They always thought he was fearless, brave, on top of everything, they even called him America The Beautiful, but in reality, on the inside, he was lost and confused. He would always smile and act nice but was really distraught, remorseful of memories lost since passed. He'd never wanted to hurt him, never to leave him as he did, all he wanted that thing he called freedom. The result was worse, however, than he'd been expecting. Those memoirs of earlier, happier times haunted his thoughts, causing him agonizing fits where he would throw himself into utter turmoil. Oh, how he wanted to begin anew with him, that man he once called brother, England. He loved him, he truly did, but the other would not hear it. No, he just would not, and that ate away at him even more so than anything else. How it pained him to keep feelings such as his bottled up inside his heart.

Corruption, that was one way to explain what happened to him often. His regret for hurting the one he loved took its toll, shrouding his clear thoughts and allowing his former side to take over. It made him sick and want to scream until he was hoarse. So helpless he felt, and the voices in his head drove him to the brink of his sanity, scaring his heart even more.

Unfortunately, it was one of those moments where his clouded agony took hold. It happened rather often these days, however today, it was much, much worse. He sat, curled up on his bed, trying to calm himself. He'd tried placing headphones over his ears to tune out those voices, but to no avail. They kept getting louder, louder speaking lies and truths, statements and questions, however, he was so far gone he could not distinguish one from the other.

You never loved him.

The one called America nodded his head vigorously, trying to convince the voice otherwise.

He hates you.

"No…! H-he doesn't!" America cried softly.

You're so ungrateful.

"I'm not…!"

Then why did you leave him?

"I…because I love him!" he screamed, tears began to form as his heart raced.

Liar.

"No! I…I'm not! I…love him!"

Big, Fat Liar.

"No…! S…shut up!"

Weak.

"I-I'm not! S-stop lying to me!"

Heartless.

"Shut up! Shut up…! Shut up…" America shook his head feebly; tears began to pour out, streaming down his face.

Selfish.

The man screamed, his voice cracking from sobbing too hard.

Useless.

"Leave me alone!" the American shrieked.

Then, the voices just stopped. The blond panted, waiting. No more noise, just silence. He sat there, though, for a while still, allowing his heartbeat to cease to its normal pace. When it seemed all right, he crawled out of bed and went to the bathroom, starting to feel sick in his stomach. He proceeded to enter slowly, clenching his midsection. Nausea overtook him, as he began to throw up into the toilet. He moaned uncomfortably, shifting to the sink. America pulled the knob, letting the cool water pool in his hands as he splashed it all over his face. The blond hissed lightly, as the water felt like ice against his skin. It was refreshing nevertheless, and his nerves almost calmed down. But that's when life suddenly got worse.

America pulled his head up and stared into the mirror. His eyes widened and he let out a small gasp as he saw his reflection.

The reflection was indeed himself, but his parallel stared back at him, his gaze dark, cold, uncaring, and disobedient. His uniform, that one uniform tucked away so far in his shed, so as he did not have to see it. It was uniform, adorned in red and blue and white. The American Revolution. The sight caused him to back away from the mirror, horror and panic colored his face. His counterpart frowned and furrowed his brows into a scowl.

"Look at you, so frail and afraid. Isn't this what you wanted?"

America shook his head, his heart beating faster once again.

"Don't give me that. I know what you wanted. After all, we are the same aren't we?"

"No! You're wrong! I…I've changed! I don't…I didn't want…this!"

If possible, the parallel's scowled deepened, as it seemed he wasn't satisfied with that answer.

"Didn't want what? What is it? This wonderful liberty you call freedom? You wouldn't have that luxury if it weren't for me, us."

"Shut up! I…I'm not the same as I was before! You're…you're not real! Just…just get out of my sight!"

"Not real? Not real? Are you daft? Silly boy, I am you. We are the same. If I'm not real you never existed in the first place."

