USUK/UKUS One Shots

When D.C. Burned (Angst)

Warnings: Angst, language

Summary: England finds America in the burning streets of Washington D.C. during the War of 1812. 

Word count: 1,714

Estimated read time: 9 minutes 30 seconds

The flames reflected in Alfred's eyes as he looked around in horror. Everything was on fire and the heat was hurting his skin. 

He dashed through the streets, searching frantically for more people. Up the street, he spotted a boy trapped underneath a beam. 

Alfred ran to him, dropping down. "Are you okay?" 

"My leg!" He cried, "It's stuck!" 

Nodding, Alfred pushed against the beam with all his might. It didn't budge. Steeling his nerves, he tried again and was able to lift it just enough for the boy to roll out from underneath its weight. As soon as he was clear, Alfred let it fall back down. 

"Is your leg hurt?" 

The boy nodded.

"Where are your parents?" 

"W- We tried to evacuate but they ran into the British troops by the Patuxent River. Our family got separated... I think my dad was shot, but I- I don't know!" He dissolved into tears, sobbing and clutching himself. 

Alfred swallowed dryly. The smoke stung his throat and lungs, but he picked the boy up and looked around. The clearest path was to the left. He darted down the streets, holding the boy close to his chest. 

He wove through buildings that were going up in flames and fallen debris. Narrowly, he dodged some stones that crumbled off the top of a high wall. Never looking back, he kept running until they were nearing the edge of the town. Not far off were the abandoned trenches where American soldiers had tried to hold off the British troops. Carefully, he made his way through the unsteady terrain and jumped down into one of the trenches. 

Gently, he lowered the boy down. "You'll be safe here." 

"Thank you." 

"Of course." 

Alfred sprang out of the trench and ran back into his burning capital. He still had citizens in there- no way he was leaving them to die. 

Desperately, he darted back through the streets. A sharp pain struck him in the chest and he dropped to his knees, crying out. The heart of his nation was being destroyed, and along with it, his own heart. 

But that wasn't what mattered. What mattered were the people that couldn't escape before the British took over. They needed help. He would press on- because that's what heroes do. 

Alfred stumbled to his feet and kept going until he spotted an elderly woman. She was crouched in a corner, trying to get away from the blaze. 

He went to her immediately, helping her to her feet and leading her out of the city. Looking off into the smoky skyline, he could see faint outlines of more enemy troops marching on D.C. Hatred seeped through his veins. He'd kill them for this.

Luckily, he got the old woman out of the city and into the trench beside the boy. They would take care of each other. Once again, he forged his way through the raging inferno. 

His pace faltered when he looked up at the White House. It wasn't so white anymore. The walls were blackened and charred, the windows had combusted, and the rest had been engulfed. 

His gut twisted and he reminded himself that at least the President and the First Lady were safe. Most of the people were, too, though he was scared to learn what the body count was when this was all over.