I'd love to see some sort of AU of when America wins the Revolution against Britain. But not long after, The French come in and take control, making the boy a colony again.
Bonus 1- France had been planning this from the beginning. Bonus 2- France takes action to stamp out rebellion both Alfred and his people.
America was on a high after the signing of the treaty; even England’s frown and darkened eyes weren’t enough to bring him down. Besides, it served the bully right. He should have to do without America if he was going to treat him the way he had.
He was into his tent, digging around for the alcohol he’d kept for such a special occasion (proper celebration would be done later), when he heard the rustle of the tent flap opening.
France was behind him, a slight smile on his face. “Congratulations.”
America beamed, feeling sore and tired and every bit like he’d been dragged through hell, but he chattered excitedly anyway. “Thank you, I couldn’t have done it without you! You want something to drink? I’m pretty sure I have something around here somewhere…”
France held up a hand, saying, “No, thank you. I think I’ll join my men.” There was something strange on his face, something chilly in his eyes as he looked at America.
America chalked it up to being tired too, and returned to look for the alcohol. He heard the tent flap again, and as he pulled the bottle of cheap wine from its place among his bedclothes, he dismissed France from his mind.
Now was a time to celebrate.
-------
It was the first time America had gotten a truly good night’s sleep. England and his men were gone, sailing back home with their heads hanging in shame (or at least that’s how America imagined it).
He was in a real bed, sprawled out and lazily snoring, when something hit his stomach.
“Wha-?! Hello, what?!” He sat up, but he was forced back down by strong arms. “England, what the hell, you lost-”
“It is me, mon petit,” France’s voice traveled through the dark, from directly above America. There was something strange about his voice, something cold and not at all the friendly ally he had known for the war.
“Oh…” America wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not, because the situation just wasn’t sitting right with him. He tried to shift from under France’s weight, saying, “Do you mind? I’m trying to sleep…”
“I’m afraid I do mind,” and the voice was followed by America’s wrists getting gripped, cold iron clapping around them before he even comprehended what was going on at all.
America tried to pull his wrists apart, but they were held close together. “What…?” he tried, in almost childish confusion. No, this couldn’t be happening… this was a joke, some sorry attempt to make him even at this odd hour…
“America, I’m afraid the French empire needs a return on its investments,” France said, with the air of someone having done this many times. “Unfortunately, getting back at England is not reason enough to go to war, oui?”
No. America’s mind scrambled for some way that what he said could mean something else, could somehow be misconstrued. “But we’re allies! France, what about everything you said-”
“Lies to a noncountry,” France said with a sigh, and he got off of America, yanking at his arms. “Come, it is time to go.”
“No! I’m free now, I’m my own country, you can’t do this!” America pulled away, but to his shock, found himself being forced in the direction that France wanted. He nearly landed on his bum as he was pulled out of bed, onto shaky legs.
“Not feeling so strong now, are you?” France clucked his tongue, adding, “War weakens a country like few other things can. It’s no surprise it’s weakened a colony like you.”
America wanted to cry, but instead he screamed at him, “I’m not weak! You can’t do this!”
“I can, and I am,” France said, giving him a sharp tug as he pulled him along. America stumbled after him, out of the house and into the street, despite his best attempts to drag his feet.
All around him was noise and action, of troops marching about and people being dragged. Women cried, men blustered in angry noises, as shocked at the betrayal as he had been. All were in their nightclothes, just like America.
France marched through it like it didn’t affect him, almost regally.
“Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends!” America pleaded with him, bare feet cold on the streets.
“Some things are more important than friendship,” France said, and it was a strange tone, not looking back at America or even seeming to connect to him at all.
America could feel the tears in his eyes, and he was glad that France couldn’t see him in the darkness, see his frightened child face where there should be a mature country ready to fight back. He just felt so weak, like he couldn’t go through this again after everything with England. “Please, France…”
“Just be quiet, mon petit,” France said, and it was almost a snap. He shuffled America into a barn, and chained his manacles to a post. “Stay here. I will be back for you.”
Was that supposed to be funny? America strained against the post, and got a sharp slap on the cheek from France.
“Stop that! I will be right back, so be good.” And France turned on his heel, marching out of the barn.
“Fuck you,” America said in a trembling voice, too late to be heard. He pulled at the post, but found his strength useless. The clamor of an invasion came faintly from the town, and he tucked his head against his chest.
He’d just wanted to be free. What had been wrong with that?
Oh my, I LOVE these types of twisted history stories. The request was intriguing, but I never expected to see such an amazing fill for this. I love the contrasting moods from the beginning to the end; America's celebration, though all us anons know things aren't going to turn out well for him. And then the way France finally took control of him when he went to bed. It was so perfectly in character, so painful. It ends perfectly, yet I still crave more.
