|When Forgiving and Forgetting Aren't Possible
Author: Nibzo PM
America is having nightmares of the past. England tries to comfort him, but doesn't quite know how. Though maybe just being there is enough. Rated M for language and lemons. America and England with a seme England.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Hurt/Comfort - America & England/Britain - Words: 5,333 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 40 - Follows: 3 - Published: 09-03-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7351176
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Who knew writing Hetalia fics was so…so…fun.
Yup, I'm here again. I really wish I could think of a transition/confession fic. Y'know, so it flows with what happened in Number 52 and then could be immediately connected to this one.
Alas, I haven't. Oh well. This idea occurred to me recently after what we've been looking at in some ethics class. I wanted to do some research and see just how America felt about dropping those two bombs on Japan, and it seems to be a really big ethical issue today… or at least it was made out to be in class.
That and I haven't seen any dropping the bomb on Japan fics…well, at least not any that are M and US/UK. I'm sure there are some for US/Japan, but I don't like that couple so I'm not going to check.
Finally I wanted to write an England tops story. I just love this couple; there really is no defined uke or seme in my opinion. America is bigger than England (height-wise, you sillies!), but England is older. America is stronger but England is…cooler! Or at least I think he is. And since 52 was America topping, I think it's only fair that England gets to as well.
So I do not own Hetalia. Or Oppenheimer's speech. Or the prayer said before the Enola Gay. Or basically anything that common sense says I shouldn't own.
Also, bold=dream land. The italicized bold is just…background subconscious thought or something.
"We knew the world would not be the same…"
The blonde twisted and jerked in his sleep, those words echoing over and over in his subconscious. He clenched his teeth, pulled hard at the blanket laced in his fingers, and although he was unaware of the raw emotion showing in his features his bed partner couldn't help but notice the involuntary action going on next to him.
But the other country couldn't hear him, and while the other blonde whispered to him to stir him from the nightmare the other continued to dream, shallow breaths escaping his lips as it played before him over and over again.
He saw himself there. Or rather, a younger version of himself. Not that he was old, he hadn't even been an independent nation for even 300 years, but the America standing next to a president's assistant and the creator of the deadliest weapon in history was certainly younger, probably a bit more naïve. But then again, what naiveté and innocence was left was scarce, as the civil war and the war of his most recent past took away a lot of positive energy that naturally exuded from the blonde.
"Project Manhattan," the image of him whispered under his breath. "I…I can't believe…"
"A few people laughed. A few people cried."
"That it's a success?"
America's brow furrowed, obviously concerned as the mushroom cloud continued to rise over the deserted plains of Almogordo, New Mexico. There was still a rather intense mix of reds, yellows, oranges, though by now a good portion of the fiery colors had been overtaken by a black and grey smoke so thick that it could shadow the sun. Those vibrant lights had looked like hell itself had come to earth, and America couldn't shake how incredibly low his stomach felt at that moment, and how something in the back of his mind told him this wasn't quite right.
"It's…quite a sight, I'll give it that."
"Most people were silent."
"Stop it!" present America yelled, but it wasn't like anyone in the room could hear him. He'd had this dream far too many times, and with every protest it still turned out the same. He didn't even know why he continued yelling in the background; perhaps he was hopeful that one day he would be heard and he could stop the whole thing, that instead of a dream he'd magically be taken back in time to stop what was to come.
"Yes, no one has been able to harness nuclear power quite like this before. This is the dawn of a new era, Alfred. And," the creator stood, thinking to himself for a moment before continuing, "it's going to take more than what we've been doing to get those Japs to surrender."
"But this seems a bit…," a pause from the blonde, "extreme?" He looked around nervously, looking towards the other man in the room. "What does Truman say about this?"
"I still have to forward the message to him that it was a success," the assistant said. "He's meeting with Britain and China right now. Trying to work out something to make them surrender without any more bombs being dropped."
"Huh. Really thought he'd want to be here himself for this," the blonde muttered under his breath.
"You've having second thoughts?" the creator chuckled. "What happened to the America after Pearl Harbor? The 'I'll wipe out that filthy son of a bitch even if it kills me' America?"
Scoffing, he turned his head to the side. Sure, he couldn't forget about what had happened that day and how much Japan had hurt him and his people. "I just thought…I mean…what about all those people?"
"Alfred, we know about this 'hero' complex you've developed over the years," the creator began, Alfred frowning at his words. It wasn't a complex, he actually WAS a hero. "So here's something for you to consider. Think of all the fatalities we've obtained during the war. And not just us. All of the Allies are struggling. This could end the war and put a stop to all the bloodshed. Someone has to take the fall for it, but in comparison to all that's happened and all that will happen if this isn't done…"
"I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita…"
"Alright, alright, I get it!" that image of his yelled defensively, holding his hands before his chest as if to push back the words.
