Okay, first of all, even though this is my first Hetalia fanfiction to submit, this is not the first Hetalia story I wrote for the site. I was earlier on working on a Hetalia mini series that was set to be released Thanksgiving weekend then picked back up on the start of the new year. However, I was having some difficulties completing it and with the fact that the new season is going to start around the end of January, I decided to release the story at the start of January. As for this story, I've actually written this story before for a school assignment, but now I'm going to submit it here, changing it up a bit by dividing it into three chapters/three phases. Just so you know, this story is also around the topic of the Disney song, Baby Mine. Well, that's that for now. Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia in any circumstance, but that hardly matters now! Hetalia for the win!

Baby of Mine

"Baby Mine... don't you cry. Baby mine... dry your eyes"

England's feet felt heavy with every step he took under the shadows of pine trees, an also unmistakable pit of hollowness welling up inside of him the farther he escaped life around him. England had had enough trouble in that single day, having to deal with more demands from his boss, unprofessional meetings from his air-headed and mostly peculiar Allies, and he grunted as he could tell a minor cold was sloshing in him. To put it simply, he needed to get away from it all, particularly from his teammates. They were teasing him again for his cooking, but they went farther by degrading the british man in general and being bruised up by France and America. Those idiots were the ones that got him the most, particularly since his relationship with them was rocky. England didn't like seeing it in the most vulnerable way, but whenever he had intense or ridiculous quarrels with those countries incorporated largely from his past, he felt like he would never be able to make peace with them. In a way, he liked how the system was, but in the past, he had secretly wanted to be France's friend and cherished America so much, as he was his charge. Now, things are just difficult with the two. So, England was taking a stroll through a secluded park to smooth things over, his secret hiding place being not too far where no nuisance could bother him. Despite the park being a labyrinth of tall hedges and shady spaces, England recognized the path well... It wasn't sad that he was all too familiar, he certainly didn't mind being lonely, but when confronted with times like those he went through, he sometimes wished for companionship.

England rounded a grassy brush corner and brightened up at the sight of his friendly, white painted bench, set off to the side for a view of swaying trees. He sauntered over and sat neatly, closing his eyes as the wind danced on his body. He also looked down, having a soft, starry-eyed watch as pebbles gathered and scattered by the wind's touch. It was all very nice, easy to distract, but he found that his mind continuously returned to the rudeness of his Allied members. It meant nothing, he noted to himself. The faces of France and America resurfaced in his head and he angrily shook it away. What care would he give for them now?!

England threw himself back on the bench to breathe. He started to notice when things calmed down the unnerving silence that his wonderful canopy delivered. He liked being alone sometimes, but this was not one of those times. He kind of wished in that moment for his magical friends, or as the other nations called them, his hallucinations to appear and comfort him, but it's not like some wave of a wand would summon them.

Suddenly, England recalled his ipod in his pocket and made no haste to take it out. He shoved in his earbuds and scrolled through the selection of songs. Nothing in particular was catching his eye, so eventually, he resorted to shuffling the system. First song that popped up was titled, "Baby Mine". The gentleman blushed mildly, bashfully swishing his head around incase anyone glimpsed that (ludicrous, though. He knew he was alone). I forgot I still had this song on here, nevertheless, he lowered his eyelids gingerly at the title. It was a precious song, one that his mum sung to him once or twice when he was a little child. One that he held near and dear to his heart ever since she passed away. I even adopted it as a lullaby for myself, he thought, feeling a bit silly. I remember we... I remember using that song once... for America. All of a sudden, England was blasted with nostalgia and wanted to go back to that time when he raised America. Back in that time, America was his life, the light of his eyes (France wasn't that important. He was still a jerk then). Aw, America...

Little Baby America's eyes widened in awake just as England set down his half-drinken cup of tea on a night stand, next to a room temperature bottle of milk. England almost felt a bit of annoyance as the little baby stared up at him with glimmering eyes. It was already 12:00 in the morning. He had been expecting the child to fall asleep by then! It was like no matter what England did, America had to observe.

The small child ruffled his balled hands through his hair tiredly, producing a sigh and smile from his watchful guardian. His fascinating and refreshing companionship sure made up for it, though. In that moment, it was around England's first day of taking care of America. He had arranged a neat little room for the young country to sleep in, complete with a blanketed crib and even a couple of stories to be read to. America loved the room instantly, and England loved being in the room with him. The gentleman could still hardly believe he won custody over America. The idea seemed unimaginable, especially since it all depended on how the tyke would view him. As seen now, America and England were going to live a nice life together.

England reclined back in his wooden rocking chair, taking in the enticing dimness of the room. At times, England would question if he could actually do the parenting. He knew the negative thought shouldn't loom over him, but France highlights the truth. The frenchman robbed England of his money and some parts of his land, so it was hard to bring a new life in being barely able to manage his own. Plus, France kept putting England down with his communicating past. It made him feel like he wouldn't be able to raise America, properly that is, but as he looked at the wide-eyed baby now, a peaceful feeling of reassurance blossomed in him.

America clapped his hands together lightly, snapping England from his thoughts, and demanded for some type of entertainment. England was extremely tired himself, but he complied to the child's want and pulled out a miniature stringed instrument from a drawer and began to strum a light rendition of Phantom of the Opera (as he knew that was America's favorite piece to listen to by England). America smiled and swayed with the song, surely feeling sleepy. England smirked as he thought he almost had a parenting skill down, but cracked a smile and giggle once and a while at the child's adorableness. Just as England neared the end of the song, America bobbed his little head slowly until he rested with a slow take of breath. That was England's cue to leave, so he carefully placed the instrument back and quietly tip-toed out of the room.

