Sweat raced down her face as she charged across the field. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, and she breathed in short gasps as she moved. Adrenaline shot through her, making her body shift faster then she normally would. She squeezed her eyes closed, suddenly aware of another person. He chased her, his own footsteps landing heavily. She heard a grunt and felt his fingers twist into the back of her shirt. With a high-pitched squeal, she yanked away. The man let out a string of curse words and stumbled, landing with a heavy thud. She didn't dare glance back as she sprinted the last few steps and forced her way over the end-zone line.
"TOUCHDOOOOOOWN, NEBRASKA!" The blonde haired, green-eyed teenager roared, throwing the football to the ground and punching her fists into the air. The man sprawled over the grass only a few feet away let out a breathless little laugh and hauled himself to his feet.
"You know, I'm still leading by 87 points." America brushed at his jeans. Nebraska beamed at him.
"Well, I still got six points against my old man, which is more then what almost all of my siblings have gotten."
"I still don't understand this bloody game." Both American's looked up as a blonde man approached, his British accent thick and his hands carrying two cups of lemonade.
"That's okay, Iggy." America said cheerfully, taking a step forward and snaking an arm around the United Kingdom's waist. The European country immediately went red.
"Enough with the blasted nickname..." England shoved one glass at a snickering Nebraska. She snatched it just before it fell from his fingertips and took a sip.
"Would you prefer Uncle Eyebrows?" She sneered at him. England went even more red and sputtered angrily.
America and Nebraska watched him flounder for a few more seconds, both grinning like idiots. Finally, England somehow got his composure back.
"This game is stupid, anyway. Named it after my football. Which is so much better." He smirked. America frowned.
"How does my football suck?"
"It's just rugby for little girls." England leveled a cool gaze at Alfred, smirking.
Alfred tightened his arm, drawing England closer, "Oh really?"
"Yes really."
"I wanna learn rugby." Nebraska crossed her arms, interrupting their stare off, "What is it?"
"Rugby is basically American football without the body armour." England explained, looking at the younger state. She blinked thoughtfully before breaking into a grin.
"Sounds dangerous. Teach me!" She grabbed England's hand and tugged him from her father, who made a sound of protest.
"Not without America's consent. I don't think he'd appreciate it if I hurt you while we're wrestling each other in the mud."
Both America and Nebraska fell silent, staring at the Brit. England blinked and furrowed his eyebrows. The looked almost identical, except for the fact that Nebraska had somehow gotten England's rather thick eyebrows.
"Oh, woe is me!" Nebraska suddenly bellowed, throwing up her hands, causing both England and America to jump, "I broke my finger playing Rugby against England! Honey, I am a part of the United freaking States of America. My state could kick your country's ass."
"But that broken finger may interfere with your corn farming." England argued. Nebraska pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.
"Dude, Iowa actually does more corn farming then my state. Nebraska is known for it's football and dead cow."
America couldn't help but grin at her and pat her shoulder.
"Where is Iowa, anyway?" He blinked big, blue eyes.
"I don't know where that stupid prep is, Dad." Nebraska basically hissed. America arched an eyebrow as England gave him a surprised glance.
"Don't talk about your sister like that." America reprimanded primly.
"She won't stop gloating about how she beat us in the Rose Bowl last year." Nebraska fumed. "She doesn't even know how to play football. Have you seen the condition of her team?"
"Well...it is her first year actually winning a Bowl game." He reasoned.
"She was paying the refs, Dad. That doesn't count as winning." She spat, folding her arms and glaring at her shoes.
England glanced between the two, bewildered. He didn't really understand what they were discussing, but he was quiet as America ruffled his daughter's hair. The Brit shook his head.
"Regardless, do I have your permission?" He looked to America.
America grinned. "Yeah, sure."
England looked toward the girl again, "All right, Nebraska. Go put on a rugby uniform. There should be one in the locker room."
"AWESOME!" Nebraska threw her hands up and ran off towards the locker rooms.
About a half hour later, England and Nebraska tossed the ball between each other, letting her get used to the shape and feel of it. England relayed the rules to her as she dropped to one knee to tie her shoes.
"All right. Each team tries to put the ball down past the opponent's goal line. If I get the ball past your goal line, I get five points and a chance to kick it through the uprights." At Nebraska's confused look, he shook his head and corrected himself, "Field goal, sorry, for two more points."
He took the ball back from Nebraska. "You can't throw the ball. Only kicks or running it, got it?"
She nodded.
"All right. I'll let you go first. Start at the 45 yard line."
Nebraska snatched the ball from England with a smirk. England smiled and took his own line.
"Ready?" America shouted from the sideline. Both England and Nebraska nodded. "Go!"
As one, the state and the country darted at each other. Nebraska took two steps before her eyes clouded with confusion. She dropped the ball and held her hands up.
"Hold up! What about personal fouls and stuff?" She half-hollered as England slowed. He blinked brilliant green eyes at her.
"What on Earth are you talking about, 'personal fouls'?" He scooped up the ball.
"I mean, like, in football, there's stuff like face-masks and personal fouls. If you get one, you can get sent back to a certain yard line" She explained. The country stared at her for a moment before his face broke into an evil grin.
"We don't have any of that in this game." He chuckled. Nebraska's face showed nothing but shock for a minute before it molded into a grin almost identical to the older man's.
"Sounds like my kind of game." She giggled. "I'll try not to break ya."
"DUDE! ARE YOU GUYS PLAYING OR NOT?" America bellowed. Both England and Nebraska let out short barks of laughter and returned to their original positions.
"We good, Dad!" Nebraska gave her father a thumbs up and tucked the ball close to her body. It settled into the crook of her arm and she grinned in spite of herself at the familiar weight. It was just another game. One she'd kick ass at, of course.
