[FIC] You Can't Miss What You Never Had (6/7)
Title: You Can't Miss What You Never Had
Author: xxfurryfirefoxx (me)
Characters: England and America
Warnings/Rating: T
Summary: After another night of drinking, England falls asleep wishing he had won the Revolutionary War so that America would still be his obedient, cute little brother. Upon waking, England finds his wish granted.
England walked up to the man at the ticket counter. On the way he pulled out his return ticket to London and ripped it up. He threw it in the trashcan by the line.
“Où voulez-vous aller, monsieur?” the man asked.
“Un billet pour Washington D.C., s’il vous plaît,” England said.
“Où?” The man looked confused.
Oh, right. It doesn’t exist… “Ah…désolé, New York” England showed the man his ID and gave him his credit card.
“Oui!” The man printed up England’s ticket. When he had signed a paper, the man gave England his ticket and pointed to the gate number. “Bonne journée.”
“Merci.” England made his way to his gate and prepared himself for the long plane ride ahead. It will be worth it. I have to do this. I have to make this right.
~*~*~Hours later England landed in America’s capital. He had called his boss and told him where he was; telling him it was important, and he most likely won’t be in tomorrow.
It was only once he had settled himself in the cab that England took the time to take in his surroundings. America, the land, was not much different as a colony. It had the same city lights, the same busy people, the same crowded streets. Very similar, but not the same. Something is off. The people in the streets, talking on their phones and running in and out of buildings, weren’t working for themselves; they were working for the Empire. The Queen. England.
Yes. America looked the same, but was completely different. The thing that made America America was missing. Freedom.
England was lost in thoughts until the cap stopped, and the driver told him to get out. New Yorkers are still rude, apparently, England thought bitterly and he handed the man his money. But he did notice that hint of an accent. He ignored it and got out of the car, walking up to that capital building.
It was in much better shape. Obviously, it was the current capital building here, not the “old capital building, kept for historic reasons.” The guards recognized England and let him through without question. He found an official inside the building and stopped him. He asked where America is. The official told him that he’s in his room, like always, and waved in the general direction of the stairs. England thanked him and heads to the upper floor.
He hadn’t been to that room for centuries, but his body moved of its own accord, knowing the path to it automatically. That old room, that England used to visit regularly, with that boy who’s heart lifted at the sight of him, at the time where everything was simple and could be fixed with a kiss on the forehead.
~*~*~The door had stars glued all over it, but England hardly had time to register that before it creaked open to revile a surprised looking boy.
“England?” America asked, opening the door further to allow the man in. “What are you doing her-“
America was cut off by England wrapping his arms around the smaller boy. England's head fell on America's shoulder and he squeezed tightly. “Wha-what’s wrong?” America asked, uncertainty and fear lacing is voice.
“I’m so sorry,” England murmured into America’s shoulder. He pulled his face away and said it again. “I’m so, so sorry. I put you through so much, I’m so sorry Alfred.”
America stiffened under England’s grip. He pulled his arms up and pushed England away from him carefully, slowly. “What did you call me?” he asked, his eyes wide and so, so confused.
England looked into those eyes, breathing deeply. “Alfred…”
America shook his head and clutched his hair with tightly balled fists. Tears peeked at the corners of his eyes. He was so conflicted. “No! Mattie says…Mattie says you’re not allowed to call me that anymore…” he whispered.
England places his hand on America’s shoulder. “Please, please understand Alf-“
“Stop!” America shouted, pulling away from England’s touch. “I’m sorry England but I…I think you should leave now.” Still horribly conflicted, England could see it in the boy’s eyes. This is what Canada was talking about. He wants to please, but he’s still angry.
“None of this is right!” England said frantically. “I don’t know what happened but everything is different! Please, you have to understand! I need to fix this!”
“Leave, England! Or I’ll call Matthew!”
What….? He’s using Canada as a threat. A threat against me…America is scared of me. His only brother is Matthew… The realization hit England hard. His eyes widened in fear. He could feel the promising sting of salty tears behind his eyes.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” England mumbled, stumbling backwards into the hallway. “This is…this all wrong.” America shut the door in England’s face and he heard the telltale click of a lock behind it.
England left the building and walked aimlessly around the streets of New York.
~*~*~England found himself drawn to the bar like a moth to a flame. The bright neon sign was like a beacon. And before he knew it, he was in a stool, drinking his fifth cup of who knows what. England mumbled a stream of incoherent words to himself, his head face down on the counter.
“Sir, I think you should leave.”
England’s head snapped up, swinging his arm to lash out at whoever dared say those words to him. He’d had enough of that! He heard a crash followed by a thud. His clouded head took a moment to register what had happened.
It was only the bartender, telling him he’d had too much. His arm has knocked the glass of the counter and it shattered on the floor. The momentum of his arm and his lack of balance sent England hurling towards the ground as well.
