[Hetalia] Revolutionary Lines :: Chapter 12
Title: Revolutionary Lines
Author: masanami
Character(s): England/America, Prussia, France, Spain, Canada, Romano
Word Count: 3,878
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: Thank you so much to everyone that stayed with me as I worked on this fic-through the delays between updating, to the comments that kept me going when I faltered as a writer-you all mean the absolute world to me. I have to especially thank blulious who beta'ed several chapters, gave me fanart for this fic, and provided me with kind words. As a writer, every comment and word of encouragement has been special and worthwhile. I started this fic back in July 2009 and here, in February 2010, its done. Thank you for all the help and support along the way ♥
The sound of laughter filled the hallway.
Prussia leaned back in his chair, booted feet propped up on the table while France poured him another glass of expensive wine. There was a fierce grin upon his face, his cheeks tinged ruby red, as he brought the full glass to his lips and gulped it down. It was a day of celebration after all. After all the work, today was finally the day that the kid got his independence acknowledged and the British Empire was no more.
He looked over at France, impeccably dressed in hues of light blue and held out his glass for another refill. Perhaps the only thing making this a bittersweet moment was the fact that this might be the last time the three of them would be together like this in a while. They all knew far too well how time had a habit of changing things so easily and that precious moments like these were meant to be enjoyed-especially with fine wine and good company.
“It went well mi amigo.” Spain sat with his legs crossed at the knee, wine glass clasped in one hand and a smile dancing upon his lips.
“Damn right,” Prussia said with a grin. The final moments of the war came crashing down around them and in the end America proved to be the leader amongst his people, and they provided the finishing touches. It had been glorious to watch, to see his awesome creation step out on his own.
“I just hope America didn’t take to any of your bad habits.” France added with smirk.
Spain chuckled and his green eyes drifted toward France. “Si, si-but speaking of bad habits…how are things with Canada?”
“As well as can be expected.” The Frenchman swirled his drink and leaned back, knees crossing as one hand rested across his lap. “It seems that he made up with his brother. All is well.”
“And?”
A sly smirk crossed France’s lips. “As I said, all is well.”
“Tch, I’m sure that means you managed to worm your way back into his good graces.” Prussia piped in.
“Mon cheri, I never have a problem getting what I want eventually.”
Prussia laughed, mostly because the slight irritated twitch in the corner of France’s lip gave him away. “What-fucking- ever. Now that England is out of the picture and won’t be running you off anymore I’m sure you’ll be spending plenty of time up north these days. That’s if Canada will even let you.”
“You have an amazing ways with words Prussia, I’m sure that-“
“Now, now. Calm down both of you.” Spain intervened with a laugh. “This is a day of celebration after all. Shouldn’t we be drinking to America?”
With a nod of concession from them both, Spain raised his glass. “To America, for winning his independence…” a smile pulled the corner of his lips. “And for reuniting old friends.”
Their glasses clinked together amid the laughter of old friends and strong bonds.
======================================================
It was raining on that day.
He remembered the feel of water cascading down the side of his face, mingling in and hiding the tears that felt warm against his skin. It had been a dark day. The mud seeped in around his shoes, making movement difficult, making the very act of standing still feel as if he were drowning.
But more profound was the sight crumbled on his knees before him.
England never looked so…no, he couldn’t think of a word to describe the way that England had looked that day. Small was just a pathetic word that had slipped between his lips when nothing else came. His mind had been too consumed by the intermingling emotions that had come pounding through the sweat, tears, and blood. There was so much rolled into that one moment that could make or break everything-and it was a moment that he had to break or everything that he had worked so hard for would be for nothing.
Even though it meant that England had to surrender, at least there was finality in that loss. There was an end. Only from an end could a new beginning be forged-only then would there be a chance to pick up the pieces-but first they had to finish crumbling.
And that’s the only thing that had been consuming America’s thoughts. It dominated every corner of his subconscious, every dominant ideal that he felt pulsating through his mind. Now that this ridiculous war was over, now that his freedom was no longer in question, maybe he and England could finally begin to put the pieces back together. He didn’t expect it to be easy, and there was still bitterness, but there was also still love.
Somehow, someway, their love had to overcome this.
