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Description
Needing a Hero

"I-I don't understand."

"What don't ye understand?" The red-haired man glared at the Brit, "I've been tryin' to get away fro ye for years. How could you not have seen this comin'?"

England was struggling to understand, "But why help the others? Australia, New Zealand, I have nothing now. Nothing!" No one.

Scotland snarled, "You were still clingin' to yer Empire's past. I just helped you past that particular hill. Let it go," his eyes narrowed but he corners of his mouth turned up, "Dinne ye learn anythin' from loosin' yer precious little America? We want our freedom, babaca."

The gun in England's hand drooped as he fought the flashback. But he couldn't, he was living the flashback. He was alone, the last Englishman on the battlefield, the corpses of his people were scattered about him on all sides. Only now the warriors were not in red, but in a green cameo that matched the grasses of the British Isles. Before him stood not one boy, but three men. They share the same land, similar culture; they were blood.

But he had nothing anymore. His house is empty, and the title of "UK" was stripped painfully from his being. Even the people of England itself were starting to fight; some are tired of the years of war while others are determined to reclaim England's Empire. England himself is just tired. It's been a very long time. But…

"You won't allow it, I suppose?" Ireland spoke from his brother's side, "You've been left with a pathetic excuse for land, and your resources are exhausted, what can ye do?"

He was right. England's gun was firmly pointed at the ground as he retorted, "And you're better off? I have structure and I have experience. You're struggling to keep up in the modern world. Look at us! Are we going to go the way of Yugoslavia?"

The usually quiet Wales spoke next, "Preferably Czechoslovakia, if you're complyin'."

Green eyes flicked to the bloody ground and thunder rumbled overhead, "It's a little late for that lads," his eyes firmly met Scotland's, the assumed leader, "You have no stability, no defence, no industry of your own, and a pathetic excuse for a government. Your were only able to get this far because I was already overtaxed in the War. You are not like America when he earned his independence; you will fail."

The Scot's face flashed from indignant to fury in an instant. Before his brothers could restrain him he had his younger brother gripped by the throat with a knife pressed to his cheek. England had no strength to fight back. He could feel the Scottish, Irish, and Welsh warriors slowly converging on London. Within a few hours England will be no more.

Scotland looked ready to tear his heart out now, "I will not fail. It is you who will fail, dear brother," he flicked his eyes to the warming blade before flashing his signature bloodthirsty Celtic grin, "You remember this blade? I do believe ye have numerous scars on yer body from its touch." He pressed the flat of the blade harder against England's cheek. The sky rumbled again and the first fat drops fell to the already soaked battlefield, "In fact, I think its first taste was yer blood. Fitting, isn't it?"

England's legs gave way. His older brother released him as he fell to his knees in the blood-mud. He could feel them inching towards his heart… "You will fail." His gaze never wavered.

Scotland's green eyes flashed in red anger, "You just shut the fuck up, you insignificant whelp! You have failed, I will not!" England closed his eyes as his older brother lunged forward, silver blade flashing.

Through the steady sound of the rain, a shot rang out. England felt no pain.

Could I really possibly have died that quickly…?

"England!"

That voice… But it couldn't be, he was tied up with China.

"England!!!"

Slowly he opened his eyes. Before him was the body of his older brother. Beyond him, Ireland and Wales stood stunned as they stared and Scotland. "ENGLAND!" There was panic in that familiar voice. Sill on his knees, the Englishman turned towards the voice. Barrelling towards him was a figure clad in camouflage and holding a shoulder-gun at the ready. Catching England's eyes, his own blue ones relaxed in relief then hardened when they refocused on the still standing nations. He whipped to stand in front of the kneeling nation and shouted at the other two, "On your knees!" they only moved to glare at the American, "I said, on your knees! Don't make me do you like I did him." England's vision was starting to blur but he couldn't help the happiness that bubbled up in him.

The two countries hesitated a moment before doing what they were told. The war had taken a toll on everyone. As the two were kneeling the American swiftly withdrew a small chip from his pocket, clicked it, and tossed it to the ground in front of the other two. As the chip blinked red once the solider turned to England and embraced him, burying his head in his chest. There was a small sound as the flash chip went off and then silence.

Eventually the solider drew back, looking at England with bright sapphire eyes. Slowly, England lifted his hand to gently touch the American's cheek, "America."

The American embraced him again, clutching him almost desperately, "England! Oh God… I came as fast as I could, I was terrified I wasn't gonna be fast enough." He pulled back again, still clutching his shoulders, to gaze into his emerald eyes, "We have a group of X18's circling London and the troops will be here shortly. You're gonna be alright, I won't let anything happen to you."

Oh how the tables have turned. "What about China?"

They were the first words America heard the other say, "Ah! Oh, yes, China's still stunned from the blows to Beijing." The smiled slightly, "Besides, you needed a hero."

England glanced at his unmoving brothers in the distance, "They never would have been able to succeed."

America didn't even spare them a glance, "No. Especially not Scotland. He was focused on killing you. Beyond that he had nothing."

"His freedom," he looked back to the American, "Kind of like you."

America blinked a couple times before chuckling. He scooped England up and began to walk back the way he came the shoulder-gun dangling from its strap, "Keeping my freedom was a goal, but it was more of a task that had to be kept up for me to do what I didn't know I wanted to do then."

England furrowed his impressive eyebrows in fatigue-induced confusion, "What?"

America leaned down and kissed England, "You needed a hero."

The Englishman stared wide-eyed, "I-What-Whe… Did you run all the way here?"

Another grin, "Of course."

England relaxed in his soldier's arms as darkness forced his eyelids down, "Git," then softer, "Thank you." The warm arms tightened their hold as he slipped off.

