It was at night. Late at night. Arthur was holding a boy in his arms. Moreso a young man… but he wouldn't admit it. No, this was his boy. He wouldn't let that boy go. The boy was bleeding… a shot wound… He had taken him, stolen him away into the woods when no one was looking. He could hear his men call for him in the dead of the night, trying to find him, and where he went off to. They didn't know that the boy was here… And Arthur knew what would happen if they found him with the boy… but something in him wasn't letting him move, no, not from this spot.

The blood had clearly flowed into the blue jacket, soaking it to a reddish, purplish color. This didn't seem to faze the Englishman… Not at all… He wasn't worried in the least. They both were something more than humans… they could handle the wounds. Though the pain was daunting.

The blonde underneath him stirred, and Arthur kissed his head, hugging him instinctively closer to his body as the yells only grew louder from his troops. "Give up the fight…" He said in a clearly, audible voice. "I don't—I'm not losing you…" he stated. "I'm not going to give up. I'm not going to lose. Give up… come back… to me… I have your toy soldiers, all aligned in your room back home. I'll take you there. Then you can play with them until your heart's content… and won't have to use these soldiers to hurt me anymore." He said, a crazed tone to his voice.

The boy below him didn't say anything for awhile, maybe he was just dazed, or shocked, by the fact that he was in Arthur's—the enemy's arms. Or maybe he was thinking this was all a dream… a fleeting memory at best.

"I assure you, this is not a dream, my boy…" Arthur whispered, as if reading the younger boy's thoughts.

"Arthur…"

He didn't so much as even once look down at him, acknowledging that he had, yes, called his name.

That's when the American shifted, Arthur tightened his hold, and the boy, his charge, pulled away.

…Since when had he gotten stronger than him…?...

He looked up to him, noticing the bleeding soldier was wincing, with a hand over his right side. "Why are you doing this?" He asked, his green eyes reflecting the moonlight, and just how crazed he was. "Can't you see you will lose? There is no point in fighting. I am being serious now Alfred. This isn't funny anymore. All this talk of independence." He said, a concerned look painted on his face as he looked up at him.

"I'm leaving."

"What?"

"I said I'm leaving."

…

"It's high time I left you Arthur. There's no place for me back at your house. I'm not your little boy anymore; you'll just have to accept that. I'm declaring my independence, whether you like it or not, I will leave you. I will win." The American said, determination shining through in every word, every note of his voice.

And then he turned around before Arthur could be shaken from his stupor. And he left.

And Arthur didn't see him once again until it had rained. Until Arthur cried from the mere fact that he knew he had lost… something much greater, much more valuable than even he could put a price on. Something that he would give his life for. …Until Arthur wasn't looking up at the beautiful sky-blue eyes of a baby boy anymore.

But of a man.