So, my first Hetalia fic. It's sorta AU-ish, depending on your views, I guess. Anyway, this takes place right after the Declaration of Independence was written.
He entered the room quietly, so much so that England would not have noticed him if he had not looked up at that exact moment.
"Alfred!" England said with surprised as he placed down his quill. "What are you doing here?" The small fire from the candle danced quietly, causing shadows to flicker along the wall and over the young country's face.
America did not answer, only stepped forward with a scroll in hand. The darkness accentuated his unusually serious manner, something England had picked up right away. There were no sparks in those vivid blue eyes nor any sign of the usual jovial manner America always had. A growing sense of dread was forming in the pit of England's stomach, a warning.
"Is something wrong?"
America tossed the rolled up parchment at the older country who caught it without much trouble and England glanced down at it, then quickly back at America who already had his back turned to him.
"I thought I'd give this to you personally rather then through messenger." Looking over his shoulder, America grimaced slightly. "Though I suppose it'll make no difference in the end," he muttered to himself almost as an afterthought.
"What are you talking about, Alfred?" England demanded as he unrolled the scroll. He was confused, but the confusion was short lived when he looked at what was etched onto paper, elegant curls and smooth strokes blended together to form ten words, words that justified the dread, words that caused England to pale, words that seemed to suck all the warmth from his body.
'The Unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America…"
"What is this?" His hands were shaking as he asked, matching the tone of his voice. "What is this…this…blasphemy?"
"It's called a Declaration of Independence, Arthur," America answered wearily. Though he was the one breaking away, he seemed almost defeated, taxed to his limit. There were shadows under his eyes and his shoulders were slumped.
The cold shock England had felt was now slowly bleeding into rage. "I don't want it," he said coolly, throwing the parchment back at America. "You are not splitting away, Alfred."
The younger of the two instantly spun and marched up to the desk, slamming his hands down on the wooden surface. "Are you going to stop me?" he challenged as he bent over England. Blue eyes were alight with anger and any sign of fatigue was gone.
"If that is what I must do," he snapped, standing up. Yet still America towered over him, forcing England to look up at the child he had taken care of. "Is this about the taxes? You don't need to be so dramatic about something as frivolous as that, Alfred. I'm sure we can come to an agreement and forget about that…thing" He waved his hand toward the area of the fallen piece of paper which seemed to anger America even more.
"This isn't about the taxes, Arthur!"
"Then what is it? Do NOT tell me this is about the harbor because I am not re-opening it. You deserved that, bloody dumping a shipload of tea into the waters!"
Alfred growled, the sound coming from deep in his throat as he grabbed England by the lapel of his finely pressed suit. "THAT would not have happened if it weren't for your stupid taxes. Your. Damn. Taxes."
"I thought you said this wasn't about the taxes," Arthur said quietly, his green eyes glittering with a silent challenge.
"It isn't. At least not anymore." Livid blue eyes taunted the shorter man right back, lips pulled back in a faint snarl. "This is just me being sick of you using me for your every whim and will."
England tried to pull back, shock flitting across his features, but America's grip was unrelenting. "I-"
"Don't even try to justify yourself," the younger man hissed. "You are a selfish, arrogant bastard with your reaches in every single part of the world. You think I wouldn't realize that I was just one of your toys, one of those little countries that you'll just abandon once you're through? I mean nothing more to you other than a source of natural resources for you to use.
"You tax me, you use me, and you set up ridiculous restrictions that no one with any self respect at all would follow and frankly, I am sick of it. I am sick of YOU, I am sick of your IDEAS, and I am just sick of-"
America never got his last few words in, abruptly cut short by England's fist connecting with his jaw. Surprised, the blond releases his grip of the Briton's clothing, hand instantly touching his cheek as he stumbled back a few steps.
Angrily, Arthur shoved off his suit jacket and literally ripped his tie off his neck. He was pale and scrawny, true, but he still knew how to pack a mean punch. Because underneath the well groomed gentleman, the layers of proper manners was a pirate at heart. He had been taught to fight, trained at those dingy ports full of whores flirting suggestively with everything that moved and surprisingly nimble drunks roaring for a brawl. Swords, guns, fists. He had been good at what he did and he still was. He had not acquired all his land by simply smiling and drinking tea after all. And it was now time for America to realize this.