England…he couldn’t have forgotten how to love him, could he? He couldn’t have changed so much that it was beyond…saving? Despite everything that had happened America knew he still loved England…so was there a way that England could feel the same? Could they finally meet each other on the same field, with the distance between them lessened? Or would he always be the same, small child that he had ruled over?
America shook his head as he walked down the hallway of the large house sequestered outside of Yorktown. If there was one thing that Prussia had taught him, it was that time could change everything. Nothing was static, time was always evolving the world and relationships around them.
Even now he could hear laughter as proof. In the other room, as the final negotiations were being finished deep within the belly of the house, America could hear Spain, France, and Prussia celebrating their victory. They were toasting to their success, to crushing the world’s super power and bringing a new person into the folds of the Old World’s grasp. Of making a true nation of America.
America stopped and laid a hand on the worn oak of the two large double doors and he could hear the distant muffles from the other side. He wanted to be in there, to be present as the final surrender was being completed but there was a part of him that was holding back. This was a time for his people to rejoice, but there was also a part of him that didn’t want to see England fall like that. He didn’t want to imagine how much…anguish this final sealing act would bring. If nothing else, he wanted to spare him that single moment.
He sighed and leaned his head against the doorframe, rubbing his eyes that ached. All throughout his body he felt an itch of anticipation and excitement, but it wasn’t just because of the freedom that was no longer a rumbling but a fact-it something else quite different. It was a longing, a desire to spread further, to seek the unknown in an adventure of a lifetime. It made his heart race with excitement, because he knew-he just knew his people would tell him what they needed when the time came. He had a feeling that they were tired of the Old World and wanted to start fresh with the New-and that meant a new shift in direction and thought.
It brought a smile to his face, thinking how these thoughts were no longer an impossibility, but a reality of all the things he could actually achieve as a nation. It sent his heart fluttering, the beat pacing just a little bit faster.
The future held infinite possibilities.
The sound of boots against the wooden planks woke him from his thoughts and he looked up expecting to see Prussia standing in front of him, chiding him for not being present in an important meeting or for not celebrating with the rest of them.
Before he even looked up he started his excuse. “I’m really not-“
He stopped and so did England, and everything just seemed to pause.
Their eyes locked across the room, England’s emerald and his sky blue, and for a moment America was quite sure that neither of them was breathing. From here England look tired; the lines underneath his eyes were heavy, lips sullen and down turned. The coat he wore was clean but worn, and he looked so unlike the polished and perfect person he always saw in his mind.
“England.” The word was whispered on his lips, a call, a wish, a want. It was the first time he had seen him since that rainy day and there were so many things he still wanted to say…
England’s eyes widened before narrowing, his lips drawing taunt lines across his face. He didn’t even blink before turning away and walking out the door.
The only thing America saw was the straightened back of a broken spirit.
======================================================
America couldn’t remember the last time he had been home. On the night he had left behind everything it had been the last time he had seen this building. And as he stepped up the familiar wooden stairs, he couldn’t help but smile slightly at the memories of this place. This was the home that England had built him when he had been a boy; a playhouse of their memories of being together, of his change, of the moments when he realized that things would never be the same. He still remembered that night when he had said his final goodbye, and he still pictured that sleeping face so vividly in his mind. And he was certain on those lonely days in the fields, when the world had seemed like such a cold and dark place, that that warm thought would be his last memory if things were forced to end. The fond memories of this place helped keep him alive.
He placed a hand on the door and it opened with a quiet creak that echoed through the empty house.
It was dark inside but America could see everything clearly. The furniture was all the same, nothing moved or touched despite his absence. A sad smile crept across his cheeks and he sighed delicately as stepped inside.
It was then that he heard a sound.
The sound was a little creak, the groaning of wood under a shifting weight, followed by its release. It was near by, and almost instinctively America moved toward the hallway that led to the back parlor.
He nearly collided into England when the other man came hurrying out of the back room.
“E-england?” America blinked, thinking his eyes were deceiving him. But he was there; green eyes widened in surprise, lips slightly parted in disbelief.
“I was just leaving…I-I left some things behind. I didn’t know you would be back so soon.” England’s words were quick and muttered between loosely pressed lips. From where he stood America could see as England shifted from foot to foot and the ruffled end of his coat was lost in his clenched fists. “I’ll leave right now.” He moved past America, shouldering him out of the way.
