against and with each step he found it harder and harder to raise his legs and take another step. He hugged his navy jacket close against his body, willing the cold to keep him awake, to keep some semblance of his wits about him, but it seemed like everything was slipping away…
So he instead let England distract him.
England was so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off his body, smell the sweet scent of the Old World upon his clothes. It smelled faintly of tea and spices. It brought such a familiar tingle to his senses, something that conjured memories of his childhood, of years that were not filled with bloodshed and tears.
America turned his head ever so slightly and let his eyes drift to England’s profile. From this close he could see the taunt line of his lips, the firmly set jaw, the tight grip of clenched fingers. His eyes were heavy and he wanted to sleep, but he forced himself to focus on that person.
During all this time England had caused him so much pain…so why couldn’t he be angrier? Of course, he knew the reasons why-maybe he had always known the reasons why-but none of that mattered anymore. The tangled web they had both spun was damaged beyond repair. There would be no way to repair what delicate lines had been forged in the past.
“Why did you do this America?”
England’s voice broke through his thoughts, disrupting everything as it always did. “W-what?”
“Canada told me everything.”
Was…that supposed to mean something?
England’s exasperated sigh filled the air and America could see the tension in his shoulders, in the words he barely held pressed against his lips. He was on the edge but…
“What did he tell you? I don’t understand England.”
England’s voice sounded strained to his ears. “Don’t try to deny it America. He told me that-“
But before England could finish, the sound of gunpowder igniting echoed against the canopy of trees.
==================================
Prussia felt adrenaline pumping through his veins, the quickening pulsating beat that moved in rhythm with his feet, hands, and sword. The people before him had no chance as he kicked his horse forward and charged into the onslaught, racing across white turf as his hat bellowed into the breeze. He felt the thunderous pound of his horse’s muscles underneath him, the earth rattling with each gigantic leap of long legs and sliding gait.
At his side he could see Spain beside him-but even more clearly he could hear the thump thump thump as the Spaniard’s axe collided with bone and flesh. And that made Prussia laugh and vaguely wonder why France had missed out on the fun just to run off after that other little brat-but then again France had always considered himself a lover before a fighter, a delicate rose with thorns.
“Having fun, amigo?” Spain asked from beside him.
“Just like old times.” He could hear Spain’s half laugh, half grunt as another soldier fell under the weight of his axe.
These soldiers, even under the care of England’s watchful gaze, were nothing compared to years of training and warfare that they knew as nations. The moment the first gunshot had been fired, they were in his hands. Their troops came charging in around England’s smaller fleet-was England really so naïve to think that they wouldn’t take this opportunity?
They didn’t stand a chance, not when England’s actions were hindered by his love for that brat.
Prussia sliced his weapon through the air and felt the give of blood, flesh, and muscle. His sword was lost behind a haze full of red, as red as Prussia’s eyes, as red as the snow had become.
Up ahead he saw what he was looking for, and his lips moved into something between a snarl and a grin. There amongst the sequestering horde stood England-and there was no doubt that America was there as well. From here Prussia could just make out the golden gleam of embellishments that lined the red of England’s coat and that mop of dirty blonde hair and those emerald eyes. But even more so America was the stark contrast in his navy among the red, trying to stand out amongst the blood that engulfed him.
Prussia kicked his horse forward and the large animal powered through the field of men that crumbled under the weight of the animal. Prussia ignored the sickening crunch of broken bones as he pulled through the melee toward where America and England stood. He slid off his horse with ease, not even waiting for the animal to stop completely. Not even the men that surrounded England dared to challenge him and his blood soaked weapon, but when England saw him their eyes locked in a screaming challenge.
“You bloody…”
Prussia grinned. “Nice to see you too, England.” He reached into the folds of his long blue coat and drew out a pistol, leveling the outstretched chamber right at England.
Neither breathed.
“Give me back the kid and surrender.”
