A/N: I think time passes differently for nations: a year might as well be a month, a week might be only a day. Who knows? Either way, that's just a headcanon.
Also, I apologize if there are a few inaccuracies as far as the timeline and mentions of explorers go. I'm going by what my school taught, but I know there are varying opinions among historians and such.
Without further ado, please enjoy the fluffy goodness of Chibi!America. Hooray for platonic shipping!
Innocent sky-blue eyes peeked through a thick green bush. "Little bunny, where are youuuuu?" called the little boy, pushing his way through the shrubbery.
His quarry, a rabbit, twitched its nose smugly and was about to bound away when a small hand descended on him and caught him by the furry white tail. The rabbit squeaked in alarm as it was dragged around to look the boy in the eye. Though strong, his grip wasn't painful, but almost gentle.
"Gotcha!" he exclaimed, and cuddled the rabbit in a hug. Its squirming attempts to escape were futile, until a noise distracted the boy.
"America!"
The rabbit scampered away as America ran to greet another little boy. It was his brother, Canada. The two were both just children, undiscovered personifications of the unknown lands of North America. Technically, they had no real names yet, since they weren't even colonies, but both had picked out what they wanted to call each other.
Canada was about two feet tall, same as his brother. He had copper-blond hair, slightly darker than America's honey-blond. His eyes were indigo, in contrast to the other boy's pure blue ones.
"America!" he said again as the two met in the shade of a towering oak tree. "Foreigners have come again!"
America frowned, puzzled. "Again?"
"Remember when the Vikings came to my eastern coast?"
"Oh! Yeah, that. Are the Vikings back? Don't worry, Canada! I'll protect you."
Canada shook his head vigorously. "It's not Vikings this time. There's this man called John Cabot, and he says he's from across the ocean. A place called 'England'."
America's frown deepened. "There was another guy, too, about five months ago. He called himself, er...Christopher Columbus! That's it. He was sailing around the islands south of me, about five months ago."
Canada blinked. "You never told me about that."
"Sorry," America said guiltily. "Anyway, what are we going to do?"
"Cabot said he was going to return on a second voyage with his employer."
"Well, we have to stick together until then. I'll watch out for you."
Canada smiled and nodded. His brother had always liked to play the hero.
Months passed with no sign of more explorers, except for the ones constantly wandering south of America. The little blue-eyed boy spent his days chasing butterflies in the meadow, while Canada would sit under a tree and weave a flower crown for him. They both typically wore small, plain white nightgowns, made for them by the Native Americans that they met occasionally.
Canada watched in amusement as America went cross-eyed, trying to study the butterfly that had landed on his nose. The sun was setting in the west, its fiery glow tinting the meadow a reddish color that matched the monarch butterfly's wings. The winged insect flitted away, and America came to sit by his brother. The two put on their flower crowns, laughed, and eventually fell asleep curled up beneath the tree.
America awoke at dawn the next morning. Sleepily, he blinked and was about to snuggle back down beside his brother when something caught his eye. Carefully, he stood up, doing his best not to disturb Canada. After making sure that his brother was sleeping soundly, America tiptoed away, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes with the grubby back of his hand. In no time, the child was standing on the shore, sand shifting beneath his small bare feet. Squinting into the rising sun, he could make out the outline of a tall, four-masted ship. America sat down in the sand, waiting for the ship to come closer so he could get a better look at it. Unlike most other ships, it seemed to be coming straight for him, rather than around to the Caribbean islands.
By noon, the ship was much closer. Canada had joined America on the beach. The two brothers watched the ship intensely, not minding the salty ocean breeze that ruffled their hair. Not even a rabbit would distract America now.
The brothers could just make out a tall figure standing at the bow of the ship. Other shapes, crewmembers, rushed around attending the ship. Flying high atop the main mast, rippling in the wind, was a flag. It had a simple red cross on a white background.
It was nearing sundown when the ship anchored just off the coast. The brothers observed attentively as the tall figure from before, along with several others, climbed into the jollyboat. In no time, the boat was nearing the shore.
It was at this point that Canada, being much more fainthearted than his brother, lost his nerve. He fled into the forests, leaving bold America alone on the coast. The small boy stood proudly on his land as the jollyboat was beached. Blue eyes, looking deeper and darker in the fading light, fixed on the tall figure.
"What's your name, lad?" the man called loftily as he jumped fluidly out of the boat and onto the sand.
America balled his small fists, ready to fight. The man stopped walking when he was in front of the boy and looked down at him thoughtfully.
"Well, you don't have to tell me, I suppose. I'm England."
