DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia or the characters mentioned
England was exhausted. He had, yet again, booked another red-eye flight from London to D.C. to get to America as fast as he could. Because the younger country had, yet again, called him excitedly saying that England just had to come over and see the "super-radically-awesome" new thing he had gotten. Why England indulged the loud American and always flew over immediately was beyond him. It's not like he really truly cared about his former colony or anything… right?
"This had better damn well be worth my bloody time." The grumpy nation muttered as he stepped from his taxi and slipped the driver some money.
As England made his way to America's front door he mentally steeled himself for the loud reception he always got. He was, however, not prepared for the door to be flung open before he could even knock on the door, with America standing there with that big stupid grin of his. Before England could say a word, America stepped out, closed his front door, then grabbed England by the arm and practically dragged him over to the garage. America released his arm as he clicked the button on a little remote control and the garage door slowly started sliding open.
"Why am I here, exactly?"
"I told you dude. I have to show you somethin'!"
"Yes I know. But why must you always insist on showing me whatever idiotic, stupid thing-" England cut himself off as the garage door opened fully to reveal one of the many muscle cars that America had the impulse to own. It was the most recent model of the Chevy Camaro, painted an obnoxiously bright red. England felt his anger build. He had seen this car before. In fact, America had insisted on taking him for a "spin" in it a few months ago after a world meeting held in the stupid prat's capital which had left the older nation rather nauseated.
"You had me fly all the way across the bloody Atlantic to have me look at your car that I have already seen?" England growled irritably.
"No dude not Lizzy! I wanted to show you this." America walked over to an object that had a tarp tenderly draped over it. Huh. England hadn't noticed that before. Probably because that God-awful, gaudy car practically demanded all of his attention. Just looking at it was hurting his eyes.
"You named your car Lizzy?" England inquired. The younger man had the audacity to look at England like he was the crazy one.
"Uh, yeah. I name all of my babies." Before England could open his mouth to make some sort of sarcastic remark, America carefully pulled the tarp off the object, revealing a brand new, and very shiny, black "crotch rocket" style motorcycle. The Englishmen could only stare incredulously as America puffed his chest out proudly as he stood next to his newest addition.
"Ain't she a beauty? I think I'm gonna call her…" The American squinted in thought. "Amanda! Mandy for short."
"Are you mad?!"
"What? I happen to think that Mandy is a respectable nickname for-"
"Not the name you imbecile!" England snapped. "Owning an actual motorcycle. It's dangerous! And you bloody well know how I feel about them."
"Well yeah, that's part of the reason I got it," America joked. Upon seeing the look on England's face he sighed, growing more serious.
"Look, I've flown a variety of bomber planes in the middle of a war in a different country and you think me driving a motorcycle in my own country, on streets that I know very well, is dangerous?" England refused to give in to the boy's logic, opting to sternly cross his arms and tap his foot instead. America decided on a different tactic.
"Aw c'mon England. I haven't driven her yet, and I wanted you to be here when I took her on her first drive. It's an exciting moment for me and… well since you are my brother 'n all…" Cue the waterworks. America's eyes started watering a bit, expression crestfallen. "I thought you'd want to share it with me." A few moments passed before England regretfully made his decision.
"Fine. I'll see you off. But when you crash and hurt yourself don't come crying to me," England groaned as America whooped and ran inside to grab his gear.
Damn that kid, England thought irritably. America was always able to get England to do or go along with whatever he wanted with some tears, and that hurt look on his face, ever since he was little. Not to mention America knew calling the Englishman his "brother" was a sure way to help sell his case. England knew this, and yet despite it all he couldn't help but cave in. It was a bad habit that he should have broken both of them from centuries ago. England absently wondered if… Canada?... ever had to deal with the American's over exuberant love of death machines.
America returned wearing a padded riding jacket, protective gloves, and leather boots. Underneath one arm he held a helmet that was as black and just as shiny as his motorcycle.
"Oh man I'm so excited!" America threw one leg over the side of the motorcycle and took his seat.