“Sod off you wa-“
“Oh I’d love too, but right now I’m more interested in kicking your ass. Get it? There’s only two ways this is going to go: either you give back the kid and surrender peacefully or I’ll beat you into surrendering. Personally-I hope you choose the latter.”
“What makes you think I’ll choose either?” He had a hand on America’s jacket, tugging the injured boy against him. Prussia could hear a groan of pain come from the boy, but he ignored it and instead kept his eyes-and his gun-trained on the man before him.
“I seem to be the one with the upper hand here.” England stated with a smirk.
“Tch,” Prussia laughed. “That bullshit talk might work with these kids but not with me. We both know Spain there will finish off the rest of your men and France will-oh wait…you didn’t know about France did you?” Prussia’s grin widened. “Well he already went to take care of that other brat and those troops you thought we didn’t know about.”
England’s eyes widened, jaw firm.
Prussia laughed and pulled back the safety, a threat and dare. It might have been a partial lie, but the look on England’s face said he wouldn’t hold it against France to try something so sneaky. At least the Frenchman’s missing presence would serve some good. “You get it England?” More laughter because the outcome of this had been decided the moment he had captured America.
“We win.”
==================================
He was ignored.
Like he meant nothing, he seemed to disappear. This whole fucking war was for his independence, but everyone had forgotten in the greed for their own revenge.
America was so tired of this.
He ripped away England’s hand from his coat and suddenly those powerful sets of eyes were on him. All around them there was fighting and death, he could hear the whistle of Spain’s axe and hear the grunt of dying men…
“Stop.”
Prussia’s lips formed a snarl. “What are you talking about America? We’ve won.” His gun was still pointed at England and from where America stood he could see the blood that soaked through the Prussian’s clothes and the droplets that dripped from his sword-even the sprinkles of red upon his face.
His gaze moved over to England, and everything that ever mattered-the end so close that his fingertips could almost grasp the end of this war, the end of the death and the victory of his freedom. It was as close and as real as the warmth of England’s body so close to his own...
“I can’t.”
“What the fuck America, this is-“
“I said I can’t. I’m not going to win like this.” He looked at Prussia, a tempest barely held at bay behind blue eyes. “Let him go. I’ll prove it without resorting to this. I’ll show you I can make it on my own.”
“This is your independence, everything you have been fighting for... are you just going to give it up?” Prussia’s words echoed through gritted teeth.
America looked at him and there was a shade to his eyes that Prussia had never seen before. “I’m not giving up my independence.” America began softly, his words gentle, soft on the breeze. “But I won’t win like this.” He gripped his side where his wound ached. His breathing was growing more and more ragged by the moment and he knew he didn’t have much longer to get these words out. “I’ll show him that I don’t need cheap tricks to win. I don’t need to kidnap him to win this war. I didn’t train and sacrifice so much to win this way.”
He turned to look at England, clutching his side and limping away. He felt so weak but he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t give up. “Let’s go Prussia.” From the distance Spain came running up to them, assessing the situation with clear green eyes that took in everything.
“America this is fucking-“
“I said, let’s go.”
He saw Spain step closer and watched him place a hand on Prussia’s shoulder. “It seems America has finally see the big picture, amigo.”
Prussia snorted. “At the worse possible moment.”
“Better than never.” The Spaniard conceded.
“Tch…” Prussia sighed. “Whatever, kid, this is your show.” He finally put down the gun and it disappeared into the folds of his coat. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I do,” America said firmly.
His blue eyes looked toward England. “I’ll show you England…I’ll make you see.”
“America…”
“What is it England?”
“I want you to show me…” There was a respect in England’s voice that America had never heard before, a give and break.
A grin spread across America’s lips, pushing through the pain and the grit and all the things that happened between them. “I will.” The smile softened and his eyes closed slightly. “England, just so you know…even though Canada might have said some stuff that made you upset, and we both did a of stupid things that messed us up along the way-I just want you to know that I still love you.”
Then he walked away.
And it was the beginning of the end for everything.