"No you don't!" he himself screamed, the ghost of him that was present in the dream. "You don't fucking get it and you never will! For Christ sake, think about all the children and women and all those innocent people! You're supposed to be the hero!"
"So then…," America's dream self began, "what do we do to move from here?"
"We wait for the call. We want the other Allies to agree and support the use of this weapon."
There was a pause, as if the nation was thinking about what the consequences of this would be. Brows furrowed, he appeared deep in concentration, looking at this from every single angle he could. Yeah, his people had been persistent on getting Japan and his people back for what they had done in Hawaii…
"Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty."
America reached to rub his neck, fingers lightly grazing one of the many scars that still stained his body from that attack. As he rubbed at it gently he hissed in pain; while they had started to heal a long time ago they still contained a bit of sting if touched, and he winced, remembering what had happened that day. He had tried to stay out of this war, he really had. But the enemy had awoken a sleeping giant that day. And now the rest of the world was going to know that as well; that you don't mess with America, you don't mess with Alfred F. Jones unless you wanted a thorough ass-kicking.
"Yeah," he whispered, and then said it again louder, "Yeah, let's do this."
"You idiot!" he screamed at his dream-self, but it didn't take long for everything around him to begin tumbling and churning into a new event as he heard those words. He was at the launching of the carrier, the Enola Gay, surrounded by important people and press, and as a priest beckoned everyone to bow their heads in prayer, "Almighty Father, Who whilt hear the prayer of them that love Thee…"
"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" he screamed, knees finally buckling as he fell onto them, clutching his head and covering his ears as if doing so would prevent him from hearing another word. His younger self was there, of course, looking rather nervous and perturbed among the crowds of people who followed the holy man in silent prayer. He was the only one out of the people that didn't have his head hanging low in appeal as he looked left and right frantically, the doubt that clouded his mind evident in his expression.
"May they, as well as we, know Thy strength and power, and armed with Thy might may they bring this war to a rapid end."
At that his eyes widened as he was reminded at what this would do. This would end the war. This would put a stop to the madness and bloodshed. No longer was there any hesitance in his eyes, and instead he as well lowered his head for the rest of the prayer.
"…in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen."
"Amen," America, the dream America, nodded in response, lifting his hands to make the sign of the cross. As the engine of the Enola Gay roared, the craft ready for take-off, the on looking America who was completely invisible to everyone in his dreams clutched his head between his hands even more as he sobbed loudly, tears falling from his eyes like a heavy rain.
"…and to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says…"
And then there he was, the dream version of himself and his people were gone as he stood among the people of Hiroshima as the first bomb went off. America saw the world explode and swallow men, women, children, animals, everything in existence. They just vanished in the fire that surrounded and engulfed everything, not even their corpses remained as they were completely obliterated from the impact and force of the explosion. He himself was safe, but the images of the carnage and chaos that surrounded him created their own explosion in his mind that would be burned into his memory forever.
"Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."
Amidst the flames and the screams, America sank to his knees once more and continued to cry.
"I suppose we all thought that, one way or another."
That had finally done it, woken him from his tumultuous sleep. The American opened his eyes and his upper body lifted himself out of bed with a quick and unsettling force, his mouth hanging open as he panted in exasperation and shock. Fresh tears still stained his face and he bolted upright, and although he was aware of his panicked expression he was still oblivious to his wet cheeks and that he had actually been crying.
"Alfred!" Britain's voice called out to him again, startling the American as he then remembered that he wasn't alone, that his lover had stopped by and was next to him in bed. His panting began to slow down as he realized how silly he must have looked and how much he must have scared the Brit. "Ah," he half-laughed, trying to cover up his distress.
"Alfred, what's wrong?"
He must have worried him more than he thought; Britain was using his human name. "I…I…" he stuttered at first, trying to let his breath, which was still a bit shaky, catch up. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I was just having a bad dream. It's no big deal."
"You were…you were crying."
At this America looked quite shocked. Had it really been that bad? He lifted a hand to his cheek and felt the still-wet tears dampening his skin, "Oh," he merely said, a bit embarrassed.
"Alfred…Alfred, what was that? What was it about?"
But America didn't want to tell him that he was still haunted by the aftermath of a war that had ended over fifty years ago. "It's nothing, really," America said, shrugging off Britain's question, turning to lie back down. He let out a forced yawn, "Let's just go back to sleep," he said, pulling the covers back over his body.
