America the Majestic (United States of America #2)

Dehumanization

"My, my, what do we have here?"

England stood up so quickly he almost hit his head on the table, also almost knocking it over. Spinning around, he found America standing there, her eyes narrowed and calculating, also icy than ever. The pure apathy in her eyes shut off England's voice box, and he couldn't even attempt to defend himself.

Walking over, America picked up the fallen art book, glanced at the picture, and placed it back on the table. She then stared at England, not saying a word.

Neither did England, because he couldn't find his voice. Besides, what did America want him to say?

However, after many minutes of a silent America just staring, England found his voice at last. "H-How long?"

America raised an eyebrow. "How long what?"

"How long have you been planning to hide this?"

America glanced at the closed art book for a moment. "Forever if I had to," she answered.

"Why?"

America glared at him, the ferocity of it like a physical blow. "Because one: you would've used them as shields against me; Two: you would've made their lives a living hell; and three: you probably would've made me a prostitute."

England blanched. "W-What?! I-I would never—"

"Shut the fuck up!" America snapped, baring her teeth at her former caretaker. "The fact that you couldn't accept responsibility for driving me away was already bad enough, and the realization that you would do anything for yourself really lead me to the edge! So, the last thing I needed was for you to know me and of them."

Now England was angry. "I couldn't accept responsibility?! Looks like you are not different after all from the git."

America rolled her eyes. "There you go again, denying it. Is that all you're good for in the end? Good God Britannia would be ashamed of you."

The fury intensified. "What the bloody hell would you know?!"

"Because she's standing behind you."

Spinning around, England's breath caught in his throat when he, indeed, saw someone standing right there. She looked like England's carbon copy, with his blonde hair (although reaching to her thighs), forest green eyes, and all other characteristics of England. However, she was wearing an ancient cloak and white dress, and she was glaring at England with disappointment and overall disgust.

"M-Mother?" England stammered, unable to say anything else after seeing the look in Britannia's eyes.

"Don't call me that," Britannia spat. "You lost that right to call me that when you disregarded my teachings long ago."

"But I didn't—"

"Shut your mouth boy! I did not give you permission to speak. I thought I raised you better than that, and now look at where your thick head has gotten you! My grandchildren have had to live in fear of being discovered by their fathers, you being one of them, and you mistreated their mother ever since she declared independence.

"You are no son of mine, so don't you dare call me Mother!" With that, Britannia disappeared, but not before giving America a sympathetic look.

England collapsed to his knees, his eyes filling to the brim with tears. He couldn't make a sound as they spilled out, staining his clothes and the rug under him. Behind him, America sighed.

"Do you understand now United Kingdom? You refused to see me as my own person, and instead you dehumanized me and my people, which you still continue to do to this day. Now look where that's got you, and you have no one to blame but yourself."

England unleashed a sob, refusing to look at his former colony.

"You also made me realize something over the years too." This time England looked at America, watching as she took out a picture from out of nowhere and showed it to him. His breath caught.

The picture was of a painting of England and a younger America, but what made him freeze was the slash marks that covered him on the picture.

"I realized that you never existed in my life," America continued, heedless of England's turmoil. "The England I thought I knew died when I was young, and you took his place. I had to grow up under the care of my maids and myself, so you never counted as my caretaker, no matter how much you try to say otherwise. Therefore you made it so easy for me to fool you, and even you have to admit that you're at fault."

Then, without another word, America left the library, taking the art book with her, and leaving a distraught England behind in her wake.