An AU. A long AU. Historical events and objects used will most likely not match up, but I am more focused on the general timeline. Happy readings.
Note— please do not ask when part 2 is coming out. It comes out when it comes out and I have quite a bit on my plate and with writer's block and constant issues with focus and motivation you can't blame me

Word Count: 3,472 words

Colonial America sat there frozen on the muddy ground, constantly being beaten down by the downpour of rain. He couldn't believe it. He'd lost. He'd lost the war. His only chance at freedom and prosperity, and he had lost it all. The rain drowned out his quiet cries and hid his tears.
He doesn't know how long he's been like that, but when he finally gathered his scattered emotions together and rose to his feet, he staggered a bit and his knees ached horribly. He winced but didn't care. He'd just went through hell and lost, what's this little pinprick got to compare? Colonial America dragged himself along the now empty battlefield, his "father" having already left him to properly reclaim his territory. When he found a village, he had simply wandered through it aimlessly, not really looking for much. It was in total chaos, with British soldiers everywhere and gunshot sounds being heard everywhere from noncompliant people.
"Hey! You there!" a voice suddenly sounded behind him. Colonial panicked and bolted, running as fast as he can from the soldier now chasing him shouting.
The Native American had raced through the trees completely ignoring everything that hurts. Eventually he collapsed against a tree from exhaustion, having lost them long ago, but he just wanted to be safe.

He doesn't know how long he'd passed out for—minutes to days being in and out of consciousness, he doesn't remember. He looked around wearily before slowly rising to his feet, wincing and whining slightly at the stiffness and soreness of his muscles. He stumbled through the woods aimlessly, zoning out as he did with nothing much to do.
Colonial America let out a broken sigh. He misses Russia terribly, more specifically the Russian Empire. His grandfather, Muscovy—the Grand Duchy of Moscow—had colonized a western portion of his home, but that had been over a couple centuries ago now. He's never met his elder brother, as he was born on the other side of the continent and thus never could have met him, especially since he's dead now. He's met Russian Empire through some distant trade deals and they made quick friends, which is what motivated Russian Empire to help Colonial out with winning his revolutionary war despite not wanting to get tied up in foreign conflict. He's only learned of his distant late brother from him who's heard about him from his own father, the Tsardom of Russia. Colonial America hasn't ever met any other Russian but Russian Empire, but he's told him some nice stories about them.
The small Native American somehow managed to find an abandoned cabin and heaved himself inside, dropping himself tiredly on a badly cushioned chair and sighing out heavily.

