Wanted

[Kyra Xyrespace]

Britain stared at the Declaration of Independence with a mixture of emotions: anger, resentment, disappointment, and finally, fear. Above all else, Britain was afraid. He was afraid of losing the only person in the world who didn't hate him. He was afraid of losing the little boy that had depended on him his whole life. He was afraid of losing America.

He could have cared less about the people over in the colonies or even the land itself. Once upon a time, yes, those had been his main motives, but now, he had only been focused on the little boy that embodied those aspects. America was the only thing he cared for; even more so than his life.

Since the battle broke out, Britain had not once stepped foot on the land. King George had been the won to send the troops. The king was determind to keep his rebellious colony under tight rules, and so he allowed the fight to go on. Britain had tried to talk George out of the fighting; he knew what such trauma would do to America's body and health. Britain, no matter what his ruler or his people thought, still had a mind and heart of his own. He still cared for America and didn't want anything to happen to him. George would hear none of it, and continued his attack on the Americans. Britain only stood back and watched, hoping for the day that America would surrender and end the pointless pain and bloodshed.

Instead, Britain received the Declaration. He blamed a few things on the war. He blamed America for trying to rebel. He blamed his king for putting so much injustice upon the colony. He blamed the colony people for not taking the taxes and instead fighting back. He blamed France for being a constant nuisance in Britain’s life and probably helping to fuel America's fighting spirit (even Britain knew that France's so called "neutrality" was nothing but a bunch of rubbish). And finally, he blamed his work. Had he been there more for America, perhaps the boy wouldn't feel the need to fight against the crown.

When the next ship of soldiers was sent out to America, Britain was aboard the ship. He figured some diplomacy was in order. America was still just a child, so maybe he still needed that guiding hand to push him in the right direction. Perhaps if Britain simply told him to behave, the boy would do so because he was just looking for attention.

Britain couldn't tell that his fear had turned into denial as he crossed the waters.

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America looked over the town he was residing in, ignoring the pain that ran through his body. For a moment, his people were happy; they were celebrating. America, still just a young boy despite how his height made him look older, stayed inside and watched the celebrations. He didn't feel like celebrating, no matter how upset he was with the enemy.

A knock at the door caused him to look away from the window.

"Come in," he announced.

The door opened, and in stepped Britain. America beat down the urge to run and hug his brother out of happiness. America still didn't know if Britain himself was America's enemy; at the moment, only the crown was (it was the reason why he had Jefferson only write about the mistreatment from the king, not Britain). Britain regarded his little brother with a fond smile, still a little upset that the boy was now taller than him.

"Hello America. It was quite hard finding you," the man greeted.

America gulped inaudibly and nodded back at him.

"Hello Britain. Came all the way over to see me?"

"Yes. I was hoping for some diplomacy," Britain responded.

"Diplomacy?" America repeated, surprised with Britain.

"Yes. We don't need this silly war," Britain answered as he stepped forward and began to look over America's injured body.

He frowned when he saw the bloodied fabric that was used as a bandage and went to fetch more fabric. America watched his brother, not believing what he was hearing. Britain was acting like the war was his fault. America narrowed his eyes as he watched Britain untie his bandage and begin to clean it.

"What do you mean 'silly war'?" America demanded. "The people are fighting for their freedom!"

"And look what it is getting you," Britain responded calmly, because big brother knows best. Big brother always knows best. "That wound on your shoulder is barely healing."

America shrugged his shoulder away from Britain, surprising his older brother. America glared in anger at Britain; once again, the older nation was treating him like a child. Couldn't he see he wasn't a child anymore?

"They're doing so because of every injustice your king is doing!" America snapped.

"That doesn't mean they should be doing this! They have no care for you! Look at what they're doing! They'll be crushed by the British forces and you'll be damaged," Britain argued. "I'm trying to look out for you. If you can crush your people's silly need to leave, then I can talk my king into easing on his taxes. No one will be forced to fight any longer; no one will get hurt."

America shook his head in anger and sadness. He shrugged his shoulder away from Britain again, no matter how much his shoulder hurt.

"You just don't get it Britain," America whispered before steeling himself. He knew he was going to have to do it sooner or later. "I'm not going to stop this war. I'm going to keep fighting until me and my people are free from you and your king's cruel crutches."

Britian's eyes widened in surprise and hurt. And then it turned to anger.

"Cruel? Cruel? You think I've been cruel to you this entire time!?" Britain questioned in anger. "I've been nothing but kind to you! I took you in so you didn't have to be with that pervert France! I took care of you even though I had no money left. I came and protected you from France when he tried to take you over! And I've been cruel?"

America bit his bottom lip and forced himself not to cry. It was always his first reaction whenever Britain grew angry or whenever Britain tried to make him feel guilty. He had to stand strong to prove to Britain that he was not afraid; that he was growing up. Britain's anger only intensified as the silence increased. Britain snarled in hate and pain.

"So you do think I'm cruel," he snarled in an even tone. "Fine then! If you're so damn determined to separate yourself, then expect this war to drag on because I will not let some child win."

He turned and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving America to himself. America curled his hands into fists to keep himself from running after Britain. While America didn't want to hurt Britain, he knew there was no way he could grow up at the same time as being under his brother's shadow.

I'm sorry big brother, America thought sadly as he looked back out the window. I just want to grow up. Can't you see that?