USUK/UKUS One Shots

Under Lock and Key (Very Angsty, Revolutionary War AU Where England Wins)

Warnings: Very toxic relationship, emotionally abusive relationship, deaths of historical figures, language, very angsty, suicide, depression, implied sexual abuse

Summary: AU where England won the revolutionary war. America slides deeper and deeper into depression.

Word count: 3,560

Estimated read time: 14 minutes

America's whole body shook and he sobbed on the ground. "Please, don't! Stop, I'm begging you!" 

England looked down at him with a sympathetic smile and ran a hand through his hair, cooing, "I'm sorry, darling. But they're traitors. They have to die. After this, though, we can start over." 

"No!" America pleaded, grabbing the leg of his pants, "Please, England, don't do this, they're my friends." 

His expression hardened. "No?"

He froze. "Wait, I didn't mean to say that, I-" 

"What have we talked about, America? You lost your silly rebellion. You don't get to say 'no' anymore." 

With tear-filled eyes, America watched the men he looked up to as heroes be marched to the gallows.

George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, James Madison, John Adams, Paul Revere, Samuel Adams, John Hancock, Benjamin Franklin, John Laurens, the Marquis de Lafayette, and more- one after another. 

"England, I'll give you anything, just don't kill them!" 

He laughed and tutted like he was speaking to a child. "Oh, Amerca. You're already going to give me everything I want. Now be quiet and watch what happens to those that defy the British Empire." 

***

America sat quietly at the table, stirring his oatmeal. The sun was beginning to peak over the buildings of London, painting everything in its soft light. 

England came down the stairs in a rush and smiled briefly at America before opening the pantry to look for breakfast-to-go. "You're up early." 

"I didn't sleep well," He admitted, thinking back to the nightmare he'd had wherein he relived the execution of his closest friends. But, of course, he couldn't tell England that part. 

"Ah. Well, I'm off to my meeting. Clean up while I'm gone and don't forget to water the plants in the downstairs bathroom." England breezed by, planting a quick kiss on America's cheek before heading out the door, slamming it behind him in his haste. 

America flinched at the sound before reminding himself that it was just the door. There was a time when England's absence would have filled him with joy. He would have paced the house and plotted his escape, determined to catch the next ship back home, but that was a long time ago. 

He'd been caught one too many times. Eventually, around 1870, he'd given up trying to grab his every chance. Instead, he lay in wait, silently plotting his revenge and waiting for the perfect opportunity to break out. He had been extra good and done his best to build England's trust. That wasn't easy- England knew he wanted to leave and that he was faking it, but if England was honest with himself, he didn't care. He just wanted America to love him like he did before the rebellion. 

There was a daring day when he made a break for it in 1942. England had been swept up in a war and he figured that it was his perfect chance, but he'd been caught by some of England's men, beaten, and dragged back to England's house. 

He could still see the look on England's face when he came home. It wasn't the nonchalant anger he was used to, nor the twisted version of love when England assured him that all of this was for his own good. No. He had a dark look in his eyes when he entered the house and removed his shoes. The lock clicked and England advanced on him like a predator cornering his prey.