Colonial had stayed in that cabin for a couple weeks, just wanting to hide away from the ones who ruined his life and destroyed any chances at freedom. Colonial was debating on finally leaving the rundown cabin to see what's changed when he heard a knock on the door. Colonial America's anxiety skyrocketed as he stood there worrying about the possibility of a redcoat being on the other side of the softly creaking door hanging loosely on its rotting hinges. When he realized the door wasn't even closed he panicked and move to run and hide until a thickly accented voice he knew all too well stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Привет(Hello)?" Colonial peeked from around the half-wall that ends the hallway leading to the door. In the doorway—if you would even call it that anymore—stood tall a concerned-looking man, who seemed to be looking around for something. They made eye contact a split second after and Colonial's eyes widened and so did the visitor's.
"Rus..Russia..?" he stuttered. The Russian sighed a relieved smile and strode over to the smaller Native American boy.
"There you are...I was so worried when I heard the news. How are you holding up?" he asked worriedly with that thick accent that Colonial America found to be just beautiful. The young boy's face fell and tears started to well up in his eyes. "Oh no...no no no, don't cry, my dear Colonial..." the Russian Empire was quick to crouch down and gather him into his arms, shushing him gently as he let out his pent up sorrows and anguish out at once. Russia rubbed circles into his back while whispering comfortingly sweet nothings into his ear, which soothed Colonial America greatly and helped calm him down.
Once Colonial finally calmed down a bit, Russia picked him up and settled them on the old couch in the living room Colonial America was hiding in prior to his arrival. It had some holes in it and was severely lacking in cushion making it very hard and flat, but they didn't seem to mind. The Russian Empire held Colonial America close, and the boy curled up tightly in his lap and clung to the larger's shirt. His breathing was a bit labored and hitched every now and then but other than that he was much calmer now.
"...I'm sorry..." his tiny voice cracked, which broke Russia's heart.
"What for, my dear Colonial?" he murmured. Colonial sniffed and leaned closer in his arms.
"I let you down...I let ev—everyone down...everyone who tried to..to help me get my independence, to w-win the war...j-just for me to lose...I just wasted their time...th-they—they—" he choked a sob. "They just wasted their precious materials—als on m—me..." Colonial started crying again. Russia hugged them tightly.
"Sh..it's okay, my dear Colonial, it's okay...you tried your best, and that's what matters. You did go against the biggest superpower in the world after all, and that in itself is admirable. Even if you did lose, you came close to winning, all it took was a little push and you were free," he cooed softly, tilting his chin up gently with a finger so he would look at him, eyes glistening and glossy from freshly made tears. "I care about you very much, my dear Colonial. You could never let me down. I am very proud for all you have done for both your people and your allies and friends. I feel blessed to have someone as amazing as you." Colonial nodded and relaxed in his protective grip. The next moments of silence ensued.
"...Russia?"
"Yes, what is it?"
"What do I do now? Since I lost the war, Britain still has control over me, and...he's gonna punish me when he finds me again. I think that's why I was chased by a redcoat a couple weeks ago. That's why I fled here.." Colonial looked back up at him. There was a hint of worry and fear in his eyes and tired expression. The Russian Empire closed eyes, pondering on his question. When he opened them again Colonial America was still staring up at him with patient eyes. That's what he loved about him. He was always so patient and understanding. A precious dear like him doesn't deserve this kind of treatment the British Empire gives him. He deserves more, much more. Something he thinks is more likely achievable by the Russian Empire than anything the British one could possibly try. Russia smiled kindly down at him. He'd make that thought a reality, no matter the cost. Even if he dies first, he'll pass the duty down the family, until it is complete.
"I'll make sure Britain gets exactly what he deserves, no matter how long it takes. I believe the least you deserve is independence and basic freedom," he replied. Colonial smiled.
"You would?" Russia gave his forehead small peck, to which the boy responded with by a small giggle.
"Of course. Anything for my dear Colonial. Anything at all."