Author: masanami
Character(s): England/America, Prussia, France, Spain, Canada, Romano
Word Count: 5,200
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: *collapses* I-I finally finished this chapter...it was greatly delayed by other side projects and my busier than expected schedule with my new job. But I do have an announcement to make along with this chapter! The next chapter, chapter 12, will be the final chapter of Revolutionary Lines. I started to work on this fic back in July 2009 and it will finally be finished by the end of this month! The final chapter will be a short one that wraps up a few final threads, so expect a lot to happen in this chapter. Honestly, I think this may be one of my favorite chapters of the entire fic. Enjoy ♥
The tears did not come.
It didn’t surprise him. After all, how long had it been since the last time he had seen France? Canada was sure he had already cried every tear he would ever be able to cry for the man that had left when he was just a boy. No, the feeling that filled him when those strong arms wrapped around him was neither relief nor comfort, but some sort of strangling emotion that crept up from the depths of his gut and planted itself firmly on the tip of his tongue. It rendered him both speechless and nauseous at the same moment.
And though he buried his face into the warmth of that man’s coat, and let him run his fingers through his wavy blonde hair, Canada knew that this moment would not last long. He would not allow it to last long.
“I’ve finally come back for you, cheri.” France whispered into his ear, making Canada flinch as a cold shiver ran down the length of his spine. From this near he could feel the tingle of France’s breath on his neck, the soft warmth of each word punctuated like kisses against his skin.
It was too easy, the way that warmth could make his heart flutter and stir the core of his being. But it had been so long and how could he really let France affect him like this? How did he do it…make his head spin out of control and his heart pound against his chest?
France continued to speak and each word was like a melody against his eardrums. “I wanted to come so much sooner.” Those fingers again, brushing through his hair, caressing his scalp with their ginger touch. Like a dance, France’s voice and his words wove in and out through his mind, flooding forward the memories that always brought such smiles to his lips and happiness to even his darkest days. Here he was, after so long, he had finally come back again.
He mumbled against France’s chest.
“What was that, Canada?” He could hear the smile on France’s lips. “Won’t you look at me?”
Canada didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to get sucked into those blue pools and lost in the watery abyss. Here he was concrete, here was the real world and the cold truth. He didn’t want to drown in the lies.
“I-I…” He took a deep breath. “I can’t do this.”
“What-“
He pushed away from France and met his gaze with strength swirling in the turbulent depth of violet. “I can’t do this here and now with you. I’m at war with you.”
“But Canada…”
“Don’t give me excuses. You were the one that left and after all these years you decide to show up now?” He bit his lower lip, propelling himself forward as his fingers balled into fists at his side. “Only showing up when its convenient for you, leaving me behind with England and never once coming to see me again. How do you think that made me feel? How could you ever expect to come back so easily?”
He wouldn’t give France a chance to speak. He was afraid if he stopped that he wouldn’t be able to continue.
“I used to trust you and now I can’t trust you anymore.” His lips drew taunt lines between them. “I’m on England’s side in this.”
The silence stretched out between them.
After a moment, France sighed gently and brushed a loose strand of blonde hair from his face. And his eyes seemed saddened somehow, like they had lost some luster in their sapphire depth. But Canada wouldn’t let himself be motivated or burned by their obsession, and instead focused on the here and now, and all the things he owed to England.
“Canada, my love, that doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
France stepped forward and delicately placed a hand on Canada’s shoulder. For a moment he thought those fingertips were trembling, but he was sure it was just the cold and his imagination playing tricks on him. “England will fall. No matter how much he tries, he will not be able to over power us. He…he is already so weak and he doesn’t even realize it.”
“But-but…”
“There is nothing to discuss. Plans have already been put into motion that will end this.”
Canada’s eyes widened for a brief moment and fear flooded through him in a crippling paralysis. He felt his breath hitch in his throat and he coughed back his fear. “I have to go, I need to speak to-“ Just as he turned to leave, France grabbed his arm and yanked him back.
“It’s too late Canada.”
