Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, Canada, Mexico, England
Rating: M for safety. And suicide.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: After the financial gang bang happened and burdened by the memories America chooses to commit suicide in order to escape the pain. Tormented by guilt England prepares a spell to bring him back. Only he had no desire to come back and now that he is, he wants only revenge.
England didn’t move as the hours went by. The sun settled and the moon and stars rose and still he didn’t move. His eyes were trained on the tombstone that resided in the ground.
“Alfred F. Jones. America. Date of birth unknown. “Give me liberty or give me death.”” it read.
It was almost typical what would be placed on the tombstone. However it was very unlike America. This was entirely too plain and lifeless to symbolize the vibrant and full of life America had been.
And he was to blame.
Although he shared the blame with others most of it is on him. He had been the one to invite America to his house for that night. He had been the one to suggest it.
When it had been over England had immediately went to his bathroom and vomited into the toilet ashamed of what he had done. His stomach emptied itself until there was nothing left and even then it still continued.
And now America was gone.
However not for long.
He pulled out the items from his coat. The items needed in this taboo and forbidden ritual.
It didn’t matter the cost, all that mattered was that he brought America back.
But first he would have to dig up the body.
He opted not to use magic. He would use his hands. A small punishment for a crime he will gladly forever repay.
He immediately fell to his knees and dug his hands into the dirt. There hadn’t been enough time for the earth to harden thankfully and it was still moist enough that he could easily shift through it.
Thunder loomed over head. He glanced upwards for a moment before returning to the task at hand.
When it started to rain he paid it no attention. He wouldn’t take a single break until he finished doing this.
Until he righted the wrong.
He wiped the rain water and the sweat off his brow. He was about three feet deep into the hole and could practically feel the coffin.
He didn’t stop until he felt his hands touch the wood of the coffin.
He stood and waved his arm. Slowly the coffin floated into the air.
He would have gladly lifted it however combined with its weight and the rain it would be most likely that he would accidently drop it and perhaps damage the body.
He set it gently on the ground. He softly brushed some of the dirt off the flag on top of it before he dug his nails into the side and pried the lid off.
America’s nearly perfect body met him. He covered his nose as the scent of decay and rotten flesh filled the air.
And there. The reason that there wasn’t an open casket funeral.
The bullet hole in the side of his head.
He looked rather serene England thought to himself. He reached out and gently stroked Americas face as he had done years ago when this one had been a child.
He took the items he had placed on the ground and then picked up the book. He turned to the page he had marked and with a deep breath started to chant.
The effect was almost immediate. A glow started to surround the items in his hands and slowly America as well. Thunder and lightning flashed overhead and the rain continued to pour down relentlessly.
He could feel the power of the spell started to come forth. His own energy filled the air and flowed into the younger man.
America for the first time in months was at peace.
He couldn’t remember much of life before this place. He couldn’t remember why he had wanted to come to this place. All he knew was here and a few scattered memories.
He remembered a Canada who had shined his entire life. An England whom he had always looked for approval from. A Russia whom he had loved. A Mexico who was protective and wonderful.
America sighed happily as the darkness swirled around him. He lifted his arm almost lazily and watched as the shadows twirled around and gently glided over him like the calm sea water he had loved swimming in.
He remembered the feel of earth underneath his feet and the smell of fresh air. He had no desire to return to any of that. The moment he had a longing for it he remembered them all clear as if they were before him.
The darkness took very careful protection and care of its beloved children.
A shadow glided along his face, if he concentrated enough it could almost become a hand that soothed him time and time again or one that merely loved him.
The same hands that so lovingly and caringly had taken him from the world of hurt and pain and into this world of pleasure and peace.
There was a different sensation however. One that he knew immediately wasn’t his beloved darkness.
He frowned for a moment wondering what it was before it grabbed him by his body and pulled.
He gave a shout. His hands going about desperately wanting something to hold onto.
The darkness curled around him and pulled him back, unwilling to let him go to whoever was pulling him so intently.
To whoever was pulling him back to the world of hurt and pain.
The darkness hesitated for a moment before it did something else. America could feel it entering him this time. It was absorbed into his skin and into his body.
Into his heart and into his soul.
It filled him entirely.
It knew that it couldn’t keep him here, not when the one on the other side was pulling so tightly, without hurting him so it gave him this gift.
Its power and abilities to do as he wish on whoever was doing this as to quickly return to her loving embrace.
Anger filled him at the one who was taking him away from this peace and his beloved darkness.
The moment the darkness allowed him to go memories filled him.
Burning. Fire. Bombs. Explosions. Crashing.
He screamed. Memories continued to flow in relentlessly.
Memories of them. Of what they had done to him.
“Worthless.” “You’re not a hero, you can’t save anyone.” “Stupid little whore.” “You were asking for this all this time.”
“You deserve this.”
France. North Italy. South Italy. Germany. Prussia. Japan. England. Russia.
The Italians, Japan, and the Germans. He thought they had been his friends.
France and England. Like fathers to him.
Russia. The only nation he had ever loved.
All of them betrayed him.
All of them.
All of them.
An animalistic scream tore through his throat. Anger and a desire for revenge coursed through him as well as the pitiful clawing of trying to go back. To go back to the darkness.
He felt himself being torn into two. He screamed as the pain coursed through him. As pain and anger merged.
He saw a light, small and dim but a light nonetheless.
The one who had dragged him away was there.
He continued forward.