Well, it's just a short story concerning part of the Revolutionary war- the beginning, to be precise. I hope you enjoy it!

I don't own Hetalia! end /AN/

America gripped his musket with trembling fingers, surrounded by his ragtag force as he faced England and his troops. The empire was unafraid by the muskets pointing at him and his men, scoffing at the very idea of America firing upon him.

"You might as well put that musket away, boy. You barely know how to use it," England said condescendingly, his own and his troops' muskets pointed back at the American forces. America shook his head, jaw quivering just a little as he replied, "I-I'm not afraid of you, and I've used a musket before. I know how to shoot and kill."

England chuckled at the tremor in his voice, lowering his weapon. "Leave. Go back to your house, and quit being rebellious. Go on, shoo." He looked down on the pale nation, who was trying hard to keep his aim. His men seemed just as nervous, outnumbered and outgunned by the British.

America faltered. Maybe he should just go now, and keep the flimsy peace he and England had between him. Maybe there was a better solution to England's injustice, to the way he was treating him like an ignorant child. If he went home now, there would be no confrontation.

America lowered his gun, and England smirked. America really was still a child, despite his growth spurt, but even he could figure out when he was outmatched. The boy wasn't as dumb as his recent behaviour made him out to be. In fact, England could honestly say-

A shot rang out, and both nation's heads turned in shock. America was reeling, eyes wide with horror as he looked back at England. Whose side was that? It didn't matter in a few seconds, however, as England and his men reacted, shooting at America and his men.

America's men shot back, but America did not, and he fell back, clutching his arm, his cry unheeded among the gunshots. England felt a shock of worry shoot up his spine and into his brain, but he didn't even pause as he reloaded his gun, hoping to take down another rebel.

One American fell, and then another, and another after that, until altogether eighteen fell. America himself was recovered enough to look up, and feel terror seize him. England, his brother, was trying to kill him and his kind. His fear qiuckly spread among the men, and they took to their feet. One man stopped and yanked America to his feet, yelling something about how Alfred was hurt, and that they needed to get out of here now.

America twisted around as he was dragged along, trying to get a look at England's face. The empire's face was a stern grimace, and for a second, he locked eyes with America, and the anger in those eyes made America's heart twist inside. England really hated him over this, and that in and of itself was disheartening.

Then he was pulled out of sight, and the cheers of the redcoats rang in his ears.

/AN/ I hope you've enjoyed this. This was 1775, and it was essentially the start of the Revolutionary war (which was not a revolution. Major misnomer...) If you enjoyed this, let me know, and I'll write a second chapter to tell you what happened after that.