Fell Asleep with Stains
Staring down at the still body at the base of the tree, the little boy awes as sanguine liquid seeps out around the other child's head. Skittering down the branches and to the motionless boy, England prods the other's side. "Oi! Wake up!" he demands and when his command goes unheeded, the strawberry-blond kicks him, causing him to flop over. Peering down at the face oozing red, the young nation gazes into unfocused brown eyes of said face. "Are you going to get up or what?" he grumbles.
Again, there is no answer. Plopping down next to the other boy, England pays little mind to the red staining the hem of his frock. "C'mon," he mutters, "Even France can get up after falling from a tree." He waits there a while, he watches the sanguine-color coating the child's face turn to the color of rust and finally, past irritation, the strawberry blond jumps to his feet and screams, "Stop laying there! Get up!" When the boy refuses him a thrice time, England leaps upon him, pummeling his little fists into the blank-eyed youth's face. Slowly, as the other continues to lie still beneath him, his body unyielding to his treatments does the young nation come to a sudden realization.
"You're dead?" he questions, scrutinizing the unresponsive face. "You are," the strawberry-blond concludes; no one-not even an adult can remain so stoic in response to England's rages. It's a funny thing, he thinks, here he thought only the sick and old died, but now this belief has been proven wrong. Getting off the other child's body, England recalls what lead to the child's fateful fall.
England had been playing in the woods near his village's settlement, when he heard a neighing not far away. Curious, the boy crept through the foliage to come to a clearing; he nearly gasps at what he sees. A unicorn! How amazing he thinks as a grin comes to his face. England takes a step back and hurries back to the village. He needs to show someone! This is a treat worth sharing.
Coming to the village's edge, he sees the son of the chief. "Hey!" he calls, gesturing the smaller boy over from where he plays in the dirt. The brunette looks up at England's wild wriggling, he comes forth. Snagging the littler child's hand, he drags him towards the forest. "C'mon! I got to show you something," he explains gleefully.
The boy, digs his heals in the dirt when he sees where they are heading. "Nuh-uh, papa said not to go in the woods," he tells England.
The strawberry-blond tightens his hold on the boy, his grin even wider than a moment earlier. "Are you telling me 'no'?" he demands.
The boy's dirt-colored eyes glimmer with pain and he bites his lip. "No..." he finally whispers.
"I should hope not," England concludes, once again dragging the younger towards the trees. Leading him through the path he took only minutes earlier, England lifts himself on the pads of his toes to view the clearing; he smiles in relief when he sees the unicorn remains. Bumping shoulder's with the chief's son, he hisses, "There's a unicorn in the clearing!"
The boy's eyes take on an appearance of wonder. "Really?" he awes, straining on his toes and stretching his neck to see. "I don't see it," he pouts.
England stares at the child. Well, he is shorter, maybe if they climbed a tree? Yeah...that would get them both a better look. "Follow me!" he exclaims, leading the boy to a tree.
"It's really big," the child says, his hesitation obvious.
The young nation rolls his eyes. "Stop being a coward and get up there!" England commands. The chief's son knows to listen and soon, he's making his way up the tree on shaky limbs with the larger boy just behind him.
Once settled on a reasonably sturdy branch, England points to the horned horse grazing in the field. "See him?" he asks, pointing in its direction.
The younger boy shakes his head. "There's nothing there!" he cries.
"What?" The young nation scoffs, "It's right there! Are you blind now?" He glowers.
Upset, the littler child shakes his head. "No!" He snaps, "It's not! You're lying!"
Red filling his vision, England shoves him. "I'm not a liar!" he howls.
The other, though, pays him no attention because he's falling, falling face first towards the ground. He's too afraid to get out a sound and then, then he lands upon the ground with the sound of a crack. Looking back to the clearing, England sees the unicorn has fled. Crossing his arms, the strawberry-blond snarls, "You scared him away!" When he receives no reply, England looks down.
Gazing down at the dead boy - the boy he made dead, a wicked smirk takes over his face. He did this, he made this person dead when he has never succeeded in killing one of his fellow nations. It means something then, it means he's powerful - as powerful as one of the beings his people pray to. It comes to him quickly now, he does not age like his people, he does not sicken as they do, or hurt as they do; no, he's a different being all together. Not a god, no, he doesn't have the control that his people boast they have - the power to make crops grow, heal the sick, gift sons, inflict storms and destruction. But, he can do one thing, he can make them dead; what makes it even better, is that they cannot do the same.
Nodding his head to himself, England laughs. "I am powerful," he gloats. "I can make you dead." The chief's son does not say anything (not that the child expected him to at this point).
The bushes behind him rustle; head whipping around, he sees a woman and two men approaching. A gasp comes from the woman and the men avert their eyes briefly, glancing back to the mottled face of the dead youth. The small nation frowns. How dirty, how chaotic his face looks. "He's dead," England states.
"He is," one of the men agrees.
"What happened?" the woman asks, a tremor in her voice.
England smiles a little wistfully. "He fell from the tree," he explains, pointing up at it; "But, I didn't know he was dead then." Turning fully to the adults, England grins at them. "But, I do now."
He doesn't know the sight he looks. He doesn't know he looks like a changeling - or maybe the devil's spawn, with his bloodstained frock, inhuman blue eyes and sanguine freckles. It frightens the adults, but there is nothing they can do. He is an immortal creature, one they posses and cannot ever rid themselves of. So, with grim faces the men go to the chief's son and cradle him between them as the woman ushers England back to their camp; back to his tent where she coaxes him to rest.
"Sleep little child," she whispers.
Still smiling, the devil-child murmurs uncaringly, "I want to do it again." Eyes drifting close, he sighs. "I want to make someone dead."
She stares transfixed as the inhuman boy exhales a breath of sleep and wonders with great horror, which of them shall be next.
(She prays it's not her).
This is my first attempt at a 2P!England fic, what do you think? Is it good? Do you think it meets the basic idea of what is accepted as 2P!England's personality? No? Is it bad? Or, if you want, I guess you can just look at it as a possibly OOC England; but, also, he's like a little kid in this and little kids are good at making misconceptions due to lack of background knowledge and experience. Any criticism, ideas, suggestions, corrections and comments are all welcome and appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read this and please review! :)