[Fanfic] Whatever it Takes

[deegeeak]

Title: Whatever it Takes (Unfinished)
Pairing: America, England.  Mentions of other nations
Genre: Angst, Dark.  WW2.   Kink-Meme de-anon.
Rating: Pg17
Summary:  England offers to be America's slave in exchange for aid during WW2.
Notes: I wrote this one day and kept writing it.  Then one day I realized I had no real way of managing to write myself out of the corner I'd written myself into.  So I'm posting it as-is, unfinished.  One day I may go back and finish this. 


Did his future queen realize what she'd ordered? Arthur pressed his head against the cool window of the car trying to focus on the rain pounding down rather then on what he was about to do. As the jagged lightning filled the frothing sky, he was uncomfortable reminded of the conversation that had set him on this path and from his lands just as his people needed him the most.


"We need America, your highness," Churchill shouted over the sounds of the sirens as he pulled both nation and princess to safety. "We cannot hope to hold out if Germany takes the Continent."

"America will not join," Arthur remembered snapping back as he felt the bombs begin to hit, thin lines of blood rising over the bruises on his body. "Not after the debacle that was the first War. He will not."

"What do you propose then gentleman, or do this arguing serve some other purpose?" The future queen looked regal even under the shaking lights in the bomb shelter. How young she looked - and grim.

He'd spoken hesitantly. "We have Australia, New Zealand. India comes and Canada will be here within the week."

Churchill snorted at him, even as he wrapped the shattered arm with infinite gentleness. "And all of them fine, brave lads to be sure. But none have the military might, nor manufacturing output of America. They cannot match him. Your highness," he turned to the princess. "We must convince America to join or we may well be lost."

The falling bombs continued to pound away and Arthur ached and bled with every hit. The only sound in the bunker where they'd taken refuge was the sound of the bombs as they fell, shrieking, and Arthur's involuntary hisses of pain as they impacted. Finally, Elizabeth spoke. "I will not bend my head or knee to those butchers. Nor will I give my people to them. "

"Milady..."

"Go to America, England," she ordered. "Whatever he wants, give it to him. But by god, make sure he joins us."


So here he was, being escorted by grim eyed men in dark suits to Alfred's home outside of his capitol city. Another memory surfaced - this time of Alfred standing in Arthur's own office, furious and pacing.

"You cannot be serious," he'd shouted. "What is this going to do?"

Arthur glared back. "It will keep Ludwig and Gilbert contained you fool! They cannot be allowed to do this again!"

Alfred had gone quiet. Then - "If you think this will work -"

"It will."

The blond leaned in closer to him and his voice dropped. "It won't. And when it doesn't? Don't you fucking dare come crawling to me."

He'd leaned back, refusing to let his ally see what his air of indifference was costing him. The American had spun and was almost out the door. "Is that a threat?"

Alfred looked at him as he opened the door to leave. "No. A promise. You will regret this."


Oh, by all he has ever held holy, Arthur was regretting this already.

​

~*~*~*

​

Alfred knew the instant Arthur had come to beg for help. The second his foot had hit Alfred's land, he'd known. He'd always known when another nation was on his land. Outside the windows of his DC home, the storm raged even harder then the anger growing in his chest. If he squinted, he could barely make out the car carrying Arthur closer to him through the sleeting rain.

"It will work."

He shook his head at the memory. Arthur - and Francis - had refused to listen to what he'd seen. Ludwig and Gilbert would not stand for the terms of the treaty they'd been forced into for very long. He'd spoken with both Gilbert and Ludwig separately before trying to get Arthur to change his mind. Gilbert's fury at the subjection he was being forced to was clear as day to Alfred. The promise of retribution in Ludwig's icy eyes had made a shiver go down his back. The terms were too much. Something would give, and given the personalities involved, he'd known it would be another war to end all wars.

He'd tried, he'd really tried, to tell them the old ways of handling a defeated enemy wasn't going to work anymore. That they had to learn to work together not at odds if they wanted to survive. Alfred had seen the future in his scientist's eyes and he was afraid at what would come. Francis wouldn't discuss it or even meet with him and Arthur...

Arthur oh Arthur. His hands clenched on the wood desk, prompting a protesting squeak from the desk.