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Colonial waited in his poor excuse for a room, until his "father" left. It's been years since the Russian Empire had visited him, decades even. It was 1856 now, and the British Empire had started getting into wars again. He's suffered greatly from that, since he was insanely taxed almost immediately after his attempted revolution, and was punished severely should he resist. He's been forced into various sanctions and prohibitions, and was watched 24/7. It was like he was of utmost danger to them and their livelihood, which he couldn't blame them for, with what he's done and the shenanigans he'd pulled on them.
Colonial America jumped and winced when he heard the door slam shut, then felt his tense body visibly relax. He was gone now. That's a relief, but for how long he doesn't know. He sighed and plopped onto the hardwood floor of his room. It bowed slightly with a creak under his lighter-than-normal weight. He sat crisscrossed while periodically squeezing his intertwined hands together as he looked across the room dully, zoning out.
He was right, he was punished when he had been returned to Britain. Quite severely. He was screamed and cursed at, beaten and tossed about. He was forced to do an inhumane amount of chores—everyday, and if he failed to do something he'd have to go to bed hungry. Not that he really get that much to eat anyway. Britain would much rather spend his budget on preparing for attaining more colonies and fighting whoever dares to defy him than how much noodles and milk his least favorite "son" gets. If you'll even call him that. They're not even related. The British Empire just snatched him up one day and started controlling his life to the smallest details, taking away his rations and precious resources for his own benefit. He couldn't try another revolution even if he tried. It would be suicide. If he was to get his independence, then he'd have to rely on Russia to basically "save" him. He looked down. What are the odds of that happening? It's been so long now, and the British Empire is only growing stronger. What does the Russian Empire have against him? Colonial doesn't think there to be much.
He misses the Russian Empire. He wishes he could just pick him up and take him far away from this nightmare of a place. Russia had promised to at least send him letters, but he hadn't even gotten those, which made the situation a whole lot more unbearable.
The Native American softly sighed a mix of a sigh and a small sob. He brought himself to his feet and cleaned himself up a bit. By that I mean he just wiped some dirt off of his tattered gown. It looked to be made from hide, and had semi-long wide sleeves that went to his elbows with various tears and pieces missing from it. The thin gown went down to a couple inches past his knees, and was just as tattered and old as the sleeves. The outfit looked big and heavy on his frail form. Colonial America left the room to do his day's worth of work and chores.
It had been almost a month since Britain had left. This was very unlike him, as he never left for more than a few days—weeks at most.
Colonial went looking for any leftover food in the pantry. He's been rationing down so that it'd last until Britain came back and got more. Unfortunately he found the kitchen bare. This made him scared and worried. What would he eat? He'll go hungry without his small rations. He doesn't want to die of starvation! Colonial whimpered and slunk down in a seat at the dining room table. His stomach growled. He bent his knees up so they were flush between his chest and the table and hugged them tightly. He wishes this would end. He wishes it would all just end already. This nightmare, this..hell, he's tired of it. He just wants to get away from everything. When was the last time he was properly nourished? He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember if he was ever properly taken care of. Maybe during his infant days, but he doesn't remember anything else. He doesn't even remember his actual family anymore.
Unfortunately he had to go to bed hungry again.
The next day he was wandering around, for once taking a break from his chores, since what're the odds of Britain suddenly coming home now? Chances are he's probably gone to war again. This one's probably bigger than the others, but it's not like he cares. He doesn't have any connection whatsoever with any wars. He's just there to supply Britain with resources for battle. Colonial simply wandered around aimlessly the medium large two-story house. He didn't really know what to do. When he was circled the kitchen he passed a drawer and stopped. It was a drawer he was forbidden from opening. He wondered why? I mean, a little peek can't hurt, right? He knew where the key was, so he stumbled off to pick it up from Britain's nightstand drawer. When he returned, he hastily fiddled with the lock a bit before it finally opened. He saw there to be various envelopes of different ages. He picked up the thick stack and set them on the wooden countertop. The ones on the bottom looked to be a bit discolored than the ones above, indicting them to at least be a few decades old.
        Colonial furrowed his brows a bit as he opened the one on the bottom. His eyes widened as when he saw the contents. It was a letter.

My Dear Colonial,

I have returned home, and I couldn't help but write to you right away. However this probably won't get to you until weeks later, so how are you holding up? I hope he hasn't treated you too badly upon your return, though I still have my doubts. I am already planning different ways upon taking you away from that monster once and for all, though I don't know how long it would take. Please wait for me, and know that I am coming for you, no matter the costs.
It may take months, years, or even decades, but I can assure you that one day you will return by my side, and I will be able to rightfully call you mine.
Please survive, my dear Colonial America. For me.
Love,

Russian Empire

Colonial stared in disbelief. All this time Russia was writing him, but Britain had hid them. All of them. His eyes starting watering but he quickly wiped them away. He quickly grabbed the other envelopes and closed the drawer, locking it. He rushed to his room. He plopped down on his small bed and set the stack of envelopes upside beside him—the oldest now facing up—and the opened one on his other side. He picked up the next envelope and opened it, beginning to read.
He gingerly read through each letter, some making him laugh, cry, or feel confused or surprised. But none of those compare to the warmth he felt inside him as he read all of them. Russia had told him about various things in his everyday life, from the meals he ate, to the books he read, the people he met, and the things he did, everything. It made Colonial happy as he read about what happened out in the real world. Britain had forbade him from leaving the house, so the lack of sunlight made his skin sickly pale. He really wants to see to light of day again. It's been so long he'd practically forgotten what it looked and felt like.
As he was reading there was one letter that stuck out among the rest.