"A little showy, don't you think?" England sniffed.
"Well duh. I'm just gonna go 'round a few blocks 'n I'll be right back 'kay?" America flashed his famous grin before pulling the helmet over his head and fastening the straps.
"I can't wait to hear this baby purr," America said as he leaned forward to start Mandy up.
"What?" England asked, only to startle when the motorcycle's engine roared to life. Did that blasted thing have to be so loud? Loud and flashy. No wonder the American loved it so much. As if to add emphasis to this thought America revved on the throttle a few times before taking off down the driveway and onto the road. England gasped as America popped a wheelie before speeding down the street and disappearing around a corner. That idiot wanted England to have a heart attack! England looked about him for a few seconds before deciding to wait in the house for the younger nation to return.
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The feeling America had while driving Mandy along the streets was nothing but thrilling. He had driven a motorcycle before, sure, but Mandy was the first he could call his very own. He absolutely loved the sense of air rushing past him as he pushed the speed limit (but strictly obeyed all other street laws). It could almost be compared to how he felt when he flew an aircraft, another passion of his. He felt, well, free. As America drove Mandy around a third block he decided to head back before England started to worry, and pulled to a stop at a red light. God, his former caretaker was such a mother hen.
As the light turned green, America leaned forward and started to cross the particularly busy intersection. As he was about halfway across, he heard a sickening screech, and from the corner of his eye could see a car swerving towards him and Mandy. His panicked mind could formulate only one thought in the split second it took for the car to clip the back end of his bike and send him flying.
Uh oh.
America hit the ground with a loud thud and rolled a few feet before coming to a stop on his back. He lay stunned for a few seconds before slowly trying to sit up. Pain radiated throughout his left shoulder and down his arm as he found he couldn't move it.
Damn, a broken collarbone, He thought. He'd broken his collarbone before when playing Hockey with Canada, and the recovery process was relatively short for him as a nation, but awful nonetheless. You had to wear this sort of harness contraption that stretched your shoulders back and was, simply put, very irritating to wear. Not to mention England was going to have a freakin' cow. However, all thoughts of pain and recovery and angry England vanished as America looked up.
"Oh shit…" A few feet from where America lay was Mandy. The motorcycle was practically wrapped around a traffic light pole, and was in a lot worse shape than he was. America wrenched his helmet off with his good arm to get a clearer look, and slipped into shock as he absorbed in the complete destruction of his new beloved motorcycle. He was vaguely aware of the driver of the car who hit him stepping out and frantically asking him something and repeating "911" and "ambulance" over and over.
All America could think about was poor Mandy, even as an ambulance arrived, and the EMT's pulled him onto a stretcher. As they loaded him into the ambulance, America stole one last horrified look at his baby before the doors were closed and the vehicle sped away, sirens blaring.
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"Where the hell is that git?" England asked himself for the thirtieth time, pacing back and forth in the American's living room. He glanced at his watch. It had been exactly forty-seven minutes and fourteen seconds since America had taken that God-forsaken death mobile out, which was far too much time to have passed for just going "around a few blocks." England had called America's cell, only to see that the idiot had left it at home as it rang on the counter behind him. A whole hour passed, and England started to feel sick to his stomach.
"Why do I even care? He's a grown man…" England paused and paced a few more steps, "Practically. He can take care of himself." And yet, England couldn't shake the building worry he had for the lad. It was like an age old instinct that had been ingrained into himself since he first found America and took him in. England checked his watch again as he thought back to the countless other incidents in which America had caused him to be worried sick over the centuries. He didn't know how much more his heart could take, not that he was old mind you.
Another twenty minutes went by and England was checking his watch, again, when his cell rang. He hastily pulled it out of his jacket pocket and looked at the screen. The area code seemed to be a local American one. He answered with dread weighing down on his insides.
"Hello?"
"Is this Mr. Kirkland?" A feminine voice with an American accent asked.
"Yes, it is."