“N-no, it’s not! You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to go! I don’t believe you anymore.” He tried to yank his arm free but France held firm. “He won’t give up, he won’t stop until America is back.”
“Yes, I know…and that is precisely what will break him.”
“B-but he doesn’t know…” Now Canada felt sobs heave his chest and tears stream down the contours of his face. “He doesn’t understand because I lied.” He whispered the last, his words almost carried away on the breeze.
“Mon cheri...?” Spoke France’s tentative voice.
“Don’t you get it?” Flustered and unable to control the tears anymore, Canada looked at him in exasperation. “I lied. England doesn’t understand.”
He took a deep breath and tried to calm the beating of his chest.
“He doesn’t understand that America still loves him.”
==================================
“How long has it been amigo?” Spain asked from where he sat at the table, legs crossed and elbow leaning against the sturdy wooden frame. From here his green eyes watched as Prussia paced the room like a cat in need of a pole. The man’s anxiety permeated throughout the entire room, the dim light of a single candle providing the only reflection and warmth from the chill outside. From here the cold winds banged against the small cabin’s frame and whistled through the night air, but inside they were shielded from the storm of snowflake flurries.
But inside Prussia was about to wear a hole into the floor.
“Calm down, Prussia.” He reminded his friend.
“I can’t be calm when I want to tear England to pieces.” The other man spoke through bared teeth.
With a sigh, Spain stood and straightened out the folds of his long coat. There was no use trying to calm Prussia down when he got like this, when he was too strung out on a battle high to think rationally. America’s capture was certainly troublesome, but it wouldn’t be the first time something had put them in a compromising situation. After all, England certainly wasn’t going to win that easily.
He glided over to the small window cut from the logs of the cabin, his eyes staring out over the dwindling light to watch the troops as they huddled together and prepared camp. Amongst the crowd he caught sight of the Netherlands, tall and focused with an imposing force that kept the American soldiers on their toes. He refused to come inside and deal with the matter at hand, and Spain found himself slightly irritated by the other’s nonchalant behavior when it came to planning and deciding upon their strategy. Romano was out there as well, and for a moment Spain let his thoughts drift to the sun-kissed skin of the Italian, of the night when he would lay down beside the other man and curl his fingers through the chestnut hair. This cold and dreary place was not to his liking, but at least he could capture a taste of the warmth of Madrid in Romano’s scent and touch.
“We’re going to have to get him back.” Prussia said from behind him, and slowly Spain turned to regard his old friend. The grin spread across Prussia’s face and the malice buried within those red orbs spoke of the depth of his seriousness.
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“Fucking will be when we capture England in the process.”
“Certainly, if we could get England…”
“-then we will win this war.” Prussia finished for him. “He’s close, he’s vulnerable as hell with that boy around, and there’s not going to be another opportunity like this again. We do it now, we do it right. We can turn America’s idiotic mistake into a blessing.”
“And what about France?” Spain’s arms folded over his chest and he leaned back against the window, the chill of the glass panel sending a shiver down his spine.
“France has his own problems to sort out.” Prussia said with a wave of his hand. “He’s too busy sparking old flames to give a damn about the situation.”
“Ah…” Spain’s eyebrows rose in understanding. “So he decided to go after all...”
“It won’t do him any good.” Prussia snapped back, irritation lacing his words.
Spain shrugged his shoulders. “Amor, sometimes it doesn’t make sense to anyone.” He brushed a hand across his chin and a smile came to his lips. “Then I suppose this will be left to us, though it won’t be easy.”
Prussia grinned. “Damn right.” He cracked his knuckles. “It wouldn’t be any fun if it was easy.”
Easy, was the last thing Spain thought this would be.
==================================
It hurt.
It hurt when he breathed, it hurt when he moved, it even seemed to hurt if he thought about moving.
But there was one thing America was sure about, and it was that the hurt was a good thing. It meant he was still alive and alive was a lot better than dead. And even as he fidgeted between consciousness and unconsciousness, his mind a clouded mess covered with a thick shroud, the moments leading up to the pain played before his eyes.