"Do you hear yourself, Alfred?" he asked as he circumvented his desk. "You sound like a spoiled brat whining about how you do not get the bloody fucking toy you wanted! You want freedom, Alfred? You can't even take care of yourself without making some sort of mess! You have no idea how to take care of yourself! Freedom? Don't make me laugh!"
"The why don't I make you cry?" A brow cocked up in utter contempt and without warning, America launched himself at Arthur.
Fist hit flesh as both men fought, flashes of pain littered with harsh grunts of exertion. Books, pens, and paper fell to the floor in flutters and thuds as they crashed into bookcases and brushed against desks. A china vase, an old gift from Spain, wobbled on its stand before falling with a tinkering crash that was ignored. Neither gave ground until somehow, Alfred's back slammed onto the Briton's desk. He glared up at un-relenting green eyes, trying to twist out of the hold England had him in. The pointy end of a quill was jabbing into his back.
"You bloody fucker," England panted as he tried to regain his breath from a rather hard blow Alfred had aimed at his solar plexus. "Is this how treat me after everything I've done for you, after all that I've given you? I treated you like my own son!"
"Well, then we should all thank God you've never had a real son." With a forceful shove, America managed to push the Englishman away and rolled off the desk. "I'd hate to think about how screwed up he he'd be."
England moved to punch the taller country, but somewhere in mid-swing his fist unfurled, slapping America across the face.
Everything seemed to stop for a moment as England stood there with his hand still raised. His brow was drawn together in an expression of frustration and anger. Blue eyes stared at the offending appendage and a series of emotions flitted across America's face, but before the last one could settle, he crossed the distance between the two and smashed Arthur against the wall, lips colliding in a sudden, searing kiss.
At first the Briton thought it was an accident, but Alfred made no move to pull away. He could taste the betrayal, the anger, the confusion America was pouring into the kiss, all mixed with an under taste of bitter coffee and desperation. Seized with a sudden ferocity, England started kissing back, conveying the frustration and betrayal he himself felt.
Hands tangled into sunshine blond hair, pulling and tugging without any care of the pain they caused and in return, slightly larger hands grabbed the Briton's waist in a bruising grip, pressing the smaller body even harder against the wall. Somehow, somewhere, lips parted and the battle for dominance continued as their tongues twisted in a harsh, angry dance sending forbidden shivers down both their spines.
But just then, America shifted his stance, causing a thigh to brush against the beginning of an erection and along with a breathy moan, England was suddenly catapulted back to reality.
He quickly shoved the younger country off of himself; face dangerously flushed as he avoided the hazy blue eyes Alfred was looking at him with.
Get out," England said quietly, staring down at the carpet. America ran a hand through his tousled blond hair making no move to obey the order. "Get out," the Briton repeated more forcefully, his voice choking slightly. Still the younger country did not move.
Green eyes snapped up meet blue. "Get out! Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout!! GET OUT!" He roared the last two words, struggling not to let tears fall. "I want you OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Finally, America reacted, blinking slowly. A cold mask had fallen over the usually expressive features as he backed away.
"Good bye, Iggy." His voice held a note of finality and he quickly exited, closing the door behind him. The soft click echoed for a moment, seeming unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
"No…" His legs buckled and England slid to the floor unable to withstand the pressure of gravity any longer. Tears silently rolling down his face and desperately he hugged his knees as sobs becoming progressively louder, eventually filling the room with the sounds of his pain, his betrayal. And all the while on the floor, somewhere across the room, a single piece of parchment laid, somehow untouched by the fighting, desolate but vivid, announcing its singular purpose.
"The Unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America…"
America had declared its independence.
I'm not sure how well I got the characterization down, but I like the darker sides America and England. I think this is going to be a series of one shots, but in historical order which would make it a sort of loosely connected story. Of course, there will be the occasional crack chapter. Heehee! Review!!