"America? What, dare I ask, is taking you so long?" England groaned, impatiently tapping his foot at the base of the stairs.
A flurry of scurrying could be heard above England's head as a certain little colony excitedly prepared for today's escapade with his big brother. The creaking, wooden floorboards gave off their own groan, much like England's, as if to persuade the boy to make his way out of the house already.
"Young man, if you are not down here in the next ten seconds, I'm leaving you behind. The sun will have set by the time you have finished preparing yourself," England warned, willing himself to keep his voice calm, but stern.
"I'M COMING! DON'T LEAVE ME!" the boy screeched from his bedroom, flinging the door open with a pronounced bang before hurtling his way down the stairs, a pocketknife and crumpled map close at hand. He tore his way down each step, nearly running into his brother as he bolted for the door.
He was really quite the sight, seeing as he was clad in one of England's spare, three-pointed hats, which was much too large for his head, and blocked his vision as it slipped down his forehead. A leather satchel was slung across his chest before resting at his hip, engulfing his youthful frame. Finally, he was bundled up in his overcoat, ready to face the chilly, October air.
"America!" England managed to growl through his surprise at the epic entrance his charge had just performed.
"Huh?" America spun around rapidly, nearly tripping over his own boots. He threw his head back to raise the hat that was obscuring his eyes from the rest of the world, only to succeed in knocking it entirely off of his head.
"How many times must I tell you not to run in the house? If you can't behave civilly then you will just have to stay home," England cautioned, emerald eyes piercing through America's sapphire ones in an attempt to get him to settle down.
"Sorry," the colony mumbled dejectedly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as his cheeks blushed. "I'm just excited."
"I can see that, but we won't be able to catch anything if you're bouncing up and down the entire time," England stated firmly, eyes narrowing. "Hunting takes patience, strategic thinking, and silence."
America nodded pointedly in comprehension before bending down to gather his hat (actually, England's hat) off of the floor. He hugged it close to his body, afraid of losing it again.
"I believe that hat is much too big for you, lad," England smirked in amusement, leaning down to remove the article from his colony's hands.
"NO! Don't take it! I have to wear it if I wanna be a great hunter like you!" America shouted in protest, flailing his hands desperately as he tried to pull down on his brother's arms to get him to relent his hold on the hat. Curse his short stature.
"It's 'want to', and if it really means that much to you, I can buy you your own hunting hat; preferably, a much smaller one," England rationalized, patting America's head with a sigh. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get that stubborn cowlick to stay down. It looked improper, a real mess, but England had tried everything, including trimming it with scissors. In its place, a new cowlick would grow, even more stubborn than the first.
"Okay," America conceded, surrendering the battle and returning the hat to its proper master, though he wasn't happy about it in the least.
"Oh, don't give me that doe-eyed look, lad. Fine, you can wear the hat if you'd like, but if it gets in the way, you'll have to take it off," England gave in, plopping the hat on his colony's head with a small smile.
"Yay!" America cheered, brightening up instantly. His eyes burned with a renewed fire as he grabbed England's hand and dragged him out the door.
"What are we going to hunt? I don't want to hurt any buffalo!" America said worryingly; he'd become quite attached to the land's decreasing buffalo population.
"No, we're going to try to hunt a turkey. We have to start out small," England explained, guiding his colony out into the woods.
"Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" America squealed, squeezing England's hand tightly as the pair trekked further and further into the forest. All seemed silent apart from the singing birds scattered among the canopy of trees overhead. America watched them in awe, neglecting England's orders to watch his feet as he walked. He promptly tripped over a branch, but seeing as he was still holding his brother's hand, he was steadied back onto his feet before he even came close to hitting the ground.
"America, if you're not more vigilant, we're going to have a big problem on our hands," England chided, checking the colony over for any scrapes before deeming him fit to continue onward.
It seemed like they had been walking for ages, and just as America began to open his mouth to voice a complaint, England ceased his walking abruptly, pulling America down to a kneeling position on the ground along with him.
"Hey, what—"
"Shh," England hissed urgently, pointing to a small thicket of bushes just a few yards away. "Look over there."