“Ah damn. That’s it. You’re done.” The man lifted England back up to the stool to clean up the shards of glass. “Fuck, nice aim. Your hand’s all cut up.”
England looked down and his palm was indeed maimed. Ruby red droplets of blood were creeping out of hair thin cuts. England stared, hypnotized. He didn’t feel a thing, he only watched until his whole hand was dripping red.
The bartender wrapped bandages around his hand unprofessionally. “Get this done right once you’re sober,” he said. England nodded. Then the man called him a cab and sent him to a cheap hotel.
England buried his face in the flat pillows to hide the tears. “Make it stop!” The plush fabric swallowed up his screams. He rolled over to breath. “Whatever’s going on, make it stop,” he begged to no one. “Please. Please, I just want everything back to normal.”
Normal. The normal America and everything about him. America’s annoying cheerfulness that never seemed to ebb. America’s million-watt smile that never seemed to dim. America’s one-hundred-word-a-second way of speaking-but mostly, what he said. That innocent teasing that let England know they were equals. They way he’d call him up and tell him to come over. Beg him to watch a scary movie with him, because he couldn’t do it alone, and then ask if they could sleep together afterward. They way he’d tease England for drinking tea, but always had a box in his house for England. The way he’d always ask England’s opinion first in World Meetings, even if he knew that an insult would follow.
England cried himself to sleep.
to be continued...
Previous Chapter: Chapter Five
Next Chapter: Chapter Seven
notes:
Remember, he’s in Paris, so they’re speaking in French:
“Where would you like to go, sir?”
“One ticket to Washington D.C., please.”
“Where?”
“Ah…sorry, New York.”
“Yes!”
And more history here: the USA thinks it’s not fair to have a state have control over the country’s capital, so we created a city-state-place for it, Washington DC. Before we had independence however, the capital was New York.
A/N: Worked super hard to get this chapter up for Al's birthday~! But goddamnit, I need to stop double posting... Pardon my French. I’m using an online translator. Also, I have no idea how to buy a plane ticket. orz But this is my general idea of how it goes on… Also ignore the fact that the plane ride was so conveniently right at that time… Also, a note, at this point in time (the normal universe) England and America are not a couple. There’s just that ever present subtext. Well, anyway, so the next chapter will be the last one. :) It'll be really short I think, so I should have it up by tomorrow. Maybe the next day if I get lazy. :-/
Author: xxfurryfirefoxx (me)
Characters: England and America
Warnings/Rating: T
Summary: After another night of drinking, England falls asleep wishing he had won the Revolutionary War so that America would still be his obedient, cute little brother. Upon waking, England finds his wish granted.
England walked up to the man at the ticket counter. On the way he pulled out his return ticket to London and ripped it up. He threw it in the trashcan by the line.
“Où voulez-vous aller, monsieur?” the man asked.
“Un billet pour Washington D.C., s’il vous plaît,” England said.
“Où?” The man looked confused.
Oh, right. It doesn’t exist… “Ah…désolé, New York” England showed the man his ID and gave him his credit card.
“Oui!” The man printed up England’s ticket. When he had signed a paper, the man gave England his ticket and pointed to the gate number. “Bonne journée.”
“Merci.” England made his way to his gate and prepared himself for the long plane ride ahead. It will be worth it. I have to do this. I have to make this right.
~*~*~Hours later England landed in America’s capital. He had called his boss and told him where he was; telling him it was important, and he most likely won’t be in tomorrow.
It was only once he had settled himself in the cab that England took the time to take in his surroundings. America, the land, was not much different as a colony. It had the same city lights, the same busy people, the same crowded streets. Very similar, but not the same. Something is off. The people in the streets, talking on their phones and running in and out of buildings, weren’t working for themselves; they were working for the Empire. The Queen. England.
Yes. America looked the same, but was completely different. The thing that made America America was missing. Freedom.
England was lost in thoughts until the cap stopped, and the driver told him to get out. New Yorkers are still rude, apparently, England thought bitterly and he handed the man his money. But he did notice that hint of an accent. He ignored it and got out of the car, walking up to that capital building.
It was in much better shape. Obviously, it was the current capital building here, not the “old capital building, kept for historic reasons.” The guards recognized England and let him through without question. He found an official inside the building and stopped him. He asked where America is. The official told him that he’s in his room, like always, and waved in the general direction of the stairs. England thanked him and heads to the upper floor.
He hadn’t been to that room for centuries, but his body moved of its own accord, knowing the path to it automatically. That old room, that England used to visit regularly, with that boy who’s heart lifted at the sight of him, at the time where everything was simple and could be fixed with a kiss on the forehead.
~*~*~The door had stars glued all over it, but England hardly had time to register that before it creaked open to revile a surprised looking boy.
