A/N: Second Hetalia fic! :) This one... This is going to be an agnsty fic, just a heads up. It's cute in the beginning, but trust me, it WILL become sad and heart breaking. :*(
This is going to confuse some people. But Alfred is not America. Let me explain. This is about 500 years before America became, well, America. Before England even sailed over the Atlantic ocean. Alfred looks and acts exactly like Chibi America, BUT THEY ARE NOT THE SAME PEOPLE. At least not in this fic. It's somewhat-AU for that exact reason. I hope you understand, but if I had Alfred and America be the same person then it would screw up my plot.
INSPIRATION: [APH] Alfred and Matthew want a mom by AngelNicholson. A youtube video that nearly had me in tears. it basically fueled this first chapter. It was mainly ACE pics with the song "I want a mom" from Rugrats. :*(
DISCLAIMER: I wish I owned Hetalia. T.T
...
Will You Be There For Me
Meeting
"Ha-ha! Another victory for jolly old England, wouldn't you say?" The man wrinkled with age clasped his bony hands onto England's shoulder, shaking him roughly in a way of congrats.
"I'd agree, France is no match for me," England smirked, "The stupid romancer, if he spent less time on his hair and the ladies, and more time on the training grounds, then maybe he would've stood a chance!"
The other ten or so soldiers laughed loudly at this, all clasping shoulders and making small talk about the enemy country.
"England, the boy's and I are taking you out on a bit of an… outing. You wouldn't mind, would you?" The captain of one of his squads asked.
"I don't see why I can't tag along, friends." England's eyebrows scrunched together. Once more laughter rang out, and England noticed something out of the corner of his eye… Was that…
Was that a child? A boy? He looked to be no older than five, maybe six years of age. He was hunched over something…
England didn't realize he'd stopped and was staring down the long alley until one of the soldiers asked why he'd stopped.
"Oh, it's nothing. I just saw… A strangely large rat." He quickly lied, glancing at the child once more before continuing his walk.
"…-Come on you horse ass, can't you even fight?" England roared, the veins in his neck pulsing and his bare chest glistening with sweat. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, wincing when he brushed against his bruised eye.
"Bloody hell I can! You scum!" England felt a hard punch to his gut, and everything in him and around him seemed to freeze, until the droplets of blood were spit from his mouth.
His legs shook, and for a moment the crowd suspected he would go down, probably regretting choosing him for their bets. He too thought his leg's would give out, but instead they came in contact with the man's vital regions, and his opponent was lying on the ground in front of him.
He didn't stop to collect money from people who'd bet on him, he didn't even stop to think about how low he'd stooped to hit a man in his genitals, he simply grabbed his shirt and walked out of the arena.
He figured his body suffered enough abuse for one day.
Whilst walking back from the club, or bar, or area from which he was dragged to, he stopped dead in his tracks, remembering the boy.
Was it his business to find the boy? He could just leave him to his own affairs but… Something in his gut told him that he needed to find the boy.
It was odd… He'd never felt this strong impulse to help a little one, and he swore if his thoughts weren't racing by so fast his mind would've suggested it was parental instinct.
He couldn't help but snort. Him? With a child? The irony of it was almost to much. He was the United Kingdom! Great Britain! And he certainly wouldn't be known as the ruler of a country where toddler children crawled to and fro, screaming and yelling around his throne.
Yet… The thought didn't stop him from running back up the street, glancing into each alleyway to find if the boy way there. And when he wasn't spotted, he ran back down and further, looking for him.
And just when he thought the boy was gone, he saw the tiny slouched over figure, shaking in the cold December winds.
He hesitated, before taking loud steps to show the boy his presence and so he wouldn't be alarmed at his sudden appearance.
"Are you alright, chap?" He asked softly, kneeling down about three feet from the boy.
The boy froze, and turned to glare with blue hues, his chubby face glaring at him. "Why don't you run off and bother someone else, you big ugly dope." He said.
"Why-" He was cut off by the boy whimpering and standing up to face him. England's anger changed into a softening, sympathetic look. "Are you alright? Your hurt."
"No, really?" He scowled. "If you're here to make fun of me, go ahead and try. It doesn't bother me anymore, I've heard them all. But just you wait, as soon as my mom wakes up, she'll kick your butt into next Tuesday!"
England glanced down at the person covered with a wool blanket. It was a woman, who looked around the age of twenty-five. She wasn't moving, England could tell, and realization slapped him in the face.
"Child, what's your name?" He diverted the subject. The boy's eyes lit up, and he puffed his chest out in a seemingly "manly" way.
"My name is Alfred! Alfred Jones and don't you forget it! Y'see, because when Daddy left, he told me I better say my name proudly and never back down from a fight. This way I'll be able to take care of Mama, and no one'll pick on me." He smiled, showing off his baby teeth.
England cracked a small smile back.
"And where's your father, Alfred?"
"Um…" Alfred's eyes cast downwards. "He's… He's on a secret mission! Yeah, it's real dangerous, and he said he wouldn't be home for a really long while. Mama was really sad about it to, but that didn't stop Daddy from leaving, cause he has his duties you know?"
England sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. A child who's mother had died in the streets, a father who'd left them to fend for themselves, and he had no clue how to survive… He'd probably die throughout the winter.
But he couldn't take care of a child! Women took care of the children until they were old enough to be men! But he couldn't leave young Alfred alone…
When did he become so sentimental?
"Say, Alfred, how would you like to stay with me until your mother wakes up and your father comes home?" England asked.
"Huh? Really mister?" Alfred's eyes lit up noticeably.
"Yes, really."
"What's your name?" Alfred asked.
"Huh?"
"I asked your name. I never got it."
"Oh…" England paused. "Well, how about you call me Britain?" Alfred smiled at this.
"Alright, let's go! Onward to Britain's house!" Alfred began to march, and England began to follow.
"Wait! Aren't you gunna carry my Mama?" Alfred stopped him. England's heart sank. He couldn't tell Alfred the truth, but he couldn't carry a dead body! He lived nearly fifteen miles away!
"It's really rude to leave her sleeping there by herself. She'll wake up soon. Plus, you're the bigger one, but only by a little bit, so you gotta carry her." Alred crossed his chubby arms over his chest.
England sighed, ran more hands through his hair, then spoke. "I suppose your right."
He knelt down beside the "sleeping" woman, and said a silent prayer before picking her up.
Only fifteen or so miles… He'd be fine…
He'd be fine for the walk, but he would have nightmares of the stone cold arms and legs wrapping around his body from behind for a long while…