America's eyes curiously roamed over to where his brother was pointing. Sure enough, there in the distance stood a turkey. A wonderful, beautiful, immensely fat turkey that made America's eyes water in amazement. It was big and blanketed in a plethora of brown-shaded feathers. All that walking hadn't been in vain. They had finally spotted their prey.
"Now, listen closely to me. Turkeys aren't difficult to catch," England whispered importantly, sitting right behind America.
"Why is he making that noise?" America whispered back, startled by a distinct sound that the animal was making.
"It's purring."
"Purring? I thought only cats purred!"
"Shh!" England suppressed a groan. "Would you let off it already? We're supposed to shoot it, not sit around and watch it purr."
"Okay, sorry," America hastily apologized. He felt England quietly rummaging around behind him.
"Now, there's no rush. This forest is overflowing with turkeys, so if we miss this one, there's no need to be upset. You've never used a hunting rifle before, so I'm going to teach you right now. First, stand up slowly," England ordered, pulling the boy back up as both of them returned to a standing position. Carefully, England placed the rifle into America's hands, adjusting the positioning of his fingers with practiced ease.
"Rule number one; always treat the gun with caution when it's loaded. Better safe than sorry. Keep it pointed at the target, but don't put your fingers on the trigger until you are ready to shoot," England began slowly, aiding America from behind.
"Good, good. Now, have your weaker shoulder face the target. So your left shoulder should be—yes, just like that. Move the rifle closer to your head, so that your cheek is pressing against the stock," England steadily guided the gun into the desired position, and then wrapped his arms around America, holding the gun along with him.
"Now you're ready to aim and fire," England announced, his hands lying directly on top of America's.
"You're going to shoot it with me?" America asked quietly, hands quivering in anticipation.
"Of course, you didn't think I was just going to let you shoot by yourself on your first try, did you?" England's face twisted into a reassuring smile upon the realization that that had been exactly what America had been thinking, which explained his pale face and trembling hands.
"Believe me, in a few moments, you'll be glad I'm right behind you," England whispered with a cryptic smirk.
"W-What do you mean?" America stammered, but refused to look back to meet his brother's face.
"Next," England went on, ignoring America, "focus on the front sight and center it —very good, you're a natural at this. Now, when I tell you to, you are going to squeeze the trigger; do not pull it. Squeeze it until you feel a resistance, and then keep squeezing it to the rear until it fires. Understand?" England queried, his steady voice soothing the young boy standing in front of him.
"Yes," America whispered in a strained tone. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He was about to shoot an animal. A turkey, nonetheless! He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, invigorating him with a feeling of fluttering butterflies in his stomach.
"Just relax. I'll help you. Here's the fun part. I'm going to try to call the turkey closer. We're going to let it know of our presence," England whispered back, smiling again.
"Won't it get scared and run away?" America asked shakily, he was starting to feel nauseous from all this anxiety.
"Maybe, though I doubt it. Stupid birds, turkeys, really," England muttered then began making a horrible yelping noise that vibrated throughout the forest, the sharp sound bouncing off the trees. It was high-pitched and repetitive in tone.
"Agh," America grimaced.
"That's a basic turkey hunting call," England said matter-of-factly. America silently pleaded that the man had been kidding, but he looked as serious as ever.
The turkey looked up in bewilderment, and began putting, which England explained was a sound turkeys made as an alarm to indicate that they are in danger.
"You have little time to shoot now because it'll go running off soon," England hurriedly whispered, hands still wrapped around America's. Seconds felt like hours as the colony braced himself to shoot, just a few more seconds and the turkey would be right where he wanted him.
"Now." England spoke sharply, pressing down on America's hands to help him with the procedure. America squeezed the trigger as best as he could, surprising himself as a loud ring broke through the atmosphere. He screwed his eyes shut, fearful that he had missed or something had gone terribly wrong, but before he could second-guess himself further, he was being flung backwards from the force of the rifle's shot, knocking right into England's chest. Thus, resulting in both boys falling to the ground. His brother's hat went flying off of America's head and into the grass next to him.