Arthur had thrown him out of England when he'd tried to tell him the containment plan wouldn't work. Not even thirty years later, and he was being proven right. Alfred glared. Over 9 million people died and those idiots, those fools, damn Arthur for not having the eyes to see!

Outside, the car had stopped, and Arthur was being swiftly escorted into the stately house.

Everyone knew what he was here for - England needed America in the war to fight off Germany. Without America, there was no real hope of winning. And what better way to get America in the War, then to send Arthur Kirkland to plead the case directly to Alfred Jones?

Alfred snorted. So many of the best of his bright stars were gone and buried in the bloody killing fields of Europe. Sometimes he wondered if Europe's land had to be fed with the blood and flesh of humans for life to continue; there was so many senseless, stupid wars over there. If Arthur thought he could beg and get America to fight for him again with one of those useless little lines about how 'the world needs a hero', then he could damn well think again.

Alfred didn't want to send his children overseas to die for Arthur. Or anyone. Germany wasn't a threat to him. Let him come - Alfred had plans for that. Push come to shove, he could easily over power his sister and brother to the south and north and create a defensible wall around them. One of his generals had a name for it already - "Fortress North America." He didn't need the old world powers. Neither did Matt or Cara. Between them they had enough natural resources and technology that they'd be fine. He knew he could convince them of it. If he had to, by force.

The door opened behind him.

"In here, Mr. Kirkland," came the soft voice of the aid Franklin had assigned to him.

"Thank you lad."

Alfred waited for the door to close before turning around to face Arthur. Arthur looked much like he'd expected. Tired, worn, battered. There were bruises on the visible skin of his hands and wrists and shadows were carved into his face. Alfred knew that his twin, Matthew, would share this same fate before too long. They all did in the end, the warring nations. War showed on them and there was no hiding it.

"What do you want, Arthur." Alfred finally spoke. He knew what the other nation wanted - knew the other nation knew it as well. He wanted to hear the words, have Arthur acknowledge that he, Alfred, had been right.

"Alfred..." Arthur looked ready to fall over.

"I said, What. Do. You. Want," he hissed.

"We need you lad," the Englishman whispered.

"So? Why should I go?"

He watched Arthur close his eyes. He'd make him say it again with his eyes open. Arthur wasn't going to be allowed to hide from this. "We, that is, I need you lad."

He watched his former Colonizer, his former mentor, sway slightly. His heart ached as he realized that with Matthew already fighting for Arthur, he in all likelihood already looked something similar to the pale, wane nation in front of him. Something hardened within him. He would not forget the price they'd paid once for this man in a war to end all wars, and he would not forgive being dragged into another one.

"I told you that you would regret it."

~*~*~*~

​

Arthur doesn't want to see the look on Alfred's face. He knows the other nation wants him to acknowledge that Arthur had been wrong, oh so wrong. So instead he studies the carpet, his eyes traveling over the patterns the light from the fire traces on the fine weave. Alfred was doing well if this was any indication of how he'd come out of the Great Depression with a roar, his economy stabilizing and his wealth increasing.

One more reason he had to get Alfred to join them.

When he finally looked up, grimly setting his jaw and preparing to grovel, he saw Alfred, who looked almost exactly like he did the last day he'd seen him over thirty years prior. It had been the day he'd ordered his own guards to 'escort' the American off English soil. Alfred's threat had rung in his ears for years afterward.

"You will regret this."

Blond hair was still as messy as ever, and he still wore his suits as if he'd just thrown them on willy-nilly. His eyes were different though. Oh they were very different. Arthur remembered Alfred's eyes being gentle and kind behind his glasses. These eyes were steel-blue and uncompromising. These eyes cared nothing for the troubles in Europe.

"My Boss wants to send aid," Alfred abruptly spoke. Perhaps this wouldn't be so harsh, after all? If Alfred's boss was pushing for sending aid, then troops, and America joining the war couldn't be too far behind. "But I don't."

Arthur's heart froze, as far away, sirens began to sound over a darkened city.

"I don't want to go to fight your stupid little war Arthur," Alfred explained, tilting his head slightly so Arthur could only see the gleam of light on his glasses. "I lost so many, the best and brightest died in your killing fields."

