Hi, everyone! First off, you might have noticed that something has changed: my penname. It used to me Mademoiselle K.G. but now I have changed it to HawkwithGlasses (for personal reasons). Hope it didn't throw you off too much when you get this in your inbox! Also, I have an account on deviantArt under the name CentralMadness and I post these chapters on there too. So just a heads up, it's the same person. I am she, she is me and we are all together~ (please excuse the crappy Beatles reference XD) SO! I'm TERRIBLY SORRY that this has taken so long to get updated. Finals are a bitch. That's all I have to say. I was uber stressed out with the last few days of school and so now that classes are over I am feeling freaking FREE. Like, on a scale of 1 to 10 on the freedom scale I am AMERICA. Yeah. (lame author is lame) ANYWAY..now that it's summer vacation I will have more time to work on Twenty-Four so yay~!

Please excuse the weird way I wrote this chapter, America and England are going to have a lot of inner monologues and so...yeah. I was listening to "Your Call" by Secondhand Serenade while I was writing this, so if you recognize some lyrics in there, you now know why. ^-^

Thank you to all who read, fave'd, alerted and reviewed! I'm glad that people are actually reading my work! ;n;

Enough babble! Time to read the story~Enjoy~! :D

Everyday it will rain~

November 23, 1772

"America, what is this I hear about your rejection of Parliament? You are my colony; my charge and I cannot expect you to follow anything other than my law."

"Well England, you see…"

"I will have none of these 'Provincial Congresses' running about at your place. Do you understand? This is simply childish, my Parliament is clearly far superior—"

"England, wait I'm trying to—"

"No, America. You shall wait until I am finished speaking. Follow my example as it would do you some good…"

"England! Please just listen to me! If you are too blind to notice, I am no longer a child! I'm nearly two inches taller than you! You continue treating me as if I am a toddler and I will put up with it no longer!"

The Englishman was silent, his arms crossed as he stood in front of his younger charge.

"Are you quite finished with your tantrum? I have to leave soon and I cannot be late."

America nearly shook in anger. He was doing it again. England was not taking him seriously. His attitude had been like this for the past few months and he could feel it in his spirit that things were only going to get worse. He took a breath.

"No, England. You're not leaving me again. Not this time. For I…am leaving you."

October 7, 1777

The rain was pounding mercilessly on the battlefield of Bermis Heights, New York. Soldiers on both sides were cold, hungry and ready for this war to be over with. They both knew which side had won. Now, it was all meaningless banter to see whose morale was stronger. But that didn't stop the British from trying to dominate, much due to their leader. And the same went to the Americans. Their leader would stop at nothing to gain freedom for his people.

England was glad it was raining. His tears could mix with the rain that fell upon his face and he could hide it from the generals that kept on bothering him about strategy tactics and casualty numbers. He was just holding onto a lost cause. America proved that point by "officially" declaring independence from him by having some of his people write out some sort of document the previous year and yet here they were, still fighting.

England's attitude about the whole thing was obvious to anyone who was within speaking distance of him. Albeit, no one is in a chipper mood when in the middle of a war but in England's case, his whole aura was just dreadful. His officials knew how dearly he held America in his heart and how he thought he was going to be his mentor, protecting his little brother always. What had he done wrong? Where did he make the mistake that made America finally decide to separate from him? He never had anyone before America and now the only person he cared for was leaving him.

Damn it all…he chose me! Why would he leave me after he chose me?

That question was burned in England's mind and that was all he could think about. Why? Why?

Why?...Maybe…I could fix it….I should…I should talk to him.

England couldn't take much more of it; the waiting. He was advised to stay behind and away from the battlefield just in case some renegades were conspiring to capture him. He scoffed at the idea of it all. He knew all too well that his general's tactics of keeping their nation safe was the complete opposite of what America was doing. No doubt in England's mind that America was fighting side by side with his soldiers since they were all fighting for the same thing.

Against their wishes he ran to the field; mud splattering his clean breeches and staining his vibrant red coat. He wasn't used to running as much so his energy was depleting fast by the time he stole a musket from the armory and hid between a few cannons that were at the back of his battalion. He moved in between soldiers to sneak a peek of what was going on. He didn't care that he felt like a child who was hiding behind his mother's skirt. He was going to run forward and confront his charge once and for all.

America was certain that England was upset. Without a doubt in his mind, he could picture the British Empire ranting and raving about his next attack directed at the newly independent nation. He could see those green eyes blazing with anger and bloodlust. He could hear those hateful words coming from the Briton's mouth. His soothing and melodic voice that would sing him lullabies and read him stories, now putrid with the stench of foul language and hate equivalent to a million banshees screeching at the black sky.

He was so grateful for the rain. It washed away everything; the blood, the hate…the want to go back to how things used to be. Back when he was small things were so easy. He and England would play together, learn together…love together.

"Waaaaaah!"

"America? America, what happened?"

The small boy sniffled, as he clutched his knee close to his chest. He looked up at the tree he was sitting under, a branch swinging precariously from its trunk, the edges splintered, giving the sign that it was too weak to support any weight that might have been strained on it, thus making it snap.

"I-I was climbing the tree! A-And th-then when I sat on the branch to get the a-apple…it broked!

The elder nation exhaled through his nose and went on bended knee to pat the boy's head.

"There, there. Let me see your knee."

America sniffed again and violently rubbed one of his eyes free of tears before he showed England his injured knee.

"Ah, nothing more than a scrape. See? You'll be fine after we clean it."