"Hi, we have your…brother… Alfred F. Jones here at Sacred Heart Hospital…" England ignored the question in her statement and cut the woman off, panic painting his voice.
"Is he alright?"
"He was involved in a rather serious accident and-" The woman was cut off again by England, who was pretty much now having a full-blown panic attack, noting the irony between the situation and his earlier statement guiltily.
"Oh God. Oh my God. That bloody fool. How bad is he?" England asked in a wavering voice. He knew that as nations they couldn't exactly die from any corporeal damage, and had an increased recovery time, but it didn't change the fact that any serious injuries their physical bodies received hurt like hell.
"Relax, Mr. Kirkland. Other than a fractured clavicle he's just fine. He's actually getting discharged soon and needs someone to pick him up, which is why I'm calling." England breathed out a sigh of relief.
"Yes, of course. I'll be over there shortly." England ended his call and started to dial the number to the taxi company he usually used when he was in America.
No, that will take too long, He thought, impatiently putting his phone away. England's eyes found the key to America's Camaro dangling on a hook in the wall. The island nation said a quick prayer as he grabbed the keys and practically jumped into the intimidating car. It had a built in GPS at least, and for that England was grateful.
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England arrived at the hospital about fifteen minutes later, and in one piece to boot. He quickly made his way to the reception area, who gave him directions to the room where America was being held. Before he reached America's room however, he was intercepted by a man in a white lab coat.
"Mr. Kirkland, I presume?" The man asked as he stuck his hand out to shake England's hand.
"Yes." England answered hesitantly, returning the man's handshake.
"I'm Dr. Read, Alfred's ER doctor. I'm pleased to tell you he suffered no serious injury other than a minor fracture to his left clavicle and some scrapes and bruises, though that was some accident he was in. He is a very lucky young man."
"That he is," England replied. Not for long though.
"He has meds for the pain and has to wear a special brace to help the bone heal for several weeks, and I'll need him to return for x-rays in about a week to check on the healing progress. But Alfred already knows the routine," Dr. Read paused. "Knowing Alfred I'll bet he will already be completely healed by the time he comes in for his check-up. Rather peculiar…" The doctor mused.
"Wait… what do you mean that Alfred already knows the routine? How do you know how fast he heals?" England inquired. The doctor had a strange expression on his face, as if he was questioning himself on if he had said too much, then obviously made the decision to come out with it.
"Well since you are his brother… you are his brother aren't you?" Dr. Read narrowed his eyes.
"Yes I am. Uh… different fathers," England lied. If anything America was more his son than his brother, but England had a feeling that would be less believable than him being America's brother.
"Right. Well young Alfred seems to be a stickler for injury. Over the past two years I've had the pleasure of treating many damages he has brought upon himself, ranging from mild concussions to broken bones and stitches."
"Why have I never heard of these incidents?" England asked angrily. The doctor's expression closed.
"That is something you will have to ask him yourself, Mr. Kirkland."
"And that I shall." England began to walk to America's room door before being stopped by the doctor's held up hand.
"One last thing. I checked Alfred for a concussion and he has no head injury thanks to his helmet, but he keeps muttering something about a 'Mandy'. Do you have any idea what that could be about?" Dr. Read asked.
"His motorcycle."
"Mmmm." The doctor hummed in understanding before leading England into the room. America was sitting up in the hospital bed, his left arm cradled in a sling. Upon seeing England, the sulky expression he wore turned into one tinted with fear.
"Aw Doc! I told you not to call him!" America exclaimed. England tried not to feel hurt by the words, and the doctor replied before he could make a scathing retort.
"Alfred its hospital policy that you get a ride home…" Dr. Read looked at England and sighed, clearly about to say something that he thought he was going to regret. "No one else on your emergency contact list was available, and Mr. Kirkland was our last option."
"I'm the last option?" England exclaimed, glaring at America.
"Yeah… after some of my boss' employees… and Mattie," America said sheepishly. Sensing the rising tension in the room, Dr. Read decided it was time to take his leave.