"We all lost our brightest," Arthur said softly. His losses in the first War had been horrific. Men impaled in wires, blown apart, but some how alive...The bombs began to hit. Somewhere on Fleet Street, a building burst into flame and fell, tumbling fire and brimstone into the streets of London. "We all lost," he gasped.

Alfred shrugged and started pacing. "Besides, Ludwig and Gilbert know an Atlantic crossing to try to invade me would be insane."

"You would leave us to rot," he breathed, struggling to keep himself upright as the planes kept bombing his city-heart. Matthew had told him of his twin's increasing paranoia since the first War. He'd brushed it off at the time, thinking it was only the remnants of the recent Depression at work. "How -"

"How could I? Easily," the tall blond shrugged. "I. Don't. Care."

He couldn't breathe. Across a dark and stormy ocean, sirens wailed and bombs fell. Even as Alfred kept going, telling him that North America didn't need Europe, he struggle to just keep track of what he was hearing. His people were terrified and his heart bled. He swallowed blood. He would not show weakness, not now, not when he needed Alfred to join this damn war already.

Alfred looked at his former mentor in disgust. London must be burning again. Arthur was curled half in on himself, a hand pressed to his chest in a very vain attempt to alleviate the agony he must be feeling. He'd seen this during the first War, had felt this himself in 1812.

Arthur should have just listened to him in the first place and maybe this would never have happened.

It didn't matter. He looked at the silent, white, Arthur and swore to himself when he saw the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. But somehow...he only felt anger that it was someone else causing Arthur's pain, not that he was in pain. Because somewhere in those damn killing fields, the ground so goddamn thirsty for blood, was his brother, bleeding for Arthur yet again in a war not of his making. He knew Matt was burning with his pilots, torn apart with his shock troops, bleeding red into the greedy ground.

His brother.

Not Arthur's. Not Francis's.

His brother was bleeding for someone else.

"You know," he began, "Ludwig and I have been talking." Arthur flinched.

"I know." The voice was harsh and wasted, dust and ash and fire in his throat.

"Do you," Alfred pressed. "Do you really know what he's offered me?" Arthur shook his from side to side.

He smiled. This would show Arthur just how much Alfred wanted to prove his wrongness to him. "Everything. If I can take Matt out of the war, I get Cara, I get everything I want. And they'll leave us be."

Arthur went a sickly green shade of white. That's right, Alfred thought grimly, think on that. "If I take Ludwig's offer, I attack Matt. He'll have to pull out of Europe to defend his border - there'll be no Canadian troops for you to send to their deaths," he continued. "Not only that but losing all those troops? Do you really think you can win, fighting a war on that many fronts?"

"Why?" Arthur could see his King die, could see his future Queen burn, his people torn, and dead, thrown into the cold earth alive. Himself, swallowed whole and fading away into nothing. If Alfred joined Ludwig, it would be over. It would be the end.

(Where was his namesake? Was this not the darkest hour?)

The German armies were all but salting the lands they took. With every step they got closer and closer to his shores, and once they could reach him, there would be no mercy. His royals would die, his people would burn and he would go with them. They'd fight, oh they'd fight. His people were proud and strong, but eventually the night would come and then they'd go kicking and screaming into it.

Europe would fall beneath Ludwig and Gilbert. Maybe Russia might hold them back with General Winter, but Europe would fall. He could only hope that eventually, they'd run into Japan, who was slaughtering his way West and then all of them would kill each other.

Alfred looked at him. "What do I care for Europe? All your stupid, little, petty fights." He sneered. "Alls they do is boil over and take entire generations out. I've lost enough for you."

"Besides," he snorted, "The latest offer was rather compelling."

Arthur knew he shouldn't ask but had to anyways. He had to know what was driving Alfred (Hero Alfred) to dance with the devil under a new moon. Where had the hero gone? "What did he offer?"

London was still burning, it would burn for hours yet, though it felt as if the bombs were gone. There were dead in London, burned, crushed, dead of terror - he could still taste the blood in his mouth and feel the ache in his chest. Something pinched and bled - St Clemens Danes crumbled to the ground, throwing fire and molten stone everywhere, and his people were caught in the aftermath.