Description
Needing a Hero

"I-I don't understand."

"What don't ye understand?" The red-haired man glared at the Brit, "I've been tryin' to get away fro ye for years. How could you not have seen this comin'?"

England was struggling to understand, "But why help the others? Australia, New Zealand, I have nothing now. Nothing!" No one.

Scotland snarled, "You were still clingin' to yer Empire's past. I just helped you past that particular hill. Let it go," his eyes narrowed but he corners of his mouth turned up, "Dinne ye learn anythin' from loosin' yer precious little America? We want our freedom, babaca."

The gun in England's hand drooped as he fought the flashback. But he couldn't, he was living the flashback. He was alone, the last Englishman on the battlefield, the corpses of his people were scattered about him on all sides. Only now the warriors were not in red, but in a green cameo that matched the grasses of the British Isles. Before him stood not one boy, but three men. They share the same land, similar culture; they were blood.

But he had nothing anymore. His house is empty, and the title of "UK" was stripped painfully from his being. Even the people of England itself were starting to fight; some are tired of the years of war while others are determined to reclaim England's Empire. England himself is just tired. It's been a very long time. But…

"You won't allow it, I suppose?" Ireland spoke from his brother's side, "You've been left with a pathetic excuse for land, and your resources are exhausted, what can ye do?"

He was right. England's gun was firmly pointed at the ground as he retorted, "And you're better off? I have structure and I have experience. You're struggling to keep up in the modern world. Look at us! Are we going to go the way of Yugoslavia?"

The usually quiet Wales spoke next, "Preferably Czechoslovakia, if you're complyin'."

Green eyes flicked to the bloody ground and thunder rumbled overhead, "It's a little late for that lads," his eyes firmly met Scotland's, the assumed leader, "You have no stability, no defence, no industry of your own, and a pathetic excuse for a government. Your were only able to get this far because I was already overtaxed in the War. You are not like America when he earned his independence; you will fail."

The Scot's face flashed from indignant to fury in an instant. Before his brothers could restrain him he had his younger brother gripped by the throat with a knife pressed to his cheek. England had no strength to fight back. He could feel the Scottish, Irish, and Welsh warriors slowly converging on London. Within a few hours England will be no more.

Scotland looked ready to tear his heart out now, "I will not fail. It is you who will fail, dear brother," he flicked his eyes to the warming blade before flashing his signature bloodthirsty Celtic grin, "You remember this blade? I do believe ye have numerous scars on yer body from its touch." He pressed the flat of the blade harder against England's cheek. The sky rumbled again and the first fat drops fell to the already soaked battlefield, "In fact, I think its first taste was yer blood. Fitting, isn't it?"

England's legs gave way. His older brother released him as he fell to his knees in the blood-mud. He could feel them inching towards his heart… "You will fail." His gaze never wavered.

Scotland's green eyes flashed in red anger, "You just shut the fuck up, you insignificant whelp! You have failed, I will not!" England closed his eyes as his older brother lunged forward, silver blade flashing.

Through the steady sound of the rain, a shot rang out. England felt no pain.

Could I really possibly have died that quickly…?

"England!"

That voice… But it couldn't be, he was tied up with China.

"England!!!"

Slowly he opened his eyes. Before him was the body of his older brother. Beyond him, Ireland and Wales stood stunned as they stared and Scotland. "ENGLAND!" There was panic in that familiar voice. Sill on his knees, the Englishman turned towards the voice. Barrelling towards him was a figure clad in camouflage and holding a shoulder-gun at the ready. Catching England's eyes, his own blue ones relaxed in relief then hardened when they refocused on the still standing nations. He whipped to stand in front of the kneeling nation and shouted at the other two, "On your knees!" they only moved to glare at the American, "I said, on your knees! Don't make me do you like I did him." England's vision was starting to blur but he couldn't help the happiness that bubbled up in him.

The two countries hesitated a moment before doing what they were told. The war had taken a toll on everyone. As the two were kneeling the American swiftly withdrew a small chip from his pocket, clicked it, and tossed it to the ground in front of the other two. As the chip blinked red once the solider turned to England and embraced him, burying his head in his chest. There was a small sound as the flash chip went off and then silence.

Eventually the solider drew back, looking at England with bright sapphire eyes. Slowly, England lifted his hand to gently touch the American's cheek, "America."

The American embraced him again, clutching him almost desperately, "England! Oh God… I came as fast as I could, I was terrified I wasn't gonna be fast enough." He pulled back again, still clutching his shoulders, to gaze into his emerald eyes, "We have a group of X18's circling London and the troops will be here shortly. You're gonna be alright, I won't let anything happen to you."

Oh how the tables have turned. "What about China?"

They were the first words America heard the other say, "Ah! Oh, yes, China's still stunned from the blows to Beijing." The smiled slightly, "Besides, you needed a hero."

England glanced at his unmoving brothers in the distance, "They never would have been able to succeed."

America didn't even spare them a glance, "No. Especially not Scotland. He was focused on killing you. Beyond that he had nothing."

"His freedom," he looked back to the American, "Kind of like you."

America blinked a couple times before chuckling. He scooped England up and began to walk back the way he came the shoulder-gun dangling from its strap, "Keeping my freedom was a goal, but it was more of a task that had to be kept up for me to do what I didn't know I wanted to do then."

England furrowed his impressive eyebrows in fatigue-induced confusion, "What?"

America leaned down and kissed England, "You needed a hero."

The Englishman stared wide-eyed, "I-What-Whe… Did you run all the way here?"

Another grin, "Of course."

England relaxed in his soldier's arms as darkness forced his eyelids down, "Git," then softer, "Thank you." The warm arms tightened their hold as he slipped off.