"Well I'd best get back to my rounds. Mr. Kirkland, it was nice meeting you. See you soon Alfred."
"Thanks doc," America said as the doctor exited the room. "So much for doctor-patient confidentiality," he muttered after a few moments of silence.
"Alfred, why on earth would I be the last option? And why do I hear that you are a regular of the ER? Just how many injuries have you had? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I knew you'd freak out like you are right now," America replied. When he saw England's murderous expression he held up his good arm in defense. "I just don't want to be a burden to you," he amended. England sighed. He was not going to have this argument again.
"I've said it once and I'll say it a thousand times, so listen carefully you stupid, irresponsible yank. You are not a burden to me. I care about you, damn it, about your well-being. So much so that I am in the right mind to wring your neck for making me worry, like always!" They were both quiet for a few moments before America sniffed.
"Look I didn't mean-" England began.
"No, it's not that. I appreciate you looking out for me, I really do, but…" America looked sadly up at England. "It's Mandy. She's totaled, Arthur. Totaled. I called the place where they take crashed vehicles and the guy there said she wasn't even good for scraps, which means I can't rebuild her…" America said, looking back down in anguish.
"…your motorcycle..." England said blandly. And here he thought that he actually might reach an understanding with America via a nice heart-to-heart. Unbelievable. But England let it slide, because he knew America wasn't really one for expressing the emotional sappy stuff, which was fine because truth be told, England wasn't either.
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After England and a hospital orderly spent nearly half an hour trying to convince America to sit in a wheelchair to be discharged, the two countries finally exited the hospital. Once outside, America leapt from the wheelchair and turned to give some sort of salute to the orderly with his right arm.
"Later Jim." The orderly, Jim apparently, gave a nod and turned to walk back into the hospital. England glared at America, who noticed and promptly shuffled his feet uncomfortably.
"What? You're making me nervous dude."
"As well you should be. You know what I'm waiting for." England said, and continued to stare America down, who seemed to visibly shrink.
"Wow. You sure do know how to make me feel like a kid again. You want an apology? 'Cause I don't really see how me crashin' 'n all…" America trailed off as England raised an eyebrow then shook his head at him.
"…Then I really don't know what you want from me." America said, forehead wrinkled in confusion.
"You are so dense. I want you to explain how you can be so reckless…" England paused as a couple of people carrying balloons rushed past the pair to enter the hospital. "…with your identity. What were you thinking letting the same doctor treat all your injuries? Alfred, he's noticed your increased healing time for God's sake! He's going to notice how you never seem to age, and you know the rule about normal human citizens knowing what we really are…"
"Relax bro! I've been doing this since like…" America squinted in thought. "Like a long time ago. I always switch doctors after a year or two, and I move cities completely after a while. You know me, can't stay in one place for long. There's no need to worry about that." England continued to gaze at America for a few moments before making some sort of grunting noise that clearly meant I hardly believe you, but I'll drop it. For now.
"Well then," England started to walk towards the parking lot, "I'd best get you home I suppose."
"Finally! The emotional stress of Mandy's unfortunate premature demise has got me starving!" America trotted after England to catch up. England rolled his eyes.
"What doesn't make you hungry?"
"Old nuns. Dirty dish water. Floral print curtains. And Francis' fluorescent body glitter." America wrinkled his nose. England was trying to keep from cracking a smile when America suddenly stopped in his tracks.
"What?" England looked back at him curiously.
"The taxi wouldn't park in the parking lot. Arthur, how did you get here?"
"Uhm. Well… I figured the taxi wouldn't get me here fast enough so…" England watched as America's face paled with realization. "I drove your Camaro."
"You… drove… Lizzy? You drove Lizzy?!" America's voice rose with panic as he frantically started scanning the parking lot for his beloved car.
"Lower your voice and calm down!" England hissed as he noticed some bystanders look over in their direction.
"No Arthur! I already lost one of my babies today so I will not calm down! If you so much as scratched her…" America broke off as he spotted the gleaming red vehicle and started to practically sprint towards it, almost getting hit by a passing car in the process.