He remembered England, he was remembered the gun blast, and he remembered far too clearly the moment when darkness had descended upon his vision. But like a fog, it was steadily clearing and even now he could hear noises just outside the maze of pain. There was the scrap of a chair, the sound of boots falling against sturdy ground, even an occasional sigh.
He was afraid to open his eyes.
He didn’t know what he would find and that was what scared him the most. Here in this dark place there was some measure of comfort because truly things could not get worse, but out there…out there in the light things could get much worse.
If he opened his eyes then he would have to accept what he had seen. He would have to come to terms with that deadness he had seen in England’s eyes, the way he had looked at him with such seething discontent. There was no telling what horrors lay within those eyes now.
The light would be unforgiving, but here in the darkness he could hide away.
==================================
Canada’s words kept playing over in his head.
America doesn’t love you anymore. He told me himself. He hates you now.
He only wants freedom from you.
England gritted his teeth as he paced back and forth within the small room. Even though the roaring fire in the corner warmed the room, England felt a cold shiver travel the length of his spine.
From across the room, the muffled groans and uneven breathing caught his attention, and his thick burrows furrowed as he looked toward the bed. He moved silently but quickly across the space, until he was looking down at America’s sweat-soaked face and the grimace of pain that had twisted his features.
How…did he grow so much in such a short time?
He looked so much different than the boy he remembered. The lines of his face were more defined, those eyes less innocent even when clouded over with pain. His hands were callused and hardened, worn and torn from training. This was no longer the boy he remembered bringing gifts to from the Old World, the young child that had so eagerly awaited his arrival.
He had been telling himself those very words all this time but here-with said person right before his eyes-England felt his heart shudder.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled underneath his breath as he clenched his fingers together until he felt the sting of his own fingernails digging into his skin.
He had been so confident that he could do this, that he could take America by force. He had pulled the bloody trigger for goodness sake! But seeing the way America withered in pain, his wound bandaged but saturated with blood despite the best attempts to stop the bleeding, England felt that icy chill in his heart crack.
America’s lips were slightly parted with panting breathes, and England was sure if he reached out a hand to place against the delicate skin that it would feel so warm to the touch…
He pulled his hand away before he did anything else.
No, no he couldn’t do this. Canada had told him that America no longer loved him, no longer cared for him, and that America wanted nothing more than to be free. If America wanted to be free then England would not so easily give into his demands. He was done being sentimental and sweet, the child he loved was gone-now only a stranger remained.
Or so he told himself over and over again, even as his emerald eyes strayed to that sleeping face that he remembered so well.
==================================
“Cheri, what do you mean?”
Canada looked around desperately, as if an answer lay buried somewhere out in the field of snow.
Now the tears really did fall-not because of France or America-but mostly for England. Because the lie he told him was meant to ease his pain, but instead it twisted England into something far worse then Canada imagined. He hated himself for being too scared to change things on his own, and now things were only more confusing than they had begun.
It was pathetic.
He felt his bottom lip tremble, and the place where France’s arms had been was so cold without the other man’s warmth.
The silence stretched out thick and heavy between them until, finally, France sighed. He took a step forward and placed a hand on the side of Canada’s tear-streaked face, thumb brushing against the wet skin.
“Canada, its okay.” His lips pulled apart with a small smile that showed the white of his teeth. “I think I understand now.” He brushed stray strands of blonde hair away. “But you don’t need to fret, mon cheri…because those two will eventually figure it out for themselves.”
After all these years Canada knew he shouldn’t believe France, that the words of someone that had abandoned him were laced with sweetness meant to deceive. But as he heard those words and saw the gentleness in his blue eyes, Canada couldn’t help but believe him. He wanted to believe him, more than anything, to right this wrong. Maybe his words changed everything, ended any chance of possible of reconciliation between England and America, or perhaps they had done nothing to deter the course of history, but the pain he had seen was real-and that was enough to convince Canada that his words had done irreversible damage.