But America’s voice and the soft smile on his lips stopped him. “Stay, please, for a little while.”
England’s emerald eyes blinked open, lips parted in unspoken words, promises and wishes that could not be uttered aloud. “What do you mean?” The mask slipped back on as his eyes narrowed and his lips clenched shut. “There’s no way in the bloody hell I would want to stay in this place a moment longer. I h-hate it here.” With a turn of his hips, England moved toward the front door with purposeful steps that echoed against the wooden floor.
Before the war those words would have hurt and seeing the back of the person America cared for walking away from him would leave a fluttering pain in his chest-but now those feelings were gone. There were still many things he had left to prove, many things that he wanted to show England. He couldn’t expect things to change over night but he still hoped for the chance to fix the torn lines between them even if it took his entire life.
But for right now…
It took two steps to close the distance between them and then one more to grab England’s hand. The fourth step stopped them both and let the echoing drum of their last footfalls fill the silence between them.
The fifth step closed the distance between them entirely.
America’s arms slipped around England’s waist and his head rested against his shoulder blades. He could feel the shudder of each vulnerable breath, the pursed breathing that traced between taunt lips.
“If just for today…” America’s words were whispered against the soft wool of England’s coat. “…let’s just have this one day to forget everything. This one day, please, let me stay in your arms.”
If he looked back on the moments that followed after that, America couldn’t remember if they happened fast or slow-he just knew he would never forget them.
A long, shuddering breath escaped between England’s lips. And with that breath it felt as if England let go of everything that he had held between them.
America felt the brush of England’s fingers against his cool skin, the tender and fragile hold that of the other man’s hand against the side of his face when England turned in his embrace.
“Are you…sure?” There was almost too much hope in England’s eyes, too much relief that was flooding over the brim.
America nodded.
There was only a moment of hesitation in those emerald eyes before what little distance that separated them became extinct.
======================================================
The morning sun burned.
When England began to open his eyes against the brimming backdrop, he immediately wanted to close them again.
The previous night played out before his closed eyes; the touch of hands, the sweat, the heat. America had felt so much stronger this time then the last-this time he had led the way to the bedroom and laid down on the bed instead of being pushed along the way. England remembered standing at the doorway as America loosened the buttons on his shirt, exposing the white skin at the collar, showing the rise and fall of the chest that breathed in and out in both excitement and patience. This America was different then the one that had fallen so easily under his hands before-and when the younger nation had reached out a hand toward him and those blue eyes and soft lips smiled at him, he cold do nothing else but close the distance between them.
Lips touched, clothes were pushed aside. The skin was warm underneath him, but sweet and young even in its post-war blemish. He could trace his fingers along the bruises that were still healing, across the cuts that would never quite disappear. He burned their image into his mind so that he would never forget and then kissed them away with brushes of his lips that touched every corner of the young nation’s body.
He wanted to feel that skin again, he was drawn to that warmth and the light in those eyes. America was addicting and just like before he knew he would never be the same.
But this was so completely different. He had come to this house one final time to say his goodbyes, realizing that even if America said he loved him that there was no way to mend what had broken between them. But just like so many times over the years…America surprised him. He invited him in, gave him one last time to break the harsh times between them before their duty and the past came blaring back to life. No, it wouldn’t be a simple mending, but there was so much promise for one.
America was strong like that. If there was one person that could do it, then it could only be him.
England’s fingers drifted across the sheets in a silence search. He wanted to hold those strong shoulders in his arms again, to feel the weight of his feelings so tangible within his grasp.
But he was alone.
A sigh escaped his lips and he brushed a hand through his hair, moving the dirty blonde strands from his face. The place beside him was warm, but England knew that America would not be back-but perhaps that’s for the best. He can’t help but let the smallest of smiles grace his lips as he tossed aside the covers to stand.
He wasn’t a fool and he was too old to hold onto the idealized notions that America still clung to so tightly. He knew outside of this room that things would not be this way, that it would be a long time before they would ever share a moment like this again. But maybe America realized that, in his own way, and that’s why they both lingered on these unspoken words.
