A/N; Alternate Version of a historically-inaccurate and its impact on the new Nation and his former colonizer&Britain does not not shoot.

The heavy droplets of the cloud's tears pounded against the already-damp ground. Leather boots on both sides, and the contrasting clash of red and blue faced each other, British eye to rebellion eye. Rain matted their clothes to stick against their skin, and the years seemed so slow, but they'd passed, and both sides were facing fatigue. Generals were mentally calculating all they needed to do, and soldiers waited patiently for their call. It was another day on the field, and for some, it was their final chance to receive their sought-after independence. If it wasn't going to be handed over to them, it was going to be recognized through bloodshed.

Standing in the back, cowering from his former brother, Alfred peered over the shoulder of a taller soldier in front of him. Arthur was, for lack of a better word, furious. He and his general were angrily at each other's throat, and while Alfred couldn't decipher what was being discussed he had an awful good idea.

Finally, the green-eyed soldier, who seemed almost immortal to human soldiers on both sides with his lack of prolonged blood-loss, stood out with his bayonet pointed against the Colonial Army. France widened his eyes at the Englishman's brash movement. Those decked in blue coats raised their bayonets in response, France and America following suit.

"Boy, get out here."

The Frenchman whistled under his breath and took a proud step forward-

"Not you, pervert. The insane rebel," Arthur hissed under his breath.

Gazes turned all around before a pathway was made for the shivering 'nineteen-year old' to meet his former brother eye to eye.

"British Empire," Alfred seethed through his teeth.

The Empire's army had been rounded up to finish things a few miles away. Arthur had assured his general that he could not die, and it wasn't as if the army that was currently behind Alfred was great in numbers. The personification of the Empire that never set its sun was alone at the moment, his sharp weapon pointed at his former little brother.

"Why?!"

Alfred froze.

"After all this, THIS! THIS is what you want to do?"

"I've already declared my inde-"

"I DON'T CARE! I WON'T ALLOW IT!"

Arthur charged, sending the Frenchman in the back to look away. He knew how powerful the island was. And now to see him face-off with the former colony…

Alfred's reflexes hit quick, shielding himself with his own bayonet, but Arthur's was obviously of better quality, and it nicked Alfred's out of his hands. This was it.

Adrenaline rushed through Arthur's blood and veins.

This is it.

BOOM!

The bayonet's trigger and pulled, and send the target straight at Alfred's chest. The American stumbled, and clutched onto the wound. Blood poured, and he felt a shot of pain, but he found himself still breathing at a good pace. Meanwhile, the soldiers on his side, the blue-coats who were in complete shock over the action, lifted their own weapons and fired. France couldn't bear it and walked behind to stand beside a French general.

Some shots were a bit off-target, but the Empire was hit in several places. He fell, and bled, but he would recover.

Alfred was quickly carried off by some brave rebels to be treated back in their tents. Arthur got up with ease and shot the rest of his what he had. Then, he dropped the useless weapon and bolted. There was no decisive victory- despite what the Colonial Army might've said. All everyone wanted was information about the two blondes and what they knew about each other.

Alfred hadn't seen Arthur since his shot. He waited at his bedside as the weeks passed- he was in great shape, but coerced to remain off the field by Washington, and his blood warmed at the finale.

They had surrendered.

He had more than freedom.

He had won.

His allies congratulated them as soon as they could, packing their men at the same time.

More weeks fluttered by before the Treaty and Recognition was to signed.

And there he was, in all his wealthy attire and sharp green eyes.

This time, they were softer, and warmer, and he looked almost unmoved as Alfred took a seat in front of him.

No words were exchanged as signatures were inked onto official paper.

The British representatives were just about to leave when Arthur coughed into his fist, wishing to speak to Alfred.

The new Nation blinked in surprise, but followed the Empire to an empty room. Alfred took a nervous seat on the chair, waiting for him to say something.

"Did it leave a mark?"

"W-W-what?"

"The shot. On your chest? Did it leave a mark?"

Alfred frowned in confusion.

"A small one. Why?"

"That's all I needed to know."

Arthur turned the knob at the door. Alfred opened his mouth in protest. He didn't get it.

"By that time, you were already a nation. If you can heal your own wounds, and they leave marks on your own land, you were already a Nation. I had to give up. You were no longer my colony, even before the fight."

The American's body paled.

"Forgive me for the blow, but I needed to know. If you were still a colony, that shot would have hurt me too."

Arthur swung the door open.

"And it did not." The Empire straightened his jacket. "If we forget the war, our history is now a clean slate. We have centuries to build. But right now, I wish to mourn my former brother. Good day, United States."