Could he really hope that it was so easy as to let history take its own course?
He wanted to believe it. He had to believe that history would find a way to right this wrong.
“T-thank you, France.” He said as he reached up a hand and wiped the tears away. He stepped back again and looked at France, this time with a slight smile upon his lips. “It was good to see you, you know…”
France did not move to close the distance between them, instead smiling in understanding. If nothing else, he realized how much his Canada had grown and how things could never go back to the way they were-but there was always hope for the development of new from old. The New World was all about possibility, after all. “It was good to see you too, Canada. I’m sorry I took so long.”
“It’s okay.” Canada’s soft laughter filled the cold night with warmth. “Just don’t take so long next time, okay?”
==================================
It was impossible to resist the light.
America’s eyes fluttered open, a hazy murkiness filling the corner of his vision as he squinted his eyes against the harsh glare. He was inside, that much was obvious by the warmth of fire, but the pain in his side was too distracting for him to tell anything else.
“You’re awake.”
The sound of England’s voice made his heart beat faster and he gritted against the pain, willing the world into focus until those emerald eyes and dirty blonde hair came into sharp reality. England was leaning over him now and he could see the hard lines drawn across his face, the scowl hidden just beneath a light air of concern.
“E-england?” He groaned. It hurt to speak.
“Who else would it bloody be?” England said with a scoff.
He groaned. It was definitely England, no doubt about it.
“It’s time to give up America.” He felt the give of the bed as England sat down on the edge and folded his arms over his chest. Finally the world was brought into enough clarity that he could see.
“Y-you know…” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. “I-I can’t do that.”
England’s eyes narrowed. “You’re in no position to demand anything.”
“Doesn’t matter, England…you can’t stop me…you can’t stop my people. They’ll keep fighting, I’ll keep fighting.”
“You’re a fool. Look at you, you can’t do anything. You left yourself open, you thought you were invincible and now look at you-” He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him right off the bed until he landed painfully on his side, his hip bursting into a colorful spectacle of pain. He bit back a groan of anguish and tried to rip his arm away.
England’s hands were like steel.
“Let me go, England!” The pain in his side was throbbing in intensity and for a moment his vision swung in and out of color. He was sure he was going to pass out if he didn’t get relief, he could already feel…
“Why should I? You’re an ungrateful colony. I gave up everything for you and you abandoned me for some bullocks notion of freedom. You don’t understand anything, America.” He spit the words at him, not hiding his disgust. “For this you will have to pay. Your people will have to pay. I won’t tolerate insubordination and I’ll use you as an example.”
America looked up at him, eyes strained in their narrowing. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you can either walk or I’ll drag you through every town until this bloody war is over and every last rebel surrenders.”
==================================
The snow fell down in large clumps that drifted into Prussia’s vision and clouded out the night sky. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like he needed to see anyway. He could see well enough by the shift of the wildlife among the trees, by the distant sound of snow crunching underneath the weight of booted feet. From his vantage point it was as if the world was laid out before him like a painting coming to life before his eyes. He could see everything, including the approach of England’s troops from the north.
“They are close, huh?” Spain’s voice was soft over the howling wind.
“Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to?”
He didn’t need to look to his side to see the grin that had spread across the Spaniard’s lips. “Ah but do you really think this is the wisest idea?”
“Of course.” Prussia answered with a snort. “This is England we’re talking about. He wouldn’t go anywhere without that brat once he got his hands on him. Of all the people you should know that the best.”
The grunt beside him told him that Spain wasn’t happy with the comment, but Prussia just laughed anyway. “Just wait and see…my informant is good and when England decides to show his face it will be the last time he will turn his nose up at the rest of us. It’s time for the English Empire to fall.”
Spain just nodded and stared out into the inky darkness. “Si, mi amigo, si…”
==================================
The air was so cold.