He moved over to the window and gazed out the glass panel, marveling at how lovely and beautiful America’s lands looked in the early morning hours. The fields spread out, bathed in an orange glow that turned green leaves a welcoming amber. He lost his sight in the distance and the spread of lands-lands that stretched out much further than his eyes or hands could ever reach.
But maybe that’s the way its always meant to be. It was foolish for him to believe that he could control something so unattainable, so fleeting and wild.
“America…” he mumbled underneath his breath. “Were you always this beautiful?”
But he had known-he had always known-that America was this beautiful.
And for some reason he couldn’t quite fathom-despite everything he had lost-it made him smile.
======================================================
America hugged his knees against his chest as he watched the last traces of night disappear into the day. From the grassy plains overlooking his house, his lands spread out so openly and beautiful. The sight took away his breath, calmed his soul, and filled him with so much hope. This land, which had been so torn by war, was finally on the mend.
He couldn’t wait to see how beautiful it would grow.
The future was limitless. He had to sacrifice everything, he had to turn away from all that had been comfortable and known, but it would be worth it. This New World would be his for the shaping, for change, and for new beginnings. There was something in that promise of youth and freedom that made his heart swell with pride and hope.
He pushed himself up and wiped down the fabric of his pants. His eyes drifted toward the house and the person he had left behind. By now England would be waking up from his sleep, he would get ready, and then he would gone.
“It’s better this way.” America said quietly.
He knew better than to hope that the world would allow them to be together so easily, but if there was one thing he had learned it was that time allowed for change and maybe this was the first step down a line that would lead to that future. Even if the world changed him, he wouldn’t ever let his love for England be buried away.
He wanted to grow stronger and bigger-he wanted to be someone that England could depend on and who could protect him. It wouldn’t be an easy line to follow, but it would be one filled with adventure and promise.
America shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants and smiled as he walked back toward the home that he had shared with England for so many years-back to his past and the unknown future.
======================================================
Each button was snapped, collar pressed smooth, boots tightened.
It was methodological and simple, merely a movement and not a thought. When he was finished, England took one final look at the bed, carefully made by himself with the edges neatly folded and the pillows straightened, before he closed the door and left.
He didn’t bother to look downstairs for America; he already knew the young man was gone. Instead he took one last look down the corridors with its memory laced walls, before turning toward the front door and stepping outside.
It was a warm morning. From the front porch he could hear the sound of birds chirping among treetops and the shift of trees as they danced through waves of strong breezes. England heard a sound coming from around the corner of the house. He felt the corners of his lips turn into a small, sad smile.
Turning back to look at the house one last time, he hoped that America would keep it and the memories they held together. He knew the world would change America in ways that the young man had yet to understand or imagine, but he still hoped that maybe part of what he had always loved about America would remain.
Maybe it would even blossom.
======================================================
America could hear the sound of England leaving, but he didn’t go to see him. It was better this way. Last night was their goodbye, a sweet memory that should not be broken by this momentary departure. There was still reset and anger among his people for all that had happened between them, but there was still hope for a new beginning once the damage finished mending. So for right now this was good, this was the way he wanted it to be.
He pressed his back against the side of the building until the sound of the departing horse faded away.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The air was cold and wet, but it tasted clean as it passed across his lips and buried itself deep in his lungs. The scent of the air was like the early morning; fresh and sweet, something new and different. He wondered if it had really changed or if it was the new lease he had on life that had changed it.
He braced his weight against the solid surface for a second more before pushing off and standing on his own two feet. The earth felt good underneath his steady steps; a sturdy foundation for him to walk along toward a new bright future.
They had drawn lines down this path long ago-lines that would carry them through the present and to the future. He had chosen revolution and somewhere along that line he had found the resolution to be a leader, his people had come together, and they had both grown into a nation of their own. It had been a path that was filled with new friendships, loss, and growth-memories and moments he would never forget.
And now the revolution was over, and it was time for him to choose a new line to walk. In the future he knew what he wanted to be and where he wanted to go, but the steps he took to get there all hinged on the choices he now made.
The wind rustled through his blonde hair and he smiled as he walked along the path surrounding his house. The lands of his nation filled in his vision as he stared out into the open world spread out before him.
