The End of an Error

A white light engulfed everything.  The heat of a thousand suns over came whatever crossed its path. Nations watched as their people screamed and cried out for mercy, but there wasn't any to be found.  This was the end, and they weren't part of it.  Above the chilly air a laugh was heard.  It was heavy and dark, so unlike the tone it used to carry.  

Finally, the light faded into nothing, taking the entirety of Eurasia  with it.  Still the fallen stood, counting their numbers and checking for lost parties.  Thankfully, none had disappeared among the flames.  But a celebration was not to be had.  They all knew why their kind had survived when their lands obviously had not.

They had to watch the world end.

From the depths of the ashes walked a single figure.  It was tall, muscled, and familiar.  As it advanced on them, the laughter grew louder and louder.  When it stopped, the others could make out a black t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, topped with an all too familiar bomber jacket.  

His face was still hidden from them, and that frightened the survivors more than anything.

"Am- Alfred…" a British accent whispered.  

"Yes, Arthur?"

His voice, once so carefree and childish, was husky from the smoke and venomous with under lying anger. Somehow, though, it still sounded calm.

He stepped from the shadows further, revealing a tanned face hidden behind sunglasses rather than his usual wire spectacles..  The American was smiling, as always, but the gleam of those white teeth through the thick air held no promise of heroism.  

Arthur spoke again, clinging to those beside him for support, "Why, Alfred? Why would you do this to us?  Your friends and family?! We've done nothing wrong…."

Alfred's body went rigid, but his demeanor did not change.  Instead, the young blond removed his sunglasses, and wiped them on his shirt, forcing a hollow laugh from his abdomen.

"Answer me!"

With a sigh, he looked up, giving the others a glimpse of  rare seriousness.  Blue eyes bore into their very soul as he spoke.

"Nothing wrong you say? That's funny. You want to know why, Arthur? Because I was tired.  I was tired of the insults, the cold shoulders, and the vast amounts of general hatred you all hold for me." Upon seeing their confused faces, his smile faltered and his eyes lowered,

"I'm not as stupid as I look.  I know how you all feel about me.  You call me a superpower, but you treat me like a child.  Every single one of you know what I'm capable of, but to you assholes, I'm just a source of amusement.  Young, naïve, fat ass, America."

He looked back up, eyes now hurt as he stared at Arthur and Francis, "And you two, the men who raised me and my brother from infancy, led the pack.  But I'm not surprised; Matt always was the favorite.  He's the good son.  He never fought back, he never woke you up at three in the morning with nightmares, he wasn't Alfred.  And no one likes Alfred."

A deep breath.

"But I can't really hold that against him, can I? It's not his fault. Besides, he's my little brother and I love him dearly.  I still love you guys too, you know, but you never have loved me.  I was always just a troublesome little piece of land to you.  A profit…a toy…family isn't exactly the word I'd use…" he trailed off.

Arthur had never felt lower in his life.  It was no secret to anyone that the northern twin was the preferred son, but to hear it come from the southern one's own mouth, to hear the self loathing, the heartbreak, the scared childishness that the words were spoken with broke his heart beyond repair.  So he did all he could do now; he fell into his neighbor's arms and wept for the child he had abandoned.

Francis, who was near tears himself, spoke next, "Amérique, mon cher, we never knew… why didn't you tell us?"

"Because you wouldn't listen."

The Frenchman choked back a sob, and held the small Brit who was now shaking in his arms,  "But…but what does zis have to do with ze rest of zem? Zey are your friends!"

Alfred's smile had completely fallen by now, his face contorted to a scowl.  He let out a shallow "ha" before continuing his little speech.  

"Friends? You call these people my friends?! Maybe at one point I could have- no, wanted too say that they were, but not now. I have helped their sorry asses in countless wars and struggles, never asking for anything in return, and yet, they always side against me.  These bastards want nothing more than to see me fall from grace so that they may laugh at my corpse."  

"I'm a game to them: whoever hits America the hardest while he's down wins a prize! Spin the wheel, see what kind of mass destruction you can cause.  Will it be a bombing? A betrayal? Perhaps a terrorist attack? If you're lucky, will you break his heart?"

"Don't get me wrong, some of you," his eyes traveled over the huddled mass of nations, "I still care for deeply, but someday, you'll go after me too.  It's how the world turns.  Just as the seasons change, so do alliances.  Friends become enemies, enemies become friends and the cycle repeats."

No one could speak as Alfred finished.  No matter how much they didn't want to believe it, they knew he was right.  

Arthur continued to seek comfort in his lover as the world fell into a dusty silence.  All America ever wanted was peace amongst the nations.  He wanted them to be friends with each other and him.  He was just an idealist with a big heart.

And they had condemned him for it time and time again.  

They were fools.

Everything faded to an eerie black as the island nation came to his conclusion.  One by one, the others faded away.  Soon, it was just him, alone in the darkness.

"Arthur…." a voice said.  

The ex-pirate looked up, startled.  Nothing was there.

"Help me, Arthur," it said again.

"W-what the hell?!"

"Help me…Don't let me fall, Arthur…"

"A-Alfred?"

"Don't let me become him Arthur….Don't let me become that monster.  I don't want to be the villain, Arthur…Help me."

And there was no more.