My Dear Colonial,

I understand you might be having troubles responding to these letters, but I have promised you I would always send one, so even if you continue to allegedly "ignore" me, I shall still send one to you.
It has been quite a while since I had last seen you, too long. I miss you very much, as I'm sure you do me. I yearn for you, my dear Colonial. You're the light to my every day, and the reason I keep going. While everyone else has their queen to return to, a damsel to protect, or a family to provide for, I have you. You are my queen I must return to, my damsel in distress that I must save and protect, and my family I must nurture and provide for. You are my everything, my dear Colonial America.
Allow me to get straight to the point. I love you. I love you very much, and I couldn't bear to think of living without you by my side. Every night I go to bed wishing I would wake up with you in my arms, safe and sound. Every time I stare up at the stars, I wish you were there beside me, to be able to feel the freedom that I felt, because you deserve it more than I ever would. I would give you the world, and would settle for no less. For you are worth the entire universe and you deserve just as much.
My beloved Colonial, only if you'll accept.
Love,

Russian Empire

Colonial America stared down at the slightly discolored paper with a soft smile and a light blush on his face. Of course he loved him back. Russia was the only thing that's ever on his mind, day and night. He kept himself sane from all of Britain's abuse with just the thought of his gentle smile and comforting aura, his mesmerizing laugh and loving hugs. Late night talks during the war and those cuddles to stay warm that he could never get enough of. He's still pushing forward now because of him, without him he'd already have given up, accepting the fate of his eventual dissolution. After all, he's nothing more than a tool to Britain, but to Russia? He's so much more. He actually feels needed, like his existence actually matters! With the British Empire, he'll just be used up and thrown away. Britain doesn't care, he never did. He's only looking for more resources. He probably doesn't even think about the damage he does to his colonies, the scars he gives them. Which is why he really wishes the Russian Empire would come back for him already. He wants to see Britain finally lose a war, a war loss that would damage him tremendously. He wants to see that selfishly smug look on his face be wiped off, to finally see what it's like to truly suffer like he did, to be on the other end of the stick. The bad end.
        Colonial carefully re-folded the letter and gave it a small peck before gently setting it down by itself beside the opened stack and continuing on with the next one, a smile now permanently settling on his face.
        When he reached the final one he paused. It was from a month ago, only a day prior to the British Empire leaving. He sighed and shakily opened the newer-looking envelope, slipping the paper out and unfolding the parchment. His eyes slowly scanned over the words written on it.

My dear Colonial,

I'm sorry for not having sent you a letter last month, but I have been busy. I only hope you'll understand. Knowing Britain is probably snooping around in our letters, I'll keep this short and simple.
I have finally made the proper preparations for war with the British Empire, though I still have more to do. But do not fret, my dear. This shouldn't take long if my strategy works as I hope. And if it does, I won't be able to write to you for a while. However in the meantime, he'll also be busy—too busy to keep an eye on both of us and maintain control over you.
I think you know what you must do now, my dear Colonial. Do not worry, for I shall see you soon. This time I promise for sure.
Love,

Russian Empire

Colonial didn't really know what to think at first about this letter, but the more he pondered more on the thought the more he realized what he had meant. He looked at the letter in sudden determination, his eyes narrowing a bit and his jaw becoming fixed. He knew exactly what he had to do.
Colonial America grabbed a medium-sized satchel-like bag from the closet and trekked around the house, grabbing only absolute necessities—as well as the love letter. When he finished, he collected the pair of tongs by the fireplace and briskly walked over to the window nearby, which was locked. He heaved the bag's strap over his shoulder and after some trouble getting a grip and loosening the lock, he'd finally managed to jerk it open. Colonial climbed over the sill and dropped onto the ground below, making sure to bring the tongs with and shut the window before scurrying off into the forest.

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