Once the lines of revolution were gone, the possibilities were endless.
Author: masanami
Character(s): England/America, Prussia, France, Spain, Canada, Romano
Word Count: 3,878
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: Thank you so much to everyone that stayed with me as I worked on this fic-through the delays between updating, to the comments that kept me going when I faltered as a writer-you all mean the absolute world to me. I have to especially thank blulious who beta'ed several chapters, gave me fanart for this fic, and provided me with kind words. As a writer, every comment and word of encouragement has been special and worthwhile. I started this fic back in July 2009 and here, in February 2010, its done. Thank you for all the help and support along the way ♥
The sound of laughter filled the hallway.
Prussia leaned back in his chair, booted feet propped up on the table while France poured him another glass of expensive wine. There was a fierce grin upon his face, his cheeks tinged ruby red, as he brought the full glass to his lips and gulped it down. It was a day of celebration after all. After all the work, today was finally the day that the kid got his independence acknowledged and the British Empire was no more.
He looked over at France, impeccably dressed in hues of light blue and held out his glass for another refill. Perhaps the only thing making this a bittersweet moment was the fact that this might be the last time the three of them would be together like this in a while. They all knew far too well how time had a habit of changing things so easily and that precious moments like these were meant to be enjoyed-especially with fine wine and good company.
“It went well mi amigo.” Spain sat with his legs crossed at the knee, wine glass clasped in one hand and a smile dancing upon his lips.
“Damn right,” Prussia said with a grin. The final moments of the war came crashing down around them and in the end America proved to be the leader amongst his people, and they provided the finishing touches. It had been glorious to watch, to see his awesome creation step out on his own.
“I just hope America didn’t take to any of your bad habits.” France added with smirk.
Spain chuckled and his green eyes drifted toward France. “Si, si-but speaking of bad habits…how are things with Canada?”
“As well as can be expected.” The Frenchman swirled his drink and leaned back, knees crossing as one hand rested across his lap. “It seems that he made up with his brother. All is well.”
“And?”
A sly smirk crossed France’s lips. “As I said, all is well.”
“Tch, I’m sure that means you managed to worm your way back into his good graces.” Prussia piped in.
“Mon cheri, I never have a problem getting what I want eventually.”
Prussia laughed, mostly because the slight irritated twitch in the corner of France’s lip gave him away. “What-fucking- ever. Now that England is out of the picture and won’t be running you off anymore I’m sure you’ll be spending plenty of time up north these days. That’s if Canada will even let you.”
“You have an amazing ways with words Prussia, I’m sure that-“
“Now, now. Calm down both of you.” Spain intervened with a laugh. “This is a day of celebration after all. Shouldn’t we be drinking to America?”
With a nod of concession from them both, Spain raised his glass. “To America, for winning his independence…” a smile pulled the corner of his lips. “And for reuniting old friends.”
Their glasses clinked together amid the laughter of old friends and strong bonds.
======================================================
It was raining on that day.
He remembered the feel of water cascading down the side of his face, mingling in and hiding the tears that felt warm against his skin. It had been a dark day. The mud seeped in around his shoes, making movement difficult, making the very act of standing still feel as if he were drowning.
But more profound was the sight crumbled on his knees before him.
England never looked so…no, he couldn’t think of a word to describe the way that England had looked that day. Small was just a pathetic word that had slipped between his lips when nothing else came. His mind had been too consumed by the intermingling emotions that had come pounding through the sweat, tears, and blood. There was so much rolled into that one moment that could make or break everything-and it was a moment that he had to break or everything that he had worked so hard for would be for nothing.
Even though it meant that England had to surrender, at least there was finality in that loss. There was an end. Only from an end could a new beginning be forged-only then would there be a chance to pick up the pieces-but first they had to finish crumbling.
And that’s the only thing that had been consuming America’s thoughts. It dominated every corner of his subconscious, every dominant ideal that he felt pulsating through his mind. Now that this ridiculous war was over, now that his freedom was no longer in question, maybe he and England could finally begin to put the pieces back together. He didn’t expect it to be easy, and there was still bitterness, but there was also still love.
Somehow, someway, their love had to overcome this.
