The small boy had long since grown to the Briton's knee. He had discarded his toddler clothes, but despite his new attire still looked as small and fragile as ever. He now slept in his own bed across the hall, and during the day he was allowed to wonder off as he pleased for a considerable period of time.

Yet there he was, standing in the doorway with his hands kneading the trimming of his nightshirt nervously. England sat up as the boy called his name a second time. It was hard to tell in the dark that he was trembling, but when another crack of thunder boomed and light illuminated the room, Arthur could see the troubled look in his eye at a distance.

"America, what's wrong?" All numbing senses of sleepiness had melted away as his parental instincts had heightened his awareness.

The boy in the doorway just stared with wide pleasing eyes as he kneaded the fabric of his pajamas in his quivering hands a bit longer. The heavy pitter-patter (more like pounding, it seemed) of the rain on the rooftops and rumble of dying thunder in the distance seemed to fill in for his silence. It was strange. The boy was usually quite brave.

Finally, the boy inhaled as if he were putting all his strength into his words, "England, I-"

Another ear-splitting boom sounded and the boy abandoned his words with a squeak and darted to the man. He was now kneeling at England's bedside, clutching Arthur's hand. His grip was shaky, but tight. The Briton's eyes widened.

"Um, I was wondering," The child began timidly, "Could I stay with you tonight?"

England wanted to sympathize. Really, he did. But how did he expect the boy to ever become a man if he kept giving in like this? It wasn't proper to allow a child his age to sleep in the same bed. One day England would need to entrust the colony with the ability to stand on his own two feet, without Arthur's constant watch.

Gently, he began, "Amercia, you're getting too old for this. You have your own bed now, and-"

Another loud crack of thunder almost made England himself shudder, but as the lighting again illuminated the room for a moment, he saw that the little colony was leaning in closer to him, and he now realized how tight the boy was squeezing his hand. His deep blue eyes, however, where wide with fear and anticipation for the next strike of terrifying thunder. Tears filled them, and they were fixed not on Arthur, but somewhere between him and the ground. Overall the poor child carried a look of absolute horror.

It was a look that sent a sharp stab through the man's chest and he immediately forgot whatever it was he had formulated in his head to tell the boy. With his free hand, he reached out and pulled the boy's head closer and rested his forehead atop the child's soft, golden hair for a moment. He could feel America trembling, still.

"Okay, okay." He said quietly. "It's alright. It's just thunder, it can't hurt you." As he half-expected, his words didn't seem to have much of a comforting effect on the child. "Alright." He breathed. "You can stay. Just this once."

He pulled his hand from the boy's grip and picked him up and placed him in the bed beside him. The small child immediately clung to him, crying now. England, at first not knowing what he should do, carefully wrapped his arms around the child and held him tightly. He wanted to softly hum something to the boy that might help to calm him, but his pride got in the way of that idea.

Thunder boomed. America clung tighter. Arthur wouldn't get much sleep that night, but that didn't bother him. Somehow, this was the best he'd felt in centuries. It felt good to finally be needed by someone. To have sole responsibility of something so small and fragile, something that couldn't possibly survive without his care and guidance. England never really had any friends. He was alone for a lot of his lifetime. It felt good to be wanted and loved by someone so unconditionally.

He was awakened from his thoughts as he felt the boy finally relax and fall silent. The trembling had died down, and he looked over to see that the boy was now fast asleep with even breaths. England smiled, seeing that the boy now finally felt safe enough to sleep. The Briton's shirt, though, was still clutched tightly in his arms.