He collapsed at England's feet, gasping painfully. Around him lay the bodies of soldiers. Dead, American soldiers. His soldiers. His people. Their blood pooled at his feet, soaking through the mud and the rain and the tears and the pain… America gasped. His whole body ached. But nothing hurt as much as his heart did. It wasn't just the death of his people… It wasn't just the loss of the war… It was England's expression that really cut into him. It was England that really made him hurt.

The elder nation looked down at him now, his emerald eyes glowing. America never remembered them as anything other than warm. They were the eyes that had soothed him to sleep whenever he had a nightmare. They were the eyes that were always there when he woke up. They were kind eyes, smiling eyes, loving eyes… Shadowed by a pair of giant, caterpillar eyebrows, maybe, but America had loved them dearly. It was those glittering jewels he looked forward to greeting every single day.

But they had changed as soon as the war started.

It shocked him. It shocked him every time he saw England, standing on the other side of the battlefield, eyes narrowed in bright, burning hatred. It shocked him to think that England would hate him. Hate him, of all people. It shocked him to see that those beautiful green orbs would even be capable of such fierce, raw emotions.

The battles would begin, each one much the same as before. They would spar, they would fight, switching from blades to guns and back again. America relied on youth and speed, but England's blows were far more powerful. They rattled through his bones; they shook him to the core.

And not only that. England was fighting completely solo. America had teamed up with France. It was two against one, and somehow, somehow, England was winning. It was more than humiliating, it was downright embarrassing.

And perhaps France felt it too, because a few weeks later, he pulled out.

"Bonne chance, mon ami." He had sighed, patting the younger nation sympathetically on the shoulder. "It seems that I will have to return to Europe; Prussia and Spain have requested my alliance. Unfortunately, this means that I will no longer be able to offer you my support."

"What? Why?" America had gasped, shocked and horrified by the news. "T-The war isn't over…!"

France gave him a look. "I came only to deal a blow to England." He explained simply. "I have done exactly that. Au revoir, and try hard. England is a sneaky bastard. You'll need to watch out."

It was only afterwards that the thought of calling France the bastard occured to him, but by the time he had finally realized, the French ships were already sailing ahead and he was completely and utterly alone.

Of course, his defeat was inevitable. England's mighty empire crashed down upon him with such force it left him breathless and dazed. His wounds grew in size and number, each one more serious than the last. Each of them threatening to tear him to shreds. Yet he struggled up to his feet each time. Stood up to his former mentor, his former brother, each time. Until…

Until he could stand no more. Until he could do nothing but lie, broken, weak, vulnerable, before England's feet.

There was silence. England regarded him expressionlessly over his bayonet. His eyes had never been so cold. America squeezed his own eyes shut, waiting for the pull of the trigger, for the fall of the hammer and for the loud explosion that would signal the end of it all.

There was another long pause. A pause that stretched long enough for America to look up in curiosity.

England had dropped his gun. It lay, useless, in a puddle. His face was pained.

"You idiot." He whispered, so softly they may as well have been the flutter of a butterfly's wings, but America heard them all the same. "You idiot… You stupid idiot… I could never shoot you, could I?"

He knelt, extending a hand, and his eyes were warm again. Just as America had once remembered them. "Come back with me, America." He murmured. "You can still be my little brother. You can still be part of my Empire… I won't punish you. I promise…"

His words sounded so gentle, so soothing. America wanted to cling to them just as he had once done, cling to the soft, comforting words and cry just as he would have done a hundred years ago.

But he was different now. He was the United States of America. Just America. Not British America. Not England's America. Just America. Just him.

And that was why he had, with the last of his strength, struggled on to a single, shaking arm, and slapped England's hand away.

"Never."

He had a country's dignity, after all.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other nation, and in that split second, America saw something that he had never thought he would see. He saw England's hurt and betrayal. Saw a small, sobbing nation surrounded by the pointed stab of his brothers. He saw loneliness, saw desperation, saw complete and utter agony.

But before he could even blink, it was gone. England's weakness, England's very heart, closed before him. Every broken shield refurbished, every shattered defence rebuilt, every leaking warmth withdrawn and sealed. And from above, the monster that had guarded them all, opened its eyes and growled.

Without a word, England pulled himself up to his feet, and his expression was filled with nothing but the frozen fragments of the love that he had once offered without condition for his younger brother.

"E-England…" America managed, weakly.

But England did not respond. It was too late.

Gravely, the elder nation waved a hand, and from behind him, from his great and impressive army, Canada pulled out to attention. Without even glancing behind him, England made a sharp gesture and America could see the terror and sadness within his twin's eyes as he accepted the order.

Canada lifted his gun. His fingers trembled faintly. It takes a nation to end another nation's life.

America's eyes widened.

Bang.

AN: Written on a sudden angtsy whim (probably due to the fact that I should be writing other things instead of this). I'm just glad I finished it... -_- This is just a little AU where America loses the Revolutionary War. Probably not very realistic, now that I think about it. Ugh, oh well... XD

Thank you for reading. A few comments would be very much appreciated. :)