England…he couldn’t have forgotten how to love him, could he? He couldn’t have changed so much that it was beyond…saving? Despite everything that had happened America knew he still loved England…so was there a way that England could feel the same? Could they finally meet each other on the same field, with the distance between them lessened? Or would he always be the same, small child that he had ruled over?
America shook his head as he walked down the hallway of the large house sequestered outside of Yorktown. If there was one thing that Prussia had taught him, it was that time could change everything. Nothing was static, time was always evolving the world and relationships around them.
Even now he could hear laughter as proof. In the other room, as the final negotiations were being finished deep within the belly of the house, America could hear Spain, France, and Prussia celebrating their victory. They were toasting to their success, to crushing the world’s super power and bringing a new person into the folds of the Old World’s grasp. Of making a true nation of America.
America stopped and laid a hand on the worn oak of the two large double doors and he could hear the distant muffles from the other side. He wanted to be in there, to be present as the final surrender was being completed but there was a part of him that was holding back. This was a time for his people to rejoice, but there was also a part of him that didn’t want to see England fall like that. He didn’t want to imagine how much…anguish this final sealing act would bring. If nothing else, he wanted to spare him that single moment.
He sighed and leaned his head against the doorframe, rubbing his eyes that ached. All throughout his body he felt an itch of anticipation and excitement, but it wasn’t just because of the freedom that was no longer a rumbling but a fact-it something else quite different. It was a longing, a desire to spread further, to seek the unknown in an adventure of a lifetime. It made his heart race with excitement, because he knew-he just knew his people would tell him what they needed when the time came. He had a feeling that they were tired of the Old World and wanted to start fresh with the New-and that meant a new shift in direction and thought.
It brought a smile to his face, thinking how these thoughts were no longer an impossibility, but a reality of all the things he could actually achieve as a nation. It sent his heart fluttering, the beat pacing just a little bit faster.
The future held infinite possibilities.
The sound of boots against the wooden planks woke him from his thoughts and he looked up expecting to see Prussia standing in front of him, chiding him for not being present in an important meeting or for not celebrating with the rest of them.
Before he even looked up he started his excuse. “I’m really not-“
He stopped and so did England, and everything just seemed to pause.
Their eyes locked across the room, England’s emerald and his sky blue, and for a moment America was quite sure that neither of them was breathing. From here England look tired; the lines underneath his eyes were heavy, lips sullen and down turned. The coat he wore was clean but worn, and he looked so unlike the polished and perfect person he always saw in his mind.
“England.” The word was whispered on his lips, a call, a wish, a want. It was the first time he had seen him since that rainy day and there were so many things he still wanted to say…
England’s eyes widened before narrowing, his lips drawing taunt lines across his face. He didn’t even blink before turning away and walking out the door.
The only thing America saw was the straightened back of a broken spirit.
======================================================
America couldn’t remember the last time he had been home. On the night he had left behind everything it had been the last time he had seen this building. And as he stepped up the familiar wooden stairs, he couldn’t help but smile slightly at the memories of this place. This was the home that England had built him when he had been a boy; a playhouse of their memories of being together, of his change, of the moments when he realized that things would never be the same. He still remembered that night when he had said his final goodbye, and he still pictured that sleeping face so vividly in his mind. And he was certain on those lonely days in the fields, when the world had seemed like such a cold and dark place, that that warm thought would be his last memory if things were forced to end. The fond memories of this place helped keep him alive.
He placed a hand on the door and it opened with a quiet creak that echoed through the empty house.
It was dark inside but America could see everything clearly. The furniture was all the same, nothing moved or touched despite his absence. A sad smile crept across his cheeks and he sighed delicately as stepped inside.
It was then that he heard a sound.
The sound was a little creak, the groaning of wood under a shifting weight, followed by its release. It was near by, and almost instinctively America moved toward the hallway that led to the back parlor.
He nearly collided into England when the other man came hurrying out of the back room.
“E-england?” America blinked, thinking his eyes were deceiving him. But he was there; green eyes widened in surprise, lips slightly parted in disbelief.
“I was just leaving…I-I left some things behind. I didn’t know you would be back so soon.” England’s words were quick and muttered between loosely pressed lips. From where he stood America could see as England shifted from foot to foot and the ruffled end of his coat was lost in his clenched fists. “I’ll leave right now.” He moved past America, shouldering him out of the way.