America found himself about level with the man's lower thigh, and frowned. He tipped his head back to get a better view of the man. England stood about 5'9", with forest-green eyes and thin, messy blond hair. He had especially dark and bushy eyebrows (they reminded America of caterpillars), arched under the fringe of his hair. He wore a scarlet tailcoat over a loose white shirt and grey trousers. There was a thick leather belt wrapped around his waist, and thrust through it was a cutlass with no sheathe. England wore an elaborate captain's hat, with plumy feathers that fell to the right side, almost all the way down to his chin.
"A-are you a pirate?" America tried to sound brave, but he couldn't keep the stammer out of his voice.
"Pirate?" England chuckled, considering it. "Mn, no, I wouldn't say that. Once upon a time, perhaps. I currently work in service to the King, as a privateer."
America tilted his head, confused. The man crouched down so that he was level with the boy.
"I suppose you're not familiar with such terms. His Majesty the King is a man who rules over political affairs. He deals with the leaders of other countries. I deal with the countries themselves, since I am the very spirit of England."
"I'm America!" the boy told the privateer, puffing out his chest proudly.
"Well, America, how would you like to become a colony?"
"A...colony? What's that?"
England smiled. He was already inexplicably fond of the boy. "A colony is a territory of a different country. The country that formed the colony, or colonized it, is responsible for the colony's welfare. This means that, if you became my colony, I would come to visit you and take care of you. When you're big enough, maybe I can take you to see the other nations."
America blinked. "O-okay, I guess!"
"Splendid. Now we just need to put it into writing."
"Writing? What's that?"
England stared at him incredulously. "Nobody ever taught you how to write, lad?"
America shook his head solemnly.
"Hm. We'll have to fix that." After a long pause, England said, "Are you hungry, America?"
America was about to say no, but his stomach interrupted him with a loud growl of complaint. He had only eaten a few strawberries today, and that had been much earlier in the morning. The new colony gave a sheepish smile, and England laughed. The nation turned and called an order to the men still sitting in the jollyboat. Soon enough, the boat was on its way back to the ship. While they waited for the men to return with food, England began to explain the land he came from, starting with a drawing in the sand. America listened intently and watched with wide eyes, taking in everything that the privateer said. It was so...so fascinating. He had hardly been aware there was a world beyond his and Canada's shores, previously. He didn't quite understand everything his colonist told him, but he grasped an impressive amount of it. By the time the men returned with supplies from the ship, America felt that he had a fairly accurate image of the British Isles.
The new colony's mouth watered as the men began to prepare the banquet. He had never seen such exotic foods; he had only ever shared meals with the Native Americans or gone foraging for himself. There were all kinds of new dishes brought by England, from scones to candy to salted meats. (He found the first item of the list mildly revolting.)
As they waited for the food to be prepared, England reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a long red ribbon. "Here, America. You can have this."
America took the ribbon gingerly and tipped his head to the side, examining it. "What is it?"
"It's a ribbon. You can wear it—here, let me help you put it on." England cautiously tied the ribbon just under the ruffled neck of America's nightgown. The child loosened it a little bit, then beamed with a grin as bright as the sun.
"I like it!"
England smiled, his heart unusually warmed at the sight. "I'm glad."
Later in the night, the nation and his colony sat by the toasty fire, watching the flames dance. America yawned widely and leaned against his new caretaker. England smiled as the little colony snuggled into him. He gently ran a hand through America's hair, sifting it like sand. For a moment, he tried to smooth the stubborn cowlick at the front of the child's hair, but eventually decided that it was a useless endeavor.
"I'm glad you're here, Engwand," America murmured sleepily.
"I'm glad I'm here, too," England replied softly. And he was. Although stumbling across this new land had been a mistake and a detour from the planned route to the riches of the Far East, it wasn't bad. Here he could explore uncharted land, but most of all, he'd be able to help a young nation grow and learn. Before long, he felt the child's breathing deepen and knew that he had gone to sleep. With extreme care, the nation laid his colony down on the grass near the edge of the sand. Then he removed his warm red coat and draped it over the little boy.
England sat and watched for a moment, vibrant green eyes flickering happily in the firelight. He wondered what had suddenly sparked all these tumbling thoughts and emotions, and realized it was something he hadn't felt for a very long time: the fanciful thing that was far more common in humans than in nations. Love. It didn't matter that he barely knew the boy yet. He did know that he would love this colony unconditionally, die a thousand times to keep him safe. Closing his now-watering eyes, he leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to the crown of the precious child's head.
"Good night, America. I love you."
A/N: I swear, I normally don't ship these two in such a platonic manner. But, even if you don't ship them, or if you just like to see their father-son relationship or whatever else, I hope you enjoyed the story. Reviews would be lovely!