"Alfred! You blasted fool!" England exclaimed, running after him and apologizing profusely to the driver who was yelling angrily out their window. When England reached the car he panted and put his hands on his knees. America was circling his car looking for damage, murmuring over and over what sounded like "it's okay daddy's here" and "did that limey hurt you?"
"Oh, don't be so melodramatic," England snarled, still out of breath. "I didn't hurt your stupid car." America ignored him and circled his car two more times before deciding his precious Lizzy was indeed unharmed. The pair stood quite for a moment before America broke the silence.
"Maybe I should drive her back home."
"You most certainly will do no such thing! Your arm is in a sling!"
"I drive one-handed all the time!"
"You're still drowsy from medication!"
"I'll be fine!" America shot back. England pursed his lips, dug into his pocket, and pulled out America's pain medication bottle.
"Do not operate machinery after taking. If you drive this car, you won't only be endangering us but also other people. That's not very model citizen-like now is it?" America opened his mouth to argue, only to groan in defeat.
"Fine. But if you hurt Lizzy at all… you will feel my wrath."
"I'm quite terrified of your wrath, I assure you," England said sarcastically. "I got it here in one piece didn't I?"
"I guess so…" America pouted as England humphed and walked over to the right side of the car.
"Uh, Arthur, the driver's side is on the left." America said, his face conveying his extreme worry.
"I knew that. I was just joking."
"It wasn't funny." America said, before pulling himself into the passenger seat. England sighed. It was going to be a long drive back to America's place.
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The rest of the day passed uneventfully after they finally reached America's house. England made a sour face as he recalled that jolly ordeal. America had screamed at him practically the whole time, his good arm outstretched to brace himself on the dashboard. The idiot then started moaning that he was going to vomit all over England, until England said he would crash the car unless America settled down and quit distracting him.
Now, America was multitasking between surfing the internet for a new motorcycle, and stuffing his face with Pringles. England felt a good nap was in order, and escorted himself to the guest room. He had booked himself another red-eye flight back home, and he already felt as though he could curl up and sleep for a fortnight after the day he had with America. Lord, maybe he was getting old.
"Make sure you take your medications, and don't forget to wear your brace. Oh, and you'll need to go to your follow-up appointment in a week. And don't forget to take it easy. That means no rough-housing and whatever other reckless activities you usually do until you fully heal," England said, standing at the boarding gate to his flight.
"Okay dad," America rolled his eyes as he hugged the older nation goodbye. "I need to get to my taxi before it leaves me. Since you won't let me drive Lizzy."
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay for a few days? It's really no trouble…" England asked, ignoring America's previous statement. He couldn't shake his blasted parental worry for the yank.
"Nah dude. I already told you I've dealt with a broken collarbone before. I'll be fine. I'll just bug Mattie until I'm all healed up," America reassured.
"Alright then… you know my number if you need me."
"Yup. Besides… I'll be seein' you in two weeks. Be prepared to have your socks thoroughly rocked." America said cryptically, before smiling and walking away with a wave. England watched after him in confusion. There wasn't a meeting anytime soon, so that could only mean…
England sighed and turned to board the plane. He was going to need these next two weeks to recharge and prepare himself for whatever America had planned for him next, and honestly, England couldn't wait.
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Wowzers. I literally wrote this almost a year ago. I was going through my documents today, saw the title of this one, said "The hell is this?", opened it, and was re-struck with inspiration as I read through it. And thus, I finally finished it and decided to upload it on here. My first physically typed out fanfiction that I actually completed. And it's way longer than I originally intended. I'm impressed with myself.
I apologize if anyone got irritated with all my headcanons that are littered in this story. Ehn. Yeah I always figured Alfred would probably be one of those reckless people who always gets hurt all the time, as well as one of those nerds who obsess over their vehicles. (I am one of those nerds btw. I chose for him to have a red Camaro cause have you seen one? They're super sexy.)
Anyways. Thanks for reading!