Blast from the Revolution! Past Mayhem
Chapter 1: Regret
A side project from The Red Flower…
READ THIS BEFORE PROCEEDING:
BTW, this will be my first romance fic. I'm not going to ask you guys to go easy on me. I'm doing the opposite. I want you guys to criticize me. Tell me what to improve in my writing! Story wise and grammatical wise! Tell me in your reviews! I want this fic to come out as a success!
This will not be uploaded on a weekly basis, rating may rise due to the contents of the outcome of the story. Thank you for reading this message. It is much appreciated.
Both human names and nation names will be used. Human names will tend to be used depending on how close characters feel to each other.
Summary: Rev!America is brought back to the present, replacing the current America. By chance, England was there when all of this happened. Why is he here? What about his broken heart from the Revolutionary War? UK/US, based on Kink Meme on Livejournal.
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Rain poured down that day. The cold liquid splashed on America's face as he stared at the dark grey skies extending above him. Tip, tap, tip, tap. The rhythm of the small raindrops tapped in repetition. The American was too tired to be annoyed by the inconvenient weather. Too tired to be aware that fighting would be bad in this type of condition.
Somehow… somehow… he knew that on that today… he would have to face him. Just him. No one else. There would be no one to interfere. Not his men. Not even France (1).
The young boy felt his hand tighten his grip of his musket. Days of downpour had started to take effect on the feeble weapon. His army was weak and starving. The food's supplies would soon run out. If this went on, they would soon die from hunger!
His dirty blond hair was wet and damp. His knuckles were bleeding. His once true blue uniform that he was so proud of was now covered with blood and slime. A fine blue coat trimmed with strips of velvety red. It was just like England's. Except that it was blue, rather than that stunning red coat that stood out so clearly in the battlefield. Very impractical.
England… the teenager thought of his former guardian. The very man whom he had looked up to. The one who took care of him, fed him, nourished him. His big brother.
No! He told himself. He's not my brother! Not anymore! He thought, crying as he marched along with his men. The soft plat on the ground, foot against unstable soil, was ignored by the blond. This was not an unusual sight. He wasn't the only one crying. There were others who had cried over their wives, their children, their brothers, their family.
He felt like an orphan. He had no family to cry of. He never knew of his parents' identity. Were they like him? A nation? Or were they just mortals who passed away as quickly as they came? He didn't even know what they looked like.
His men were getting ready. Another battle was coming up.
Matthew, his twin brother… the boy was just like him in many ways, but was also the polar opposite of him. He was the personification of Canada. Just like he was the personification of America; but unlike his older brother, Canada was quieter. Better behaved. He was England's favorite. The stupid Tory, he thought. He gave him the chance to join him in pursue of independence, but his twin refused, staying loyal to England. Alfred saw this as a sign of betrayal. No brother of his would side with the enemy, right?
Their muskets were ready.
Francis was there, but he was no family either. He remembered how the Frenchman had tried to persuade the young American colony of joining him back than. When he chose England over France. He had a feeling that the Frenchman only wanted to help him out of revenge. To get back at England for taking away his Mathieu. His New France. His Canada. Or did the French nation only wanted his twin brother as a replacement of him? Anger bubbled underneath him. To an outsider, he was as cool as a cucumber. As much as Alfred hated to admit, he was probably just a tool in the eyes of the older nation. Just like how England had used him.
The rain poured harder, pelting his men like hail.
A sense of self pity plunged into the deep pit of Alfred's heart. He thought that England had loved him. Wasn't that why he wanted the American colony in the first place? Or did he just want him for his own self pleasure? Just to use him as a human trophy? To show the world how strong the British Empire was?
Cries of the enemy were heard clearly across the battlefront.
When they first met, England had shown him everything. How to cook, well, at least how to not burn something; clean, take care of himself, and his culture. Heck, his 'people', those who had migrated to America, were devoted to this Puritan belief. It was his first taste of European culture.
They were approaching. The redcoats were coming!
The English nation would come and go, much to the small colony's reluctance, and would often leave him to take care of himself for extension of periods. He was okay with that. Because England would always come back. Just like he said he would.