But as he tried to pull the blanket back over his tired body his wrist was grasped, stopping all movement from both men as the Brit stared intensely into those sea blue eyes. Although that hard stare was intimidating and made America recoil slightly, the hand on his wrist was gentle and only hard enough to get his attention.
"Alfred," Britain began, voice level, "what happened?"
America sat back up and sighed, a hand running through his sandy blonde hair. "Just some stuff that happened during World War II. It's not a big deal."
To which Britain scoffed. "Liar. You were spewing tears like a broken faucet. What was it that shook you so much?"
"It's just…I mean…I only…" he began each sentence, thinking about how he was going to put it. How would he tell Britain that it took until now to feel so guilty about what he had done to Japan and his country? How back then he had been so clouded by rage and hatred and had been played into being the hero if he would just drop a death machine on two of the other country's cities? Sure, back when it happened it seemed like it was the right move, and it did end the war, but since the 50s with the start of the anti-nuclear power movement and all those protects and the public questioning whether it was ethical to kill off so many innocent people…
"Alfred, you're crying again."
Concern laced the Englishman's voice as he moved to wipe a tear away, the other blonde looking horrified that he was caught in the act. But he couldn't help it anymore. Carrying this by himself, locking the feelings of guilt and dealing with them on his own was becoming too much to bear.
He launched himself into Britain's body, wrapping his arms around the smaller blonde as he sobbed into his waist, crying without abandon as he sputtered out how horrible he was feeling inside.
"I…I can't take i-i-it back!"
"Take what back?" Britain seemed rather shocked as he placed his hands on America's shoulders. "Alfred…?"
"All those people!" he managed to get out between sobs. "They died! Di-di-disappeared into thin air!" he looked up at the smaller nation, pulling him closer, tears still in his eyes, "it's all my fault!"
Of course Britain knew what America meant when he said all of that. He had had no idea that the bombings were having such an effect on him in this day and age. And he'd been there too. He was the one that agreed if such measures were necessary then it had to be done. He couldn't forget how their countries had exchanged information on it as well, and although the taller nation had been cold and refused his help to begin with he had eventually warmed up and willingly accepted his help.
But he hadn't been the country to fully create the bomb. He hadn't been the country to send off a plane to drop it. When looking at it, the Manhattan Project and the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had been mostly America.
And he couldn't shake how scared he had been after that. When seeing just how much damage the younger country could do, when seeing just how angry and ferocious and bloodthirsty he could be. Perhaps that's why he had fought so hard to keep him as a colony. So that he wouldn't have to see America evolve into someone like him; a monster.
Although it hadn't been within some sound reasoning. After all, Japan had struck first. But this was more than some playground scuffle or some public disturbance in which one provokes the other and gets what's coming to them when the opposing fist meets their jaw. This was war, and they were dealing with people's lives.
Britain did the only thing he could think of to calm the distressed American down, as it was evident that words like, "It's not your fault" would clearly not work, and would most likely be drowned out by the loud sounds of his sobs. He ran one hand through the other's hair and another up and down his back, lightly whispering, "Shhhh…" to him as he continued his strokes up and down his skin. Overall he had had the right idea, as in mere minutes America's sobs quieted down to small whimpers and sniffles.
"It'll…" Britain started, still rubbing the American's back, "It'll be alright. What's done is done, and we can't dwell on the past like this, America. We can't go back and change it no matter how much we want to, and it's unhealthy to keep it all bottled up inside like that."
"Then...then what should I do?"
This made the Englishman stop, appearing deep in thought. He could tell the American to look at it as a learning experience, but chances are he'd heard that a million times already and wouldn't be keen to hearing it another time. He could tell America that Japan had forgiven him and that he should forgive himself, but he really wasn't sure of how true that was. Although things weren't too bad between those two nations, with both accepting a few things from each other's cultures over the years, he highly doubted that Japan had forgiven him.
"Make me forget."
These words broke Britain's train of thought as his head snapped back to meet the American's gaze. "Pardon?"
"Make me forget, Arthur. I don't want to remember it anymore."
America then gently tugged at Britain's arm as he lied down on his back, pulling the other on top of him. The Englishman couldn't help but let out a laugh, "America, I think this is hardly the time…"
"Make me forget. Just do it. I…I…I can't…"
Britain leaned down to gently kiss America, cutting him off midsentence. Once the peck of a kiss ended he put his hands up to his forehead, brushing the sandy blonde hair from his eyes. He flashed a sympathetic, unsure smile at the American, as if silently asking if this was what he really wanted, to which the other roughly bucked his hips upward, a hiss escaping Britain's lips as he squeezed his eyes shut.