With each breath America’s lungs burned and his chest felt a sheering pain along the wound on his side. He gritted his teeth and tried to forget about the hurt that ached across his body, the blood he felt saturating through his clothes, and the dizziness that swam before his eyes. The snow was hard to walk against and with each step he found it harder and harder to raise his legs and take another step. He hugged his navy jacket close against his body, willing the cold to keep him awake, to keep some semblance of his wits about him, but it seemed like everything was slipping away…
So he instead let England distract him.
England was so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off his body, smell the sweet scent of the Old World upon his clothes. It smelled faintly of tea and spices. It brought such a familiar tingle to his senses, something that conjured memories of his childhood, of years that were not filled with bloodshed and tears.
America turned his head ever so slightly and let his eyes drift to England’s profile. From this close he could see the taunt line of his lips, the firmly set jaw, the tight grip of clenched fingers. His eyes were heavy and he wanted to sleep, but he forced himself to focus on that person.
During all this time England had caused him so much pain…so why couldn’t he be angrier? Of course, he knew the reasons why-maybe he had always known the reasons why-but none of that mattered anymore. The tangled web they had both spun was damaged beyond repair. There would be no way to repair what delicate lines had been forged in the past.
“Why did you do this America?”
England’s voice broke through his thoughts, disrupting everything as it always did. “W-what?”
“Canada told me everything.”
Was…that supposed to mean something?
England’s exasperated sigh filled the air and America could see the tension in his shoulders, in the words he barely held pressed against his lips. He was on the edge but…
“What did he tell you? I don’t understand England.”
England’s voice sounded strained to his ears. “Don’t try to deny it America. He told me that-“
But before England could finish, the sound of gunpowder igniting echoed against the canopy of trees.
==================================
Prussia felt adrenaline pumping through his veins, the quickening pulsating beat that moved in rhythm with his feet, hands, and sword. The people before him had no chance as he kicked his horse forward and charged into the onslaught, racing across white turf as his hat bellowed into the breeze. He felt the thunderous pound of his horse’s muscles underneath him, the earth rattling with each gigantic leap of long legs and sliding gait.
At his side he could see Spain beside him-but even more clearly he could hear the thump thump thump as the Spaniard’s axe collided with bone and flesh. And that made Prussia laugh and vaguely wonder why France had missed out on the fun just to run off after that other little brat-but then again France had always considered himself a lover before a fighter, a delicate rose with thorns.
“Having fun, amigo?” Spain asked from beside him.
“Just like old times.” He could hear Spain’s half laugh, half grunt as another soldier fell under the weight of his axe.
These soldiers, even under the care of England’s watchful gaze, were nothing compared to years of training and warfare that they knew as nations. The moment the first gunshot had been fired, they were in his hands. Their troops came charging in around England’s smaller fleet-was England really so naïve to think that they wouldn’t take this opportunity?
They didn’t stand a chance, not when England’s actions were hindered by his love for that brat.
Prussia sliced his weapon through the air and felt the give of blood, flesh, and muscle. His sword was lost behind a haze full of red, as red as Prussia’s eyes, as red as the snow had become.
Up ahead he saw what he was looking for, and his lips moved into something between a snarl and a grin. There amongst the sequestering horde stood England-and there was no doubt that America was there as well. From here Prussia could just make out the golden gleam of embellishments that lined the red of England’s coat and that mop of dirty blonde hair and those emerald eyes. But even more so America was the stark contrast in his navy among the red, trying to stand out amongst the blood that engulfed him.
Prussia kicked his horse forward and the large animal powered through the field of men that crumbled under the weight of the animal. Prussia ignored the sickening crunch of broken bones as he pulled through the melee toward where America and England stood. He slid off his horse with ease, not even waiting for the animal to stop completely. Not even the men that surrounded England dared to challenge him and his blood soaked weapon, but when England saw him their eyes locked in a screaming challenge.
“You bloody…”
Prussia grinned. “Nice to see you too, England.” He reached into the folds of his long blue coat and drew out a pistol, leveling the outstretched chamber right at England.
Neither breathed.
“Give me back the kid and surrender.”