“England?” America asked, opening the door further to allow the man in. “What are you doing her-“
America was cut off by England wrapping his arms around the smaller boy. England's head fell on America's shoulder and he squeezed tightly. “Wha-what’s wrong?” America asked, uncertainty and fear lacing is voice.
“I’m so sorry,” England murmured into America’s shoulder. He pulled his face away and said it again. “I’m so, so sorry. I put you through so much, I’m so sorry Alfred.”
America stiffened under England’s grip. He pulled his arms up and pushed England away from him carefully, slowly. “What did you call me?” he asked, his eyes wide and so, so confused.
England looked into those eyes, breathing deeply. “Alfred…”
America shook his head and clutched his hair with tightly balled fists. Tears peeked at the corners of his eyes. He was so conflicted. “No! Mattie says…Mattie says you’re not allowed to call me that anymore…” he whispered.
England places his hand on America’s shoulder. “Please, please understand Alf-“
“Stop!” America shouted, pulling away from England’s touch. “I’m sorry England but I…I think you should leave now.” Still horribly conflicted, England could see it in the boy’s eyes. This is what Canada was talking about. He wants to please, but he’s still angry.
“None of this is right!” England said frantically. “I don’t know what happened but everything is different! Please, you have to understand! I need to fix this!”
“Leave, England! Or I’ll call Matthew!”
What….? He’s using Canada as a threat. A threat against me…America is scared of me. His only brother is Matthew… The realization hit England hard. His eyes widened in fear. He could feel the promising sting of salty tears behind his eyes.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” England mumbled, stumbling backwards into the hallway. “This is…this all wrong.” America shut the door in England’s face and he heard the telltale click of a lock behind it.
England left the building and walked aimlessly around the streets of New York.
~*~*~England found himself drawn to the bar like a moth to a flame. The bright neon sign was like a beacon. And before he knew it, he was in a stool, drinking his fifth cup of who knows what. England mumbled a stream of incoherent words to himself, his head face down on the counter.
“Sir, I think you should leave.”
England’s head snapped up, swinging his arm to lash out at whoever dared say those words to him. He’d had enough of that! He heard a crash followed by a thud. His clouded head took a moment to register what had happened.
It was only the bartender, telling him he’d had too much. His arm has knocked the glass of the counter and it shattered on the floor. The momentum of his arm and his lack of balance sent England hurling towards the ground as well.
“Ah damn. That’s it. You’re done.” The man lifted England back up to the stool to clean up the shards of glass. “Fuck, nice aim. Your hand’s all cut up.”
England looked down and his palm was indeed maimed. Ruby red droplets of blood were creeping out of hair thin cuts. England stared, hypnotized. He didn’t feel a thing, he only watched until his whole hand was dripping red.
The bartender wrapped bandages around his hand unprofessionally. “Get this done right once you’re sober,” he said. England nodded. Then the man called him a cab and sent him to a cheap hotel.
England buried his face in the flat pillows to hide the tears. “Make it stop!” The plush fabric swallowed up his screams. He rolled over to breath. “Whatever’s going on, make it stop,” he begged to no one. “Please. Please, I just want everything back to normal.”
Normal. The normal America and everything about him. America’s annoying cheerfulness that never seemed to ebb. America’s million-watt smile that never seemed to dim. America’s one-hundred-word-a-second way of speaking-but mostly, what he said. That innocent teasing that let England know they were equals. They way he’d call him up and tell him to come over. Beg him to watch a scary movie with him, because he couldn’t do it alone, and then ask if they could sleep together afterward. They way he’d tease England for drinking tea, but always had a box in his house for England. The way he’d always ask England’s opinion first in World Meetings, even if he knew that an insult would follow.
England cried himself to sleep.
to be continued...
Previous Chapter: Chapter Five
Next Chapter: Chapter Seven
notes:
Remember, he’s in Paris, so they’re speaking in French:
“Where would you like to go, sir?”
“One ticket to Washington D.C., please.”
“Where?”
“Ah…sorry, New York.”
“Yes!”
And more history here: the USA thinks it’s not fair to have a state have control over the country’s capital, so we created a city-state-place for it, Washington DC. Before we had independence however, the capital was New York.
A/N: Worked super hard to get this chapter up for Al's birthday~! But goddamnit, I need to stop double posting... Pardon my French. I’m using an online translator. Also, I have no idea how to buy a plane ticket. orz But this is my general idea of how it goes on… Also ignore the fact that the plane ride was so conveniently right at that time… Also, a note, at this point in time (the normal universe) England and America are not a couple. There’s just that ever present subtext. Well, anyway, so the next chapter will be the last one. :) It'll be really short I think, so I should have it up by tomorrow. Maybe the next day if I get lazy. :-/