But… soon… the taxes came… His big brother soon started to charge them with ridiculous taxes. That was hardly fair. The English man didn't even bother including them with representatives in the Parliament! His people, the Americans, started to rebel. They tried to cooperate with England. He tried to cooperate with England. He only wanted to stay being his little brother. Was that asking too much? He only wanted to be with him. Those pitiful attempts of union soon became attempts of rebellion. He was his own nation. He had his own people to worry of. He wanted to seek independence. To break away from England. That was all.
Alfred found his weak voice; "Hey England…" it cracked and was hoarse from exhaustion as he gave a weak smile to the man in front of him. His tears fell. Or was that just the rain?
"I guess I chose liberty after all…" Dull green eyes stared back at him. He had a desperate look in his eyes. No… The Englishman looked so small. So weak… Was this the England he knew?
"I'm not your child," Alfred gave full eye contact to him, continuing with his sentence. "Or your baby brother anymore…" He felt his wide eyes staring back, there was shock and sadness in those pupils.
England whispered. "America… I…"
Was it hate? Did England hate him? After all of the fighting they have gone through? The Boston Tea Party, the killing, the punishment his men inflicted on the Loyalists? He had to hate him. Who wouldn't? What kind of man would keep on loving someone who broke away from them?
No… This had to end. Now! He tried to reason with England. He tried. Alfred attempted to persuade himself. His people were taxed. Taxed for a war that had nothing to do with him. It was just a stupid war between him and the French nation. He didn't even considered him to be his brother! Just a thing. A piece of land. His property. He didn't see him as a human being…
He. America. Was going to break the last link. The last link that connected them.
Alfred quietly said the words. Loud and clear. "England." England already had all of his focus on him. "From now on…" The words were stuck. He couldn't breath! He felt this strange feeling of regret cluttered in his throat.
He started again. "From now on… I am independent." Lightning clashed in the background. "Acknowledge it!" He was breathless.
His eyes narrowed. England's eyes. The older nation shoved his musket towards him with no warning. Alfred instantly used jumped into his reflex and blocked his attack with his own. His heart stopped.
Why weren't his men doing anything? Alfred didn't bother to look back. They were either too shocked by the sudden attack or they just somehow knew that they shouldn't interfere with the fighting immortals. This was their fight.
So America was shocked when he heard the old man murmur. "You were always so naïve… you fool…" He was still pointing his weapon at the boy; the musket was shaking in his hand, America heard the splash on the ground. He had dropped his musket. His only weapon. He had nothing to defend himself with.
"You fool…" England moaned. "You idiot… There's no point in firing anymore is there…?" He was crying. Alfred couldn't take his eyes away from England. No… Arthur…
"Damn it!" He cursed, "Why?! Damn…" England collapsed.
"E-england?" Alfred called out his name, but it sounded more like a question rather than a statement. His eyes grew hazy…
Arthur and Alfred were playing in the woods… America's woods. The soft moist grass was sprayed with dew, reflecting numerous colors in them. The soft callings of the songbirds were heard off from the far distance. The small eight year old America was holding onto a sun hat. Everyday felt like it would last forever. Just him and England. They would eat together, play games of hopscotch or tag; he would help him set up tea parties…
"Let's go home." England smiled, his hands held out to reach him, the bright golden sun shone on his light corn blond bangs. His emerald green eyes glisten with warmth and delight. Alfred's small hands held out to reach them.
"England…" Alfred felt the warm tears tickle down his face. "You used to be…" Why? "…so big…" He stared at his former guardian. He felt so stiff. He had won… He had won…
Independence. The word was so lovely when it was first introduced to him, but was it really worth it? This independence? He did not feel the happiness and relief that he thought he would have felt. The two armies that were one fighting against each other just stood there, staring at their countries.
England… Do you still hate me? I… Before a complete thought formed, the independent boy's mind faded away, as he fell into unconsciousness.
England stared at the boy. No! Alfred? His emerald eyes widened as he went up to him, embracing him in his arms.
"America?" He whispered. Wake up damn it! The bloody fool. "Alfred? ALFRED!"
The English gentlemen cried as he shook the boy, realizing that he was knocked out. The men surrounding him only looked solemnly at the fallen boy. The rain continued to pour down hard.
Author Notes: This is just an introduction; hopefully, the next few chapters will improve and be more interesting for you guys.
France (1) – France did most of the fighting for the Americans. If it weren't for them, the American probably would have lost to the British army. It also helped that a certain Prussian general trained America into shape.