“Sod off you wa-“
“Oh I’d love too, but right now I’m more interested in kicking your ass. Get it? There’s only two ways this is going to go: either you give back the kid and surrender peacefully or I’ll beat you into surrendering. Personally-I hope you choose the latter.”
“What makes you think I’ll choose either?” He had a hand on America’s jacket, tugging the injured boy against him. Prussia could hear a groan of pain come from the boy, but he ignored it and instead kept his eyes-and his gun-trained on the man before him.
“I seem to be the one with the upper hand here.” England stated with a smirk.
“Tch,” Prussia laughed. “That bullshit talk might work with these kids but not with me. We both know Spain there will finish off the rest of your men and France will-oh wait…you didn’t know about France did you?” Prussia’s grin widened. “Well he already went to take care of that other brat and those troops you thought we didn’t know about.”
England’s eyes widened, jaw firm.
Prussia laughed and pulled back the safety, a threat and dare. It might have been a partial lie, but the look on England’s face said he wouldn’t hold it against France to try something so sneaky. At least the Frenchman’s missing presence would serve some good. “You get it England?” More laughter because the outcome of this had been decided the moment he had captured America.
“We win.”
==================================
He was ignored.
Like he meant nothing, he seemed to disappear. This whole fucking war was for his independence, but everyone had forgotten in the greed for their own revenge.
America was so tired of this.
He ripped away England’s hand from his coat and suddenly those powerful sets of eyes were on him. All around them there was fighting and death, he could hear the whistle of Spain’s axe and hear the grunt of dying men…
“Stop.”
Prussia’s lips formed a snarl. “What are you talking about America? We’ve won.” His gun was still pointed at England and from where America stood he could see the blood that soaked through the Prussian’s clothes and the droplets that dripped from his sword-even the sprinkles of red upon his face.
His gaze moved over to England, and everything that ever mattered-the end so close that his fingertips could almost grasp the end of this war, the end of the death and the victory of his freedom. It was as close and as real as the warmth of England’s body so close to his own...
“I can’t.”
“What the fuck America, this is-“
“I said I can’t. I’m not going to win like this.” He looked at Prussia, a tempest barely held at bay behind blue eyes. “Let him go. I’ll prove it without resorting to this. I’ll show you I can make it on my own.”
“This is your independence, everything you have been fighting for... are you just going to give it up?” Prussia’s words echoed through gritted teeth.
America looked at him and there was a shade to his eyes that Prussia had never seen before. “I’m not giving up my independence.” America began softly, his words gentle, soft on the breeze. “But I won’t win like this.” He gripped his side where his wound ached. His breathing was growing more and more ragged by the moment and he knew he didn’t have much longer to get these words out. “I’ll show him that I don’t need cheap tricks to win. I don’t need to kidnap him to win this war. I didn’t train and sacrifice so much to win this way.”
He turned to look at England, clutching his side and limping away. He felt so weak but he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t give up. “Let’s go Prussia.” From the distance Spain came running up to them, assessing the situation with clear green eyes that took in everything.
“America this is fucking-“
“I said, let’s go.”
He saw Spain step closer and watched him place a hand on Prussia’s shoulder. “It seems America has finally see the big picture, amigo.”
Prussia snorted. “At the worse possible moment.”
“Better than never.” The Spaniard conceded.
“Tch…” Prussia sighed. “Whatever, kid, this is your show.” He finally put down the gun and it disappeared into the folds of his coat. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I do,” America said firmly.
His blue eyes looked toward England. “I’ll show you England…I’ll make you see.”
“America…”
“What is it England?”
“I want you to show me…” There was a respect in England’s voice that America had never heard before, a give and break.
A grin spread across America’s lips, pushing through the pain and the grit and all the things that happened between them. “I will.” The smile softened and his eyes closed slightly. “England, just so you know…even though Canada might have said some stuff that made you upset, and we both did a of stupid things that messed us up along the way-I just want you to know that I still love you.”
Then he walked away.
And it was the beginning of the end for everything.