But America’s voice and the soft smile on his lips stopped him. “Stay, please, for a little while.”
England’s emerald eyes blinked open, lips parted in unspoken words, promises and wishes that could not be uttered aloud. “What do you mean?” The mask slipped back on as his eyes narrowed and his lips clenched shut. “There’s no way in the bloody hell I would want to stay in this place a moment longer. I h-hate it here.” With a turn of his hips, England moved toward the front door with purposeful steps that echoed against the wooden floor.
Before the war those words would have hurt and seeing the back of the person America cared for walking away from him would leave a fluttering pain in his chest-but now those feelings were gone. There were still many things he had left to prove, many things that he wanted to show England. He couldn’t expect things to change over night but he still hoped for the chance to fix the torn lines between them even if it took his entire life.
But for right now…
It took two steps to close the distance between them and then one more to grab England’s hand. The fourth step stopped them both and let the echoing drum of their last footfalls fill the silence between them.
The fifth step closed the distance between them entirely.
America’s arms slipped around England’s waist and his head rested against his shoulder blades. He could feel the shudder of each vulnerable breath, the pursed breathing that traced between taunt lips.
“If just for today…” America’s words were whispered against the soft wool of England’s coat. “…let’s just have this one day to forget everything. This one day, please, let me stay in your arms.”
If he looked back on the moments that followed after that, America couldn’t remember if they happened fast or slow-he just knew he would never forget them.
A long, shuddering breath escaped between England’s lips. And with that breath it felt as if England let go of everything that he had held between them.
America felt the brush of England’s fingers against his cool skin, the tender and fragile hold that of the other man’s hand against the side of his face when England turned in his embrace.
“Are you…sure?” There was almost too much hope in England’s eyes, too much relief that was flooding over the brim.
America nodded.
There was only a moment of hesitation in those emerald eyes before what little distance that separated them became extinct.
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The morning sun burned.
When England began to open his eyes against the brimming backdrop, he immediately wanted to close them again.
The previous night played out before his closed eyes; the touch of hands, the sweat, the heat. America had felt so much stronger this time then the last-this time he had led the way to the bedroom and laid down on the bed instead of being pushed along the way. England remembered standing at the doorway as America loosened the buttons on his shirt, exposing the white skin at the collar, showing the rise and fall of the chest that breathed in and out in both excitement and patience. This America was different then the one that had fallen so easily under his hands before-and when the younger nation had reached out a hand toward him and those blue eyes and soft lips smiled at him, he cold do nothing else but close the distance between them.
Lips touched, clothes were pushed aside. The skin was warm underneath him, but sweet and young even in its post-war blemish. He could trace his fingers along the bruises that were still healing, across the cuts that would never quite disappear. He burned their image into his mind so that he would never forget and then kissed them away with brushes of his lips that touched every corner of the young nation’s body.
He wanted to feel that skin again, he was drawn to that warmth and the light in those eyes. America was addicting and just like before he knew he would never be the same.
But this was so completely different. He had come to this house one final time to say his goodbyes, realizing that even if America said he loved him that there was no way to mend what had broken between them. But just like so many times over the years…America surprised him. He invited him in, gave him one last time to break the harsh times between them before their duty and the past came blaring back to life. No, it wouldn’t be a simple mending, but there was so much promise for one.
America was strong like that. If there was one person that could do it, then it could only be him.
England’s fingers drifted across the sheets in a silence search. He wanted to hold those strong shoulders in his arms again, to feel the weight of his feelings so tangible within his grasp.
But he was alone.
A sigh escaped his lips and he brushed a hand through his hair, moving the dirty blonde strands from his face. The place beside him was warm, but England knew that America would not be back-but perhaps that’s for the best. He can’t help but let the smallest of smiles grace his lips as he tossed aside the covers to stand.
He wasn’t a fool and he was too old to hold onto the idealized notions that America still clung to so tightly. He knew outside of this room that things would not be this way, that it would be a long time before they would ever share a moment like this again. But maybe America realized that, in his own way, and that’s why they both lingered on these unspoken words.