The two were already devoid of their clothes, sleeping together in nothing but the bodies they had been born in, and when America ground his hips into the Englishman's he could feel every inch of their bodies that had collided. The two were so caught up in that feeling, the skin-on-skin contact that they immediately began to lose themselves in the moment, erratically and frantically grinding their crotches together, their members touching as they both let out strangles of mewls and groans and pleasant sighs.
Of course, this could only get them so far, and it wasn't long before they were craving for more. When the movement of their hips had slowed down Britain gently caressed America's sides, loving how the American would close his eyes and take in shallow breaths as tingles ran up and down his body. He bent his head down and laid a kiss to his neck, slowly beginning his descent down the taller's body.
Once he reached the pert nipples of the American he stopped, glancing upward again with that unsure look. America had sounded so desperate in his cries that he wondered if he was willing to partake in the foreplay that would lead up to them doing the deed. He gave the left one a tentative lick and then a quick kiss, then did the same to the right, before continuing downward. The Brit's tongue felt feather light against his skin, and America raised his hands to place them on Britain's head, massaging his scalp as his fingers sifted through soft locks of blonde hair.
Dipping his tongue quickly into the American's belly button caused the taller to cry out in pleasure, and he smiled. He'd always been sensitive there, and although he desperately wanted to assault that point and play with it until the other was screaming he couldn't ignore his already pulsing manhood. Their earlier grinding had gotten both of them plenty hard, and even though it had only lasted minutes he could probably get off on the delicious sounds his lover made, so he opted for going lower.
America was panting at this point, watching the Brit continue down, and although it felt incredibly painful to watch him only give his already weeping member minimal attention he was just not into being pleasured like that tonight. All he wanted was for Britain to take him; to fuck him so hard into the mattress that he couldn't think straight, couldn't remember anything about everything.
"Just do it," he muttered, wrist over his mouth as he slightly bit into his own flesh. The Brit was licking at his hole, stretching it first with his tongue and saliva, and damnit it felt so good but that's just not what he needed right now. At the sound of the American's voice he withdrew his mouth from the American's entrance, replacing it with one of his fingers.
"I said just do it."
"I'm not going to hurt you like that, America."
Of course Britain didn't want to hurt him. But America was just not in the mood for his compassion that evening; he didn't want him to care about how the other felt. But he didn't know quite how to voice this, and instead just closed his eyes and tightened himself, trying to prove a point by stopping him mid preparation.
"America, I'm already trying to rush as it is, just be patient, you git."
"Well I sure as hell don't want to take you dry. That's going to hurt quite a bit."
"I don't care."
To which Britain just rolled his eyes and scoffed, moving his finger out of the American. Things really hadn't changed at all; he was still such a stubborn, spoiled brat and he was way too willing to give into his childish demands. He quickly spit onto his hands and rubbed himself a bit, groaning as his neglected members was finally being touched (albeit he was the one touching it) before lining himself up against the other's entrance and began to push in.
And fuck, was it tight. Britain had to bite his tongue in an effort to control himself from just slamming into his lover, and only the head was in. So little preparation didn't look like it was sitting well with the American either; his eyes were shut tightly as he bit his lip, letting out a long groan of pain as the Brit slowly pushed himself in until he was fully sheathed.
But that tightness felt amazing around his hard member, and he was pulsing inside of America and he was panting so fiercely that he could hardly take it. He felt himself mentally counting in his head, slowly allowing the American to adjust. And he really couldn't feel sorry for his partner; he had tried to warn him…
"Hurts, doesn't it."
"Told you so."
"Shut up and fuck me, old man."
He knew for a fact that the American was just doing this to egg him on. And damnit, if it wasn't working. Without any regard to America's feelings he quickly pulled out and then slammed back in. The sandy blonde howled in pain, a cry he was sure that he had never heard from his lover before, no matter how much pain he was in. "Shit, I'm sorry…" he said, feeling a bit guilty for how cold he was being. America just shook his head though, "Keep…keep…keep going," he finally managed to get out between jagged breaths, moving himself so that the Brit went even deeper.
It was those words that really made Britain lose control as he took the American, pounding into him as hard as he could. In and out he went, harshly at first but the constriction around his member was so tight and felt so good and America didn't seem to care, so why should he? After a dozen or so thrusts moving was a lot easier, though there was no doubt that the wetness touching his pelvis and running down his lover's ass was a mixture of spit, sweat, and blood.
As soon as America had gotten used to the pain though Britain hit his prostate, and after that it all seemed to melt away as his body felt like it had suddenly been set on fire. He moaned loudly, not even trying to conceal his cries as he felt the bed rock beneath him, the force of the Brit moving wildly against him seemingly shaking the whole room it was so rough.