"You. He offered me you."

Arthur jerked back to the here and now instead of the there and now.

"Imagine that. He offers me you. To sweeten the deal of course," Alfred must have seen his jerk backwards. "Said he thinks perhaps the British Empire ought to feel how the colonies felt for a bit, and well, according to Gilbert, I'm the best one for it."

Arthur wanted to throw up, but there was naught but tea and blood in his stomach. Alfred was smiling at him as he stood in front of the chair he was sitting in. Those blue eyes were as cold as ice as they studied him like a pinned butterfly. "I control Matt, get him out of his hair, so to speak, I get you. All English pride and all. All mine."

He watched, silent and suddenly terrified for his life, his people, his land (his Princess). "And oh, Arthur, what I could do to you."

He was really regretting everything right now.

​

~*~*~*~

​

The joke between Alfred and Matthew was that their vision was the exact copy of what their national outlook was. Alfred was short-sighted, with most of his national outlook rarely looking outside his borders. He saw the short-term in crystal perfect detail, sometimes coming up with sudden, brilliant ideas that left Matthew, and everyone else, scratching their heads as to how he'd done it. Matthew was far-sighted, seeing long term effects. He could see what his brother's short term plans would do in the long run, and often was the one trying to temper or change the plans to for a better long term effect.

That wasn't to say they both were incapable of short and long term focuses. Alfred knew at this moment whatever he did would change the world. It was a heady power knowing that quite literally the world's fate rested in his hands.

He rather liked it.

And Arthur had always looked good on his knees.

(That rainy day had been a moment treasured. A sad moment yes, but a treasured one. Not just for what it meant, but what it was. Arthur yielded to Alfred and that was worth so much.)

"I did tell you."

Green eyes looked furious and eyebrows drew in. If this had been fifty years ago, Alfred might have feared for the safety of his country. But it wasn't and he wasn't. The British Empire was falling and everyone knew it. Why else was Ludwig and Gilbert so confident that they'd be able to win? The strength of the English Empire was waning and someone had to take it's place. The German brothers wanted it to be them; they called it their right.

They'd forgotten that Alfred had a name for Empire building too. Manifest Destiny.

America stretched from sea to shining sea, and all of it land he'd won, taken, bought and sometimes outright stolen. He had every climate imaginable and every form of land. The itch had lessened in the years since he'd claimed Hwaii'i, but it was still there. Germany offered more, so much more, and it was so sweet of an offer.

It also helped that England had once claimed America and used America. And here Alfred was being given the golden chance to do the same to Arthur.

"So really, Arthur, what could you hope to offer me that would convince me to turn them down?"

​

*~*~*~*~

​

"Alfred he's killing innocent people!" Arthur shouted. The American stared evenly back at him. "Gods, do you even know what he's doing? Or do you not care?" The pain in his chest increased. Damn Ludwig. Damn Gilbert. Damn Alfred. Damn them all. "Or do you only see a way to increase your precious profits, is that it? God above, is this a game to you?"

Arthur gasped as something fell in flames, hacking with the taste of burned brick in his mouth. He wanted a drink but knew water would do nothing to ease the dryness in his mouth nor the soreness of his throat. "Be careful of him, Arthur," Matthew had said before setting off for Africa. "He's not the same - not since the Depression."

"I care that you use my brother like cannon fodder!" Alfred spat back. "And now you want to use my troops as more fodder for your stupid wars." Alfred paused for breath. "I won't let you drag us into a repeat of this again," he finished quietly and grimly.

Arthur snorted. "Lad there won't be, not again."

Just as he said it, Arthur realized it was the exactly wrong thing to say. Alfred's eyes went wide and then narrowed with the inner core of ice he'd gotten somewhere. Oh hells. "Let me guess," Alfred said silkily, "You promise that this will be the end of it this time, don't you."

Don't do this Alfred, Arthur thought, please don't do this. He kept his mouth shut. He'd done enough damage, and the younger, stronger nation looked like he was about to tip into something dangerous. Alfred pushed himself up and stalked towards his desk. He picked up a tan folder marked 'Secret' and shook it at Arthur slightly. "Do you know what this is?"

