Work Text:
America knew that people aren't something to be scare of, I mean he was immortal, but the people of sale had recently been scary.
It had started when the girls (especially the ones from those old villages that had been destroyed by natives) started acting strange. The girls would twitch and have visions of the older women killing and burning people. It was scary and America had felt a bit bad for them but then they made those horrid accusations.
And people listened.
America was smart enough to know not to tell other people who he was, although most smart people could discover it on there own. He hap spent most of his life in his house and when his father came bye that was the only time when he talked to anyone but himself beside the occasional other nation like France and maybe Netherlands but other than that he had to get all of his attention from the village not far from his house.
The town was called Salem.
And it was in chaos at the moment.
When the girls had started accusing people had started getting locked up out of fear. He didn't understand so he tried to save them and be the hero and it had to be explained to him over and over again that these were bad people but they weren't and he told them that.
It wasn't long before they stated looking at him the same way.
Now he was rethinking in his head what the villagers had said before he was locked up.
‘Where are this strange child parents? How do we know if he's evil or not, maybe he ate them.’
‘We've never seen him age.
‘His skin is the same color as the savages! He's surely a servant of the devil.’
America had licked to believe that the people of Salem and all of the colonies were his friends. Why were they treating him like he was a foreigner or someone who had hurt them.
Now he was all alone looking at his burned hands. After they took him from that horrible room were everything hurt they gave him his clothes back and put him in a cold room with bars for a door.
The men were now discussing something about a devils mark and a court date but America wasn't listening to busy trying to make his wounds hurt less by putting them on the cool iron and breathing in deeply witch worked for until he fell asleep cold alone and without a blanket
America was miserable
>><<
The trial hadn't gone well at all and while America didn't understand most of what had had happed and what words were he understood that he didn't do a good job.
Usually he was just told off hen he did something bad not woken up in the middle of the night and dragged threw the town to what he felt like was a bad place.
It was a beautiful place as well witch made the immense dread only more cruel as it seemed to seep in slowly as he made his way up the strange that was I front of a crowd of villagers, some were crying, some were happy, some were pleading though America couldn't understand why.
As he was made to stand on a box as a rope was the priest started speaking “The witch in front of us has been under our noses and taken the form of a child to fool us al but thou shal not suffer for a witch to live any longer. Are there any last words from the accused?”
Then it hit America.
He was going to die.
They thought he was a witch and hell die because of it now.
“I want my daddy”
As the box was torn away from his feat he only felt pain as he looked out to the faces of the villagers he once trusted.
The warm sun was to his back .
The breeze was cool.
It was such a nice morning.
It was such a cruel one
>><<
America woke up to the horrible feeling of not being able to breath.
The world was crashing in, he couldn't open his eyes.
He was so scared.
He as trying to cry to get up to get out but he only got weaker and weaker as his lungs could only go so long without air
He inhaled but there was nothing but dirt.
He tried again and again but it didn't work.
Eventually he passes out.
>><<
The next time he wakes up he understands that he needs to get out although it is getting harder to think with the lack of oxygen as his sour fingers tried to break threw to the surface of drirt struggling to breath but he only got so far before he passed out.
>><<
He spent two days in that hole and when he got out he thought fresh air would never be this good again he looks at the green grass and thinks about how pretty it is for a monument, actually he liked the soft grass alot enough to sleep there he thought as he closed his eyes and help his blood and dirt stained night gown.
>><<
His house once had been wonderful and had soo much joy.
What happened?
He knows that when someone does something bad they get there stuff taken away but he hadn't done anything wrong but yet his house still had nothing in it just broken glass and ruined furniture.
He looked around the empty house and thought back to his life just a few days ago. And he felt sad
So sad hat he started crying and weeping on his floor alone and sad.
America doesn't like the idea of god or magic anymore if they lead to things like this but it mauve been by some magical being that at that monument someone decided to visit.
“Is that weirdo England here America I need to tal- mon ami what happened?” France asked as he came into the house with a smirk that was immediately wiped off when he saw America on the floor. “It’s okay petit, its al alright.” France picked America in his arms and shook him in a little, soothing, vibrating movement.
America held on tight like hell go back to the village if he lets go.
“Can you tell me what happened?” France asked but America couldn't talk. It wasn't the first time but he hates it every time. He shakes his head.
“Do you want to get cleaned at the village?” America started crying again and shaking his head so fast that his head hurts.
“It’s going to be ok, you're safe right now.” America stops shaking.
“I’m going to take you to Canada's place until your father can get here. Until then I can take care of you.”
America nods and grabs France tighter before he manages to wiper.
“I couldn't save them. I’m not a hero.”
“You don't have to be the hero, mon ami.”