"JUST GO AWAY!" America wailed as he charged forward and slammed the mirror as hard as he could with his fist. Upon it not breaking, he pounded it until it was cracked in every way possible, his hands oozing blood. His knuckles stung, but he didn't care. The red liquid continued to pour out, but he only sank to the floor, clutching his hair in angst. The pain…why wouldn't it go away? His heart ached, his body ached, and his own essence ached. Every part of him felt as if it were slowly being torn away from him. He just wanted it to end, end so badly. And as he lay there, on the cold floor, when his world seemed to be throwing itself into an eternal grey world, the light suddenly came and pushed it all away.

"ALFRED JONES!"

He heard a pounding on the bathroom door.

"Honestly lad, I've been knocking for over ten minutes! At least have the courtesy to let me know you're busy!"

America felt a lump in his throat. It was…him.

"Alfred! Come now, I know you're in there! I'm not one to invade when in the restroom, but at least tell me you're in there or I will be forced to demand entry!"

The American still didn't reply, his head was spinning.

"Three…two…one! Open this blasted door!"

After another pause, the door was thrown open rather harshly, revealing a shorter man with ruffled blond hair and angered emerald eyes.

"There you are-" he paused, gawking at the sight before him, "Oh bloody hell! Alfred!"

The man rushed over to him, kneeling down to inspect him.

"How did this happen! And…hell Alfred! You broke the bloody mirror!"

"Ah…" was all America could muster out.

"Blast all!" England roared in anger, as he stepped as best he could towards the now broken cabinet, hoping there was something useful inside. When he found a small first aid kit, he let out a cry of triumph.

"Now come here you."

America still didn't know what to say, but complied as England pulled the gauze out and began to bandage his left hand.

"Honestly…can't keep a hold of yourself can you?" he said, but there was a hint of laughter in his voice.

The other only stared, his cerulean eyes drifting over his face, examining every detail. When his left hand was wrapped, England went for the right.

"Here, give me your right one."

But America, though, did not. What he did do, however, was pull the smaller nation into a much needed embrace.

"A-a-Alfred! Wh…what are you doing?"

"Thank you…thank you…thank you…"

"Thank you…? For what lad?"

"Thank you…for being here…" he murmured.

The other's face heated up, as a wide blush spread across his face. '

"T…there is no need to thank me…after all…you hardly take care of yourself though you're a grown man…"

America held him for a while still, causing the other to feel uncomfortable.

"Alfred…could you please…?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry…!"

England jumped, surprised by the reaction.

"F-for what?"

"I'm sorry…sorry for hurting you…"

At that moment, England felt his heart lift. Those words…those words…

"And I love you…I love you so much…Arthur."

England felt his eyes go soft at the use of his human name; he was being completely serious.

"Please…please don't hate me…please."

Shocked by the words coming out of the younger nation's mouth, England took a firm tone to assure him.

"Alfred F. Jones, look up at me."

The other was hesitant, but did as he was told.

"Never once, in my life, have I ever hated you and nor do I intend to start…" he smiled, "because I love you too…I always have and always will."

The taller looked genuinely happy, his eyes welling with tears, and for once, with happiness.

"Chin up now. Let's get you fixed up. You look dreadful," England chided, examining him.

America smiled and nodded, releasing the shorter and standing. England bent down and picked up the first aid kit again, and walked out of the bathroom, the younger nation following shortly behind.

He waited long for that moment; that moment to redeem and reestablish what was lost. And now, it didn't seem so far away. Actually, it had already begun, right there at that precise instant in time.

Wow...one of the most angsty things I've ever written! Hope you enjoyed it~! The title is named as such because even though Alfred regrets everything, he redeems himself and makes amends in the end. :) Alfred did want freedom, he just didn't want to get it that way. He didn't want to hurt Arthur like that.

NOTES~!

Rev!America says 'daft' because he hasn't fully gotten independence from England yet and I bet it took him a while to loose the accent.

Yes, he is schizophrenic. But it goes away later.

-IchigoMelon