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France/America - Betrayal
(Anonymous) 2013-12-17 12:01 pm (UTC)(link)Bonus 1- France had been planning this from the beginning.
Bonus 2- France takes action to stamp out rebellion both Alfred and his people.
Re: France/America - Betrayal
(Anonymous) 2013-12-18 04:23 pm (UTC)(link)seconded
Investment 1/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-20 03:34 am (UTC)(link)He was into his tent, digging around for the alcohol he’d kept for such a special occasion (proper celebration would be done later), when he heard the rustle of the tent flap opening.
France was behind him, a slight smile on his face. “Congratulations.”
America beamed, feeling sore and tired and every bit like he’d been dragged through hell, but he chattered excitedly anyway. “Thank you, I couldn’t have done it without you! You want something to drink? I’m pretty sure I have something around here somewhere…”
France held up a hand, saying, “No, thank you. I think I’ll join my men.” There was something strange on his face, something chilly in his eyes as he looked at America.
America chalked it up to being tired too, and returned to look for the alcohol. He heard the tent flap again, and as he pulled the bottle of cheap wine from its place among his bedclothes, he dismissed France from his mind.
Now was a time to celebrate.
-------
It was the first time America had gotten a truly good night’s sleep. England and his men were gone, sailing back home with their heads hanging in shame (or at least that’s how America imagined it).
He was in a real bed, sprawled out and lazily snoring, when something hit his stomach.
“Wha-?! Hello, what?!” He sat up, but he was forced back down by strong arms. “England, what the hell, you lost-”
“It is me, mon petit,” France’s voice traveled through the dark, from directly above America. There was something strange about his voice, something cold and not at all the friendly ally he had known for the war.
“Oh…” America wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not, because the situation just wasn’t sitting right with him. He tried to shift from under France’s weight, saying, “Do you mind? I’m trying to sleep…”
“I’m afraid I do mind,” and the voice was followed by America’s wrists getting gripped, cold iron clapping around them before he even comprehended what was going on at all.
America tried to pull his wrists apart, but they were held close together. “What…?” he tried, in almost childish confusion. No, this couldn’t be happening… this was a joke, some sorry attempt to make him even at this odd hour…
“America, I’m afraid the French empire needs a return on its investments,” France said, with the air of someone having done this many times. “Unfortunately, getting back at England is not reason enough to go to war, oui?”
No. America’s mind scrambled for some way that what he said could mean something else, could somehow be misconstrued. “But we’re allies! France, what about everything you said-”
“Lies to a noncountry,” France said with a sigh, and he got off of America, yanking at his arms. “Come, it is time to go.”
“No! I’m free now, I’m my own country, you can’t do this!” America pulled away, but to his shock, found himself being forced in the direction that France wanted. He nearly landed on his bum as he was pulled out of bed, onto shaky legs.
“Not feeling so strong now, are you?” France clucked his tongue, adding, “War weakens a country like few other things can. It’s no surprise it’s weakened a colony like you.”
America wanted to cry, but instead he screamed at him, “I’m not weak! You can’t do this!”
“I can, and I am,” France said, giving him a sharp tug as he pulled him along. America stumbled after him, out of the house and into the street, despite his best attempts to drag his feet.
All around him was noise and action, of troops marching about and people being dragged. Women cried, men blustered in angry noises, as shocked at the betrayal as he had been. All were in their nightclothes, just like America.
France marched through it like it didn’t affect him, almost regally.
“Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends!” America pleaded with him, bare feet cold on the streets.
“Some things are more important than friendship,” France said, and it was a strange tone, not looking back at America or even seeming to connect to him at all.
America could feel the tears in his eyes, and he was glad that France couldn’t see him in the darkness, see his frightened child face where there should be a mature country ready to fight back. He just felt so weak, like he couldn’t go through this again after everything with England. “Please, France…”
“Just be quiet, mon petit,” France said, and it was almost a snap. He shuffled America into a barn, and chained his manacles to a post. “Stay here. I will be back for you.”
Was that supposed to be funny? America strained against the post, and got a sharp slap on the cheek from France.
“Stop that! I will be right back, so be good.” And France turned on his heel, marching out of the barn.
“Fuck you,” America said in a trembling voice, too late to be heard. He pulled at the post, but found his strength useless. The clamor of an invasion came faintly from the town, and he tucked his head against his chest.
He’d just wanted to be free. What had been wrong with that?
Re: Investment 1/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-21 01:44 am (UTC)(link)Re: Investment 1/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-22 09:16 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Investment 1/?
(Anonymous) 2014-01-21 12:31 pm (UTC)(link)