His Last Smile

Words to England

Hello, my fellow Hetalians! Thank you for the quick 11 votes on the previous chapter! This chapter will be on... America's words to England (look at the title :P)! I guess it's a little angsty... I don't even know. But, by all means, enjoy the chapter!

"England," America couldn't stop the tears from flowing down, but he could control his words. "England,

"Let's start out by saying... I'm sorry too. I know that you didn't want to press all those rules onto me. And I hope you realize that you... you really weren't a bad brother. Actually, you were the best brother anyone could wish for. It's just, just..." America fought to find the right word he should use.

"Just, it was really hard on me. I hope you can understand, that I can't live without being... free. I needed my freedom desperately. I needed it, and it seems, from the letter, that... you really did understand me. But I still don't get it. I mean... you just could have went against your president, or whatever you call him. You could have gave me the freedom that I wanted, right? Even though you explained the best you can, I don't... I want to hear your voice while you explain, to see your face.

"But you didn't. And I want to know why. But I guess... I guess that's impossible for me now," America gave a dry chuckle. His words started cracking slowly, like a wooden dam trying to hold up a strong flow of water. And the dam was slowly breaking apart, little by little.

"I don't blame you for everything. After all, you were a good big brother. Even though your food might have tasted horrible, and you might have been away for a lot, you really did care for me, right?" America choked on his words. Because he wanted them to be true. Because he wanted to believe they were true. But I would never know, he thought. Maybe England was just doing this... because I was his territory. Because he needed to take care of me.

But as he thought more, the more he knew his words were true. Because England... England might have been good at acting and all, but he knew, he just knew that England really cared for him. Because... not only the letter said so. But because he knew, if England didn't care for him, and only his land, he would have shot him that day.

America sure did talk a lot about the day, but he didn't mean to gloat that he saw England crumbling, his (former) older brother sob into the earth. He didn't mean it, he didn't want a war. He wanted only freedom. He didn't even know if he won or lost that day. Because he gained something so precious, and lost something just as important to him. He lost a brother, a fatherly figure, a mentor that gave him basically everything.

"England," a whisper this time. "I still don't know. Maybe I never will. But... but before you go, before it's too late—which it probably is, but better than never, right?—I want to tell you... I never stopped caring, either."

"England."

The name was so familiar off his tongue, rolling off from his dry throat and making its way out into the world.

"England," there was nothing else on his mind now, except for this one word. "England. No, Arthur."

And he kept on calling out the name, what felt like a thousand times over and over. Maybe a million. Maybe a trillion.

And this name belonged to a "personified nation" that is now lost, gone, away. It belonged to a person whom he loved so much, on what level, he doesn't know. Because... because this name belongs to someone, someone who was a person before a nation, someone so special to him in so many ways.

Because it is the name of the person who loved him unconditionally, no matter what he did or did not do, no matter who he was and was not.

~~ 

Arthur. It was as if the name was stitched into Alfred's brain permanently. He stood up and found himself not in the depressing funeral where there was black and white and gray and red ("it's spelled g. r. e. y.. Aren't you a bloody idiot?" He could imagine England fussing over his English), but in a lush, green field.

He remembered this place. It was where he met England.

And where he left England.

It was a blow that knocked America down to his knees. It wasn't physical, no. It was purely himself. But he found himself unable to move, unable to stand up.

"Hey, Alfred," a very, very familiar voice said from behind. He found himself moving around to find... to find...

Bushy eyebrows.

Green eyes.

A slight smile that seemed a little unfamiliar on his face.

England.

"England!" the waterworks started back again, as he buried himself in England's arms. "England!"

"Yeah, yeah. So... I was granted one wish, and even you bloody idiot can guess what happened," England said, and America laughed.

"Nope!" he said, just to annoy England. He enjoyed it, seeing England mad, spewing British slang at him. It was really entertaining, he guessed.

"Well, then you don't need to know," England huffed. "And America?"

"Hmm?" he answered.

"I repeat, I would never not care for you. Remember that I'll be watching you, Alfred."

And with that, the pleasant dream faded away, leaving America with a tear-stained pillow and the sharp reality like broken glass pieces all over his body.

Okay... so the chapter was depressing...

Well, I couldn't help it! It is supposed to be angst, after all!

This is the second to last chappie! The next will be...

England's letterrrrrr!

Thank you, and stay AWESOME!!!!!!!

Vote goal: 12 votes