America whimpered from his spot on the grassy, overgrown ground, terrified by what he had just done. However, he quieted as England's hearty laugh broke through the silence. It dissolved all the worst-case scenarios from America's mind instantaneously.
"Well done! Wonderful! That was absolutely brilliant, my boy!"
America opened his eyes. England was hovering over him again, holding out an arm to help his colony stand up as well.
"W-Was I s-supposed to fall back?" America stuttered, still letting the situation sink it. He placed England's hat back on his head swiftly, letting out a puff of air that he hadn't known he'd been holding.
"I'd be amazed if you hadn't. There's a reason I was standing right behind you. The force of shooting a rifle is always shocking for a first timer. Someone needed to cushion the effects of the blow," England said loftily, scooping America into his arms after abandoning the rifle on the ground.
The boy wrapped his arms around England's neck, still shaken. "Did I get it?"
"You certainly did," England nodded, kissing America's hat-covered head reassuringly. "You're precision was remarkable."
"Really?" America asked incredulously. That had by far been the most horrifying, yet exhilarating experience of his entire life.
"Yes, really. Spectacular! A natural talent! This is great news," England continued absently, making his way over to the dead turkey. It had been a clean shot.
"I DID IT! I DID IT! Will you teach me how to shoot your musket next time?" America spoke hotly into England's shoulder, too afraid to look at the turkey for the moment.
England chuckled as he picked up the turkey by its legs, it was rather heavy, but nothing the island nation couldn't handle. "If we hunted with only our muskets, we would've died of starvation, lad. They're terribly inaccurate and are usually used in the military for linear tactics. You can't aim at a single target with it," England explained with an air of professionalism. "Now, I say we go back home and cook you a sturdy dinner in celebration."
"Can we eat the turkey?" America asked hopefully.
"Not today, love. It needs to be plucked and properly prepared. That might take the rest of the day. We can eat the fish I caught yesterday," England replied mildly. He adjusted America so that he was being supported by his right arm, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and picked up the turkey with his free hand, beginning the long stroll back home.
"Thank you for teaching me to be a brave hunter like you, England," America whispered softly, suddenly very tired. England's hat slid down over his cowlick and shielded his eyes once more, making him look that much more adorable.
England chuckled once more, "Of course, love. A young man has to know how to catch his food."
America nodded into England's shoulder sleepily, all tuckered out. "Gentlemen bring food to the family table," he recited, head lolling with each of England's footfalls.
England smiled warmly. "Yes, you were quite a brave gentleman today, America. I'm very proud of you."
America groggily grinned, basking in the feeling of self-satisfaction swelling inside of his chest. He let himself doze off on England's shoulder, his inhalations growing even and slow.
"You really have to stop falling asleep on me, lad," England murmured as the pair neared the house. He dropped the turkey off in the yard before heading inside with his colony, finally removing the hat that the boy had been practically worshipping for the entire trip. He carried America up to his bedroom, took his satchel off of his shoulder, and laid him in bed before stripping him of his leather boots.
He was roused awake just as England was tucking him in.
"England?" he rasped, voice laden with lethargy.
"Yes, love? I'm right here."
"Today was the best day ever," America finished with a yawn, rubbing his eyes.
England brushed bits of hair off of America's forehead. "I'm glad you had a good time."
"I feel bad about killing the turkey though," America added, glowering. "I don't want to see it until its cleaned and cooked."
England laughed. "It's alright, poppet. I'm sure he's in turkey-heaven right now."
"Okay," America sighed contentedly, "Let me know when dinner is ready."
"Of course, my gluttonous colony. We can't keep you hungry; lord knows you'd be whining all night," England smirked. "Sleep tight until then. You've had an exciting day." The nation placed a final kiss on the boy's forehead and shut the curtains to dim the room before making his way downstairs.
On the small table next to the base of the steps, rested England's old hat, covered in a few clumps of grass from the abuse it had suffered at the hands of his colony. England picked it up with a sad smile, flustered that America venerated him as some type of hero. He might as well let the boy keep the hat if he was so fond of it. After all, he'd grow into it eventually.
Besides, England had had enough adventures for one lifetime. Now, it was America's turn to continue the legacy of being a proper gentleman.