Only a Dream

Circa 1690

"Eeenglaaand!" England jolted awake at the sound of his name. "Wha-?" He mumbled out, surveying his surroundings with half lidded eyes only to see that it was still quite dark outside and only the stars were splayed across the sky, the moon having disappeared hours before. He heard footsteps thudding, and then slightly tumbling, down the hallway until it slowed down to the front of his door. The large oak wood door creaked open as a young America shyly slid in. England lit the candle at his bedside table and curiously looked at America. "What's wrong?"

America had trails of tears, dimly reflected by the light given out by the candle and he sniffled. England beckoned him closer. America shuffled closer to England's bed, wiping any traces of tears from his face. "I-I-I had a bad dream." He replied hiccupping whilst rubbing his eyes.

England sighed and heaved the young boy into his bed and onto his lap, pulling the young one into an embrace. "Shh, it was only a dream, it wasn't real." England whispered, stroking his hair.

America sniffled once more and whispered, "But-but it seemed so real. I saw people fighting and yelling a-and I saw you… you were crying…" America looked up at England with his large sky blue orbs that shone in the dim candlelit room. "It-it made me sad to see you cry like that England. I asked you why you were crying but you couldn't hear me…" Tears welled up in America's eyes once again as he looked down at his lap. England held him tighter, rubbing his back in an attempt to soothe him. "Shh, it's alright. I'm not crying, see?"

America rubbed his eyes as England loosened his grip on him slightly and looked up at England, his eyes resolute. "I don't want to see you cry England, ever." America said with a serious expression on his face, his nose still pink from the small bout of crying. Arthur smiled and hugged Alfred, his chin resting on his unkempt hair. "I won't." He whispered. "I won't ever forgive anyone who makes you cry." The younger of the two whispered, placing a small hand on England's chest. England smiled at this as he slid his eyes closed and they sat there silently as the candle flickered until America decided to break the silence.

"Hey England?" Alfred asked softly. "Yes, what is it?" He replied his eyes still shut. "Can I sleep with you tonight? I'm afraid I'll have nightmares again." England gave him a squeeze. "Of course you can."

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1781 Yorktown, Virginia

In the mud, England was on his hands and knees in front of America, now a young man in his early twenties, looking down at him, his wet hair sticking to his forehead, rifle in his hands. "I can't…" England broke down just a minute before and tears mixed with the rain in the puddle in front of him, his own rifle inches away from him. America kneeled in front of him; placing his rifle next to England's and grabbed his trembling hands. "Hey," America said softly, "I told you I didn't want to see you cry, didn't I?" England looked up, tears still evident on his face. "Please, stop." America said, as he pulled England into his arms. I won't be able to forgive myself…

Hey, thanks for reading my first story. Constructive criticisms are accepted and acknowledged. ^^