All of a sudden, America flickered open his eyelids and started to cry aloud. England hitched in his tracks and looked back at the kid. He was sitting in the middle of the room, his body rattling with cries and his tiny fists trying to rub away the tears. England instantly went on panic mode, as he was completely clueless. This was one of his first nights with a baby, so he was a little fuzzy with every aspect of taking care of one. However, England did mildly understand the logic of crying. England would constantly try to meet America's expectations, so when he cried, he would make sure to give him a drink, put him to rest, feed him (which he cried for... a lot), change him, and plainly nurture him. England filed through his mind of the things he did with America, bemused as he checked everything off. If he doesn't need to eat, or burp, or anything, then why is he crying?!

England fully turned around to examine America. His crying had grown louder, almost to the point of screaming, but he didn't adopt a tone of demanding. His baptismal robe draped around his frail body, his arms thrashed for his face, and his eyebrows arched in a downward curve of... England's eyes slowly grew wider, his child's cry being the only thing ringing in his thoughts. America was crying... because he was sad. Actually sad. England had never heard a cry like his, one that displayed true emotion. He almost broke down himself, but how could he? He dropped his shoulders as if it was his fault, but then started wondering why the small colony was upset in the first place. It didn't take agonizingly long for things to click. That night was going to be the last night England would see America for a long while. He had made deals with other countries to watch over America, since he needed to build back up into a powerful nation. America must have heard of the troubling news and carried the burden around like a favorite blanket (being as he is so smart).

So, there England stood now, his throat throbbing for a cry as America appeared more and more distressed. "No, America, don't worry, it's not-" the baby squinted through his tears, but could only imagine not seeing his guardian figure taking care of him. England rushed closer, but could only gaze at him in helpless confusion after attempting different methods of negotiation (I suppose he's not that smart...) and getting only wails and rubbing eyes. What do I do? He had no one to contact in the late hours- not to forget it may also risk him of losing the potential power- and no idea what to act on. He was truly on his own.

"America," all of a sudden, England's lullaby popped into his head. His sweet one from his mother that briefly brought moments of his past. Even though he hadn't heard the song in so, so long, it remarkably played faintly in his head. He had never practiced the song aloud and he didn't really know if it would help, but he bit his lip to trap hesitation back. He blinked away tears as he dipped down to his knees, inches from America. Slowly and gingerly, he leaned down with a light breath to America's fleshy, pink-tinted nose, eventually brushing his hair to the breaking child's forehead, and sang softly, "Baby mine... don't you cry. Baby mine... dry your eyes."

The tiny colony slowed his fierce crying to an unsteady breathing, blinking through his bleary eyes, but keeping a saddened face. England felt doleful looking into his watery-stained eyes. A child as young as he should never experience an extreme change such as this. It did, however, reveal the painful truth that the two would have to endure from now on when they would have to part ways. It was sorrowful, but one that shouldn't have come across a child who has possibly never had a guardian to love until now.

England waited a moment for the lyric to soak in, for the two of them to ease down in reality, before he scooped America in his arms and cradled him to his vested chest. "Rest your head, close to my heart, never to part... baby of mine," the lyrics escaped like a breath and America gradually ceased his crying. He blinked up at England and he chuckled softly, resuming his singing. His little lips tugged a smile finally and he yawned, nestling his head deeper into England's sweater vest.

His mother's song drifted to a whisper from his lips when he forgot the rest of the words, and he simply cradled America to sleep. This time, England waited longer, steadying his rocking to be sure America was asleep. He observed as his little stomach rose up and down and light breathing escaped his parted lips. England smiled. All... was good. Maybe I can parent the kid... look what I've done here. I had no idea what to do, yet I have prevailed. The more England looked down at America, the more conflicting thoughts popped in his head. He wanted to believe everything would be fine from there, but the nagging thoughts of criticism would always come back to bite him. Other countries had bullied him for the way he acted, particularly due to his background, like how could he prove to raise another?!

As England silently rose to his feet and carefully minded America's head as he set him down in his crib, he crept to the door, leaning on the frame to think. Tonight, America just proved why I can take care of him. He showed me he loved me, and I was able to put him to peace. Sure I may not have everything a baby would need to live a substantial life, but if I have so far cared for America greatly to the point of love... then I must be doing something right. No bother to listen to the naysayers, and although we may part for now, we both remember because of my mother's lullaby that no matter what comes between us, we will always have one another. The thought seemed bewildering to England, like it was it didn't make sense, shrouded in the future. In his defense, he was incredibly tired and he did feel conflicted about the whole night, but he did feel a warm smile bloom, a feeling of goodness saying all would be okay for the two.

He still received trouble then on.

"Rest your head, close to my heart, never to part... baby of mine."

Okay that's the end of the first chapter! Did you like it!? Sorry if it seemed kind of confusing in the end, I have very jumbled up and unsure feelings about this particular story (since it's filled and will be filled with a lot of emotions). My mind was scattering all over the place because I added France's part of bothering England, as he will show up later. France and America do come in and out in this story, but what you need to understand is, this story mostly revolves around England and America's relationship with one another and how it used to be and why it's tough. Sorry if I can't properly portray that, I tried my best (I think it did enough...). That's all for now. Next chapter will be up soon and please review if you would like.