"And after some sweets?" the bright eyed boy asked hopefully.

England smiled fondly and collected the boy in his arms, walking back inside the house. In turn, America wrapped his tiny arms around England's neck and nuzzled him, the smell of freshly cut roses filling his senses. He could hear the smile on England's lips as he answered him.

"Of course, darling. As many as we can eat."

America clenched his fist as the memory and cast it aside as quickly as it came. He was in the middle of a battle, there was no time to waste on faded feelings of the past! Those times were gone now.

Why can't he see that I have to do this? I have no choice….this has to be done in order for him to see me as something greater…something strong; something that can protect him.

I was born to tell you I love you.

I am torn to do what I have to. This…this "rebellion" that you see it as…it's me showing my love you for you. You are so blind. Blind and deaf and stupid to what I am saying to you!

I was born to tell you I love you.

When you would leave me all alone…it killed me inside. Every day. I hated being alone and only having the memory of your arms wrapped around me at night. It wasn't enough. I can't sleep with the cold…I need your warm embrace.

I love you, England, but not in the way that you love me. That's why….that's why I'm doing this. But you can't know this. Not now. I'm not ready. And neither are you. When I get older and stronger, when you can finally SEE is when I will show you. I will tell you every day how special you are to me.

So I will tell you that I can't stand being oppressed any longer. My people's anger boils my blood and their ideals along with my actions will lead us to freedom.

Seeing your face like that…broken, depleted, rejected….lonely; I hate it. I can't stand seeing you like this but I have to ignore it. I have to ignore the urge to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness. Things have gone way too far to back down now. It simply cannot be done. I will fight until things go my way.

I will be free.

I will be strong.

I will make you mine. Someday.

Redcoats were flanked on his left and right. The Yanks were a few miles in front of them, muskets at the ready. He moved forward a few paces, only to be stopped by husky voices in the back.

"No, Lord Kirkland! You mustn't-!"

England turned his head and replied curtly, "I shall do as I like."

With all the commotion of whether or not the men should shoot at an approaching target, America made his way to the front to see who it was exactly that they were talking about.

England….

"No, Don't shoot! I'll go. I'll go talk to him!"

"But Sir, he is armed! He might try to—"

"No, he wouldn't. England's not like that. He wouldn't try to sneak up and kill me."

If he really wanted to then he would just do it.

They met in the middle, weapons to their sides as they stopped some feet away from each other. It was England who spoke first.

"America, just…answer me…why? Why are you leaving me? What did I do? That's all I want to know!"

Those blue hues that he loved so much never looked as cold as they did now when he felt that they bore into his green eyes. As if they were questioning his sincerity.

"You know why…"

As if he no longer trusted the British Empire to take care of him. Shunning away everything; everything that was England. He didn't recognize the boy that was standing in front of him. This was a stranger. A stranger with America's face.

Who is this?

What have they done with America?

My sweet, precious America?

Uncontainable rage filled his body and the only outlet he could find was to charge. Charge and destroy all that was in his path. America. He would destroy all the defiance in his being. Break him down until nothing was left, nothing but obedience and submission. He could do it. He could tear him down and bring him back up to British expectations. It's been done before. He had done it before to other colonies. There was only one problem. America was not like the other colonies. England had raised him and shared his culture with him. He was given the chance to know him and love him. He was the only person that had ever given England the time of day. The only person that England was able to open his heart to, and be consumed with the warmth and happiness that was America's love. The taste was now bittersweet on England's tongue. He didn't know love. Not anymore. Deep down, he knew that he was destined to face the world alone. Eventually the time will come when he fades away and no one will care or even notice when he is finally erased from the world. And it would have been all America's fault.

No. No, it wouldn't.

England stopped running and knocked America's musket out of his hands with his bayonet. His chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath and just stared at his former charge. There standing before him, was the one person who had the power to break him down to nothing. And he was succeeding. He shook his head and dropped his gun, in turn, falling to his knees.

"Why, America? Why? Can't you see that I was just trying to protect you? How could you choose me and then leave me? It was all a joke, wasn't it? Everything…You conniving bastard! You were leading me on this entire time, weren't you? 'Oh, let's make England think that he finally has some who cares about him and then break him into as many pieces as possible!' Hahaha! Good show, lad! I have to say that I'm quite surprised that you—"

SLAP.

America's hand stung as his chest heaved up and down as he panted. England's words hurt him. How dare he think that he was pretending to love him? This has to stop. NOW. His throat was dry and his eyes were wet. But with renewed strength, he stood tall and let his hand return back to his side as he kept a straight face.

"I'm done here. I don't care if you're not but I am. I don't want you here anymore. You know what you did."

You made me fall in love with you.

"I don't want to see you."

I don't want you to see me cry.

"I don't want to hear you."

I don't think I can bear it.

"I am no longer your little brother."

I want to be so much more….

"I am independent."

I am independent…

England stared up at him with tears in his eyes and the absolute look of someone who was heartbroken.

America, I'm sorry so sorry….please come back to me. Don't hate me. I'll do anything, anything if you just come back to me and love me. I need you so much. I want to think that you need me too. You…you're the only person that has ever loved me….

..I never felt more pain than I have today. I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest. I have no soul. I am just an empty vessel.

A hollow Empire. Doomed to his fate of solitude.

"So be it…"

AN: So...how did you all like it? Sorry if it's a tad short. I know it's bad to say but I'm writing this story as I go along and so..yeah..ugh! I can never write what I want to say ;~; I kinda have an idea of what I want to do for the next chapter so..until then!