Arthur shook his head. Light flashed behind his eyes and across the room outside the lightning struck something.

"This is a pact between myself and Ludwig." Arthur felt his hope of surviving this war falling. None of his spies had said the two nations had been meeting or negotiating. If things had gotten this far already, what hope did he have of swaying Alfred to his side?

"You have five minuets," Alfred's voice washed over him. "Five minutes in which to convince me to not sign this."

Arthur was frozen in place. The hurt from the bombs was sending darkness eating at his sight. His head bowed against his will and he sat there on the soft couch in Alfred's office. This was it. After centuries of war, after all his fighting, his struggles, this was how it ended.

"Well?"

"You said Ludwig offered me to you," he asked flatly.

Alfred raised one eyebrow at him. "Usually you don't need information to be repeated back at you, but given that London's burning again, I'll grant you this. Yes. He did."

Arthur let out a long breath. "Then here I am."

​

~*~*~*~*~

​

History tells that in December of 1942 the United States formally joined the Allied Powers in fighting the Nazi War machine.
History says that it was the result of a surge of wanting to give aid and help the battered Europeans that would lead America to join the war effort.
History gives credit to the American President Roosevelt and the English Prime Minister Churchill.

History never tells about the deal Alfred F Jones and Arthur Kirkland struck one stormy night in the District of Columbia.

A​rthur Kirkland and Alfred F Jones, however, never forget. It's hard to forget when Alfred nailed a copy of the contract, signed in blood, to Arthur's wall. It's hard to forget when Alfred locked a slim collar around Arthur's neck just as he sends troops to the aid of a battered British Empire. Arthur can't be allowed to forget his oath, Alfred reasoned, so he used Arthur ruthlessly, trying to forget the suffering his men and women endured while fighting for Arthur.

If any of Arthur's precious Royals noticed, Arthur never said a word to Arthur, burying whatever pain he might feel beneath his stiff upper lip. In all likelihood, Alfred thought, he was too proud to admit just what kind of deal he'd brokered.

I​t's odd though. He hurt Arthur all he wanted to and more, but somehow as the War continues and then ends, Arthur's becoming something similar to what Matthew is.

His.

There's no real word to explain it, but seeing Ivan touching Arthur sent him into an icy cold rage that in turn set off a war. Somehow he managed to keep a hold of his temper and not send the world off to a spiral of superheated mushroom clouds and fallout gas​es. Having Arthur there beside him helped a little.  The frightened look in Arthur's eyes as he tried to not take a step back from the fury of Alfred's yelling stopped him.

He'd never hit Arthur without meaning to, without a reason, and he almost did that day.  Emotions warred within him, and he found he kept Arthur closer to him then ever before.  While the Dooomsday clock ticked closer to midnight, he kept dragging Arthur, and England with him, closer  and tighter.  If he could not have the peace he so desperately wanted to have, then at least he should get this, he reasoned.  He could find some sort of peace in Arthur's skin and body during the dark days and black nights.

It wasn't until his brother catches him alone one day that he realized why he'd kept feeling off about what he should be feeling pleased about. "I don't know what you think you're doing," Matthew snapped at him. "But it's disgusting and you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

It's then he realized that it's not just the sex, which was always good, but it's the control of Arthur he got off on. From then on out he tightens his grip on Arthur even more.  It's not just for the comfort of a warm, somewhat willing body in his bed, but now for satisfying his own needs.   Arthur who'd managed to spend a lot of time supervising the repair of London, and the rebuilding of England, suddenly begins to spend more and more time in America at Alfred's behest. It's a petty type of control, forcing Arthur to miss events, but it satisfied him a little.

He managed to force Arthur to miss quite a lot these days. "Don't go," he ordered one day under a sunny sky. Al​fred smiled at the furious look he got later as Arthur apologizes to the newly minted Prime Minister, Margret Thatcher.

Arthur hung up the phone and stood there for a moment Alfred walked over and rested his head on the other man's shoulder. Arthur was always a bit cool to the touch, not as cool as Matthew, but still not as warm as Alfred. "What more do you want from me," Arthur whispered, sounding defeated, old.

Alfred shrugged. "I've already got it." He knew without looking that Arthur was confused. He grinned. "Everything."