"Go!"
Again, Britain and Nebraska charged, but she was used to rough play. Having to deal with defensive linemen like Suh and Crick taught her better then to get caught. With one fluid motion, she somehow skipped over his arms as he went for her knees. But her inexperience with the fact that she wore no padding caused her to wobble, unused to the lack of weight. He lashed out his right leg. The kick was well-aimed and hit just above her ankle, and she stumbled and dropped the ball. England was back on his feet in an instant, scooping the egg-shaped ball from the ground. Nebraska let out a shriek of rage.
"THAT'S ILLEGAL!" She howled. England let out a wild laugh.
"This isn't American football, love!" He yelled back at her as he took off. She let out another furious yell and England jerked in surprise when he heard her footsteps almost directly behind him.
But then, this is on of his kids, isn't it? He thought to himself dully.
There was a grunt of effort from behind England and the sound of the footsteps abruptly stopped. England had a second to wonder where she had gone before he felt something land on his shoulders.
Nebraska wrapped her arms around England's neck and twisted her hips to tangle her legs in his. The British man let out a startled cry and promptly fell on his face. The ball rolled from his outstretched hand.
"To quote a certain Italian, 'Hasta la pasta'." She hissed, peeling herself away from him and scrabbling toward the ball. Britain cursed and hauled himself to his feet to give chase.
"NEBRASKA! YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!" America screamed. Nebraska stumbled, cussing, before she spun on her heel to head back the way she came. How could she have been so bloody stupid...
Her train of thought was suddenly derailed when England's elbow collided with her ear. Hard. The state let out a small noise of shock and was thrown off her feet. When she landed, she didn't fidget. America's whistle rang out, clear and strong.
"Why the bloody hell did you whistle! I was about to score!" England yelled as his former colony staggered to his daughter.
"You hit her so hard that I felt it, bastard." America said quietly, his voice steely with a contained anger. England immediately froze. America's face was calm and controlled, but Britain saw the panic flaring in his eyes. Behind the panic, England knew, was a quiet resolve to hurt whoever who had harmed his child.
"Is she okay?" England breathed, standing a few paces away and fidgeting anxiously. America didn't answer. The United States instead chose to poke and prod at his daughter's face. After a few minutes, America sighed silently and tapped her cheek gently. The state jerked and mumbled and England shifted closer to hear her.
"...Fuck England, fuck this sport, fuck getting hurt..." She was muttering. England couldn't help but smile at that. She was fine.
"Hey, Nebraska? Can you hear me? Are you okay?" England knelt and touched her cheek. Nebraska looked at him, her green eyes unfocused. But she smiled.
"Hi, Papa England." Her words sounded a little slurred, "How long have you and Daddy been together?"
England went red and he glared at America, who broke into a grin bright enough to power London for three months.
"I thought you said you weren't gonna tell them!" He hissed, his voice an octave higher then normal. America's grin got even bigger.
"I didn't tell her. She's just that good at reading the mood." America reached down to stroke Nebraska's hair. She grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'fucking limey' and pressed her cheek into the palm of her father's hand. England arched an eyebrow at her before glancing up at America.
"We should take her to go get her head looked at." England murmured. America nodded and scooped her up, cradling her like a child. She was conscious enough to wrap her arms around his neck.
"She's just like you in some ways." America stated abruptly. England looked at him, his eyebrows raised, "She's proud, stubborn, has a horrible potty-mouth, and can't cook. Scratch that, she can make a killer steak."
"She IS Nebraskan." England said dryly. They lapsed into a comfortable silence. England stared at his shoes as they approached America's car. Something expensive, bright red, and Italian.
"What's on you're mind?" America opened the door to the passenger seat with one hand, the other hand still cradling his daughter.
"Are you mad at me for hurting her?" England squeaked as America set Nebraska in the seat gently. America exhaled through his nose and stood upright again, studying England with unusually serious eyes.
"It was an accident." He finally said, forcing a grin and leaning lightly against the car. "She usually gets hurt like this every year while breaking in the new players for the Huskers. Every year I react the same way. It's silly, but that happens when you've got kids to look after."
"I understand completely." England muttered, looking down at her. "I'm sorry for hurting her. Will she be able to participate in her, ah...football games?" England chewed on his bottom lip. America burst into laughter and England could only stare at him in shock.
"Dude, don't worry." He managed to choked after a minute. The laughter was still in his eyes as he leaned foreward and gently kissed the British man, "It'll be fine. I promise."
"That's cool. Just ignore the teenager with the concussion. And possible brain damage." Nebraska's voice was a little halting, like she was still having trouble piecing together coherent thoughts. America let out a chuckle.
"Coming." America paced to the drivers side and slid into the car. At the same time, the window on Nebraska's slid rolled down smoothly and she poked her head out.
"Don't you tell a single soul, you hear me?" England growled at her. She grinned.
"Don't worry. I'm not York. I don't gossip like him." Nebraska's voice seemed to lose it's slur as she spoke, "But I get to call you Papa, deal?"
"All right, fine. Rugby next time I visit?" England smirked at her. She nodded, still grinning.
"We can do that. Bye, Papa." Nebraska leaned out the window and kissed his cheek.
"Love ya, Iggy!" America called from the driver's seat. England smiled, a blush creeping up his cheeks.
"I love you, too. Git."
CHEESY ENDING IS CHEESY.
Me and a friend of mine started writing this in Creative Writing the other day. I wrote most of it, while she filled me in on the basic rugby. Also, this is rugby with no rules, as I've finally looked into the damn game itself. Also, Nebraska is one of my favourite state designs. Don't hate. Please R&R, it'd be greatly appreciated!