"Harder…oh, fuck, harder!"
He couldn't deny it either. Britain was really doing it his job to fuck him into the mattress, and he loved the roughness of it all. The way the other just pounded into his prostate without any sign of slowing down at all turned him on so much as he felt his own member stuck between their stomachs, rubbing against their skin as their bodies moved together. All the while he moaned and groaned in ecstasy, "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur…"
He felt his smaller lover lifting slightly to reach at his member, but he honestly doubted that he needed any prompting; at the slightest touch of the other's hand he came and came hard, his orgasm ripping through his body as he screamed, "Arthur!"
As he felt the other's cum spurt against his hand the Brit came as well, slamming himself one final time into his lover before releasing inside of him, the pressure splattering inside of the taller as he cried his name, "Alfred!" That had had to have been the best sex the two had ever hard, and he immediately collapsed on top of him, not even caring that his now limp member was still inside. He heard the sloshing of their juices as they mixed together, what leaked out of America's ass pooling together and mixing, Britain slightly disgusted that he was too tired and perfectly content in laying in their mess.
As their breaths finally began to slow down Britain finally did pull out and roll off of the American, and although his breathing still hadn't returned to normal he cleared his throat to speak, breaths separating his words.
"You…you know," he panted, lying on his side to face the American, though the other was still on his back looking to the ceiling, "maybe…maybe…"
"Maybe this wasn't a good idea, right?" America interrupted.
"Let me finish," his brows furrowed, "maybe you won't ever be able to forget—"
"Sure I can."
"For Christ's sake," England huffed, "maybe you won't be able to forget, and maybe you won't ever be able to forgive yourself."
For once the American was silent, the only sound in the room after that statement the creaking of the bed as he turned away to face the opposite side. Although he was pouting Britain scooted in closer to him until his back was flush against his chest. "But you don't have to face this alone. I had no idea that you were having this internal crisis and how serious it was." He put one of his hands on the other's shoulder, squeezing it lightly in comfort. "I'm…I'm here now, and everything is going to be alright."
There was a pause, Britain could have swore he heard the man sniffle or let out another small cry. The dead silence was really starting to irk him, and he was about to turn the other way and just let the other have his time alone. In fact, maybe it was best if he just left. He was about to get up out of bed, but then a murmur from the stopped his movements.
"I said…I said thanks."
Britain did get up, but only to sit himself up in the bed. "I…I mean…I really…I just needed that. So…thanks."
The Brit smiled and leant down, planting a soft kiss in the American's hair. He then wiggled himself back beneath the sheets, pressing himself into the taller nation's back, wrapping his arms around his waist. "I love you."
"I love you too, Alfred. And I'll always be here for you. Don't ever forget that."
America smiled, one of his hands meeting Britain's at his midsection and grazing over his fingers. He couldn't help the sleepiness that was quickly overtaking him, his eyes fluttering as everything got increasingly more blurry and darker.
Maybe…maybe for once he'd have sweet dreams
Closing his eyes in reality brought him back to that world, though. The carnage from earlier surrounded him, assaulting his senses, the rancid smell of burning flesh and the screams of the living crushing his spirit.
"Fuck," Alfred muttered, falling to his knees. "Fuck," he said again, his fist hitting the ground as he cried. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he finally screamed, aware of the tears cascading down his cheeks. He pounded at the ground in frustration. "W-w-w-," he started between sobs and staggered breaths, "why won't you just go away?"
But then he felt two arms, two lithe yet incredibly strong arms encircle him from behind. It wasn't until he heard the comforting voice that accompanied that embrace that he was able to slow down, finally stopping his distressed movements.
"I'm here now, and everything is going to be alright."
It was Britain. He held onto him tightly into the night and whispered calming things into his ear, his strong yet gentle grip on the American never fading.
So maybe he never would forgive himself.
And maybe he would never forget.
Maybe having someone beside him was all he really needed.
So there it was. I'm sorry if things seemed rushed. Lately I've tired of writing sex scenes. It's repetitive and after awhile gets old (for some reason reading them doesn't but writing them does). Maybe I'll re-write this if I get enough complaints…and have some time off.
Anyway, I couldn't really decide on the title for this. At first I thought The Nightmare was pretty good. Then I wanted Forgive and Forget, but that's somewhat misleading, yet I liked where that was going. Though I also really liked something along the lines of Just Being There or I'm Here for You. I don't know how much better the current title is, but I'm somewhat satisfied with it, I guess.
Have a nice day. Read and review, over and out! -Nibzo