He moved over to the window and gazed out the glass panel, marveling at how lovely and beautiful America’s lands looked in the early morning hours. The fields spread out, bathed in an orange glow that turned green leaves a welcoming amber. He lost his sight in the distance and the spread of lands-lands that stretched out much further than his eyes or hands could ever reach.
But maybe that’s the way its always meant to be. It was foolish for him to believe that he could control something so unattainable, so fleeting and wild.
“America…” he mumbled underneath his breath. “Were you always this beautiful?”
But he had known-he had always known-that America was this beautiful.
And for some reason he couldn’t quite fathom-despite everything he had lost-it made him smile.
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America hugged his knees against his chest as he watched the last traces of night disappear into the day. From the grassy plains overlooking his house, his lands spread out so openly and beautiful. The sight took away his breath, calmed his soul, and filled him with so much hope. This land, which had been so torn by war, was finally on the mend.
He couldn’t wait to see how beautiful it would grow.
The future was limitless. He had to sacrifice everything, he had to turn away from all that had been comfortable and known, but it would be worth it. This New World would be his for the shaping, for change, and for new beginnings. There was something in that promise of youth and freedom that made his heart swell with pride and hope.
He pushed himself up and wiped down the fabric of his pants. His eyes drifted toward the house and the person he had left behind. By now England would be waking up from his sleep, he would get ready, and then he would gone.
“It’s better this way.” America said quietly.
He knew better than to hope that the world would allow them to be together so easily, but if there was one thing he had learned it was that time allowed for change and maybe this was the first step down a line that would lead to that future. Even if the world changed him, he wouldn’t ever let his love for England be buried away.
He wanted to grow stronger and bigger-he wanted to be someone that England could depend on and who could protect him. It wouldn’t be an easy line to follow, but it would be one filled with adventure and promise.
America shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants and smiled as he walked back toward the home that he had shared with England for so many years-back to his past and the unknown future.
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Each button was snapped, collar pressed smooth, boots tightened.
It was methodological and simple, merely a movement and not a thought. When he was finished, England took one final look at the bed, carefully made by himself with the edges neatly folded and the pillows straightened, before he closed the door and left.
He didn’t bother to look downstairs for America; he already knew the young man was gone. Instead he took one last look down the corridors with its memory laced walls, before turning toward the front door and stepping outside.
It was a warm morning. From the front porch he could hear the sound of birds chirping among treetops and the shift of trees as they danced through waves of strong breezes. England heard a sound coming from around the corner of the house. He felt the corners of his lips turn into a small, sad smile.
Turning back to look at the house one last time, he hoped that America would keep it and the memories they held together. He knew the world would change America in ways that the young man had yet to understand or imagine, but he still hoped that maybe part of what he had always loved about America would remain.
Maybe it would even blossom.
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America could hear the sound of England leaving, but he didn’t go to see him. It was better this way. Last night was their goodbye, a sweet memory that should not be broken by this momentary departure. There was still reset and anger among his people for all that had happened between them, but there was still hope for a new beginning once the damage finished mending. So for right now this was good, this was the way he wanted it to be.
He pressed his back against the side of the building until the sound of the departing horse faded away.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The air was cold and wet, but it tasted clean as it passed across his lips and buried itself deep in his lungs. The scent of the air was like the early morning; fresh and sweet, something new and different. He wondered if it had really changed or if it was the new lease he had on life that had changed it.
He braced his weight against the solid surface for a second more before pushing off and standing on his own two feet. The earth felt good underneath his steady steps; a sturdy foundation for him to walk along toward a new bright future.
They had drawn lines down this path long ago-lines that would carry them through the present and to the future. He had chosen revolution and somewhere along that line he had found the resolution to be a leader, his people had come together, and they had both grown into a nation of their own. It had been a path that was filled with new friendships, loss, and growth-memories and moments he would never forget.
And now the revolution was over, and it was time for him to choose a new line to walk. In the future he knew what he wanted to be and where he wanted to go, but the steps he took to get there all hinged on the choices he now made.
The wind rustled through his blonde hair and he smiled as he walked along the path surrounding his house. The lands of his nation filled in his vision as he stared out into the open world spread out before him.
Once the lines of revolution were gone, the possibilities were endless.