A/N: I constantly tell people I don't like angst... But I totally write it. X3 This was a little idea that popped into my head at random-I had to get it out. Hope it's at least decent! (Also, the next chapter for Falling Apart is in the process of being complete to anyone following that~)
America began to cry.
It was a piercing wail that had England running immediately to the young boy's bedside only to find the smaller body quivering in his bed, head buried in his arms while he let out a heart-wrenching sob that rocked his whole body.
"America, America, what on earth is wrong?" England asked with worry etched across his face. He kneeled on top of the bed to wrap his arms around America so his colony could find comfort in England's warm embrace. America responded immediately and lunged so his head would rest instead in England's sweater where he continued to cry.
"It-It-it huuuurts!" he screeched.
Worried for the child's safety, England peeled him off his body and turned America's tear stained face from side to side to view any possible wounds. "Where? What hurts, lad?"
America sniffed and pointed pathetically at his heart. "Everywhere. But mostly here."
England paused as he began taking in this information. Ah, of course. It had been a while since he, himself felt that sort of pain. He almost forgot all about it. "Oh, yes. I see..." he said thoughtfully.
"England! England it hurts! Make it stop!" America continued to wail and proceeded to throw himself around England in a bone crushing hug.
The older nation coughed and forcefully removed himself from his little brother. He was always so surprised by America's strength. "I'm afraid I can't, America."
"But-but why! Can't you do anything?"
England couldn't help but smile a bit at America's enthusiasm towards him. "Heh, oh I wish that was true." He tugged young America so the child was sitting in his lap and ran his fingers through his colony's honey hair soothingly. "It's fighting, America. Our-Your people are fighting. That's what the pain is."
America wiped at his leaking nose with the back of his arm as he made a pathetic sniffling. "But I've never hurt this much before!"
True, the settlers were peaceful people. None of them seemed to care much for conflict but obviously, being human has its downside. There was bound to be some kind of trouble brewing sooner or later-especially with those Indians running amok. However, neither of them would know the true cause of Little America's pain until later though. For now, England could only coo gentle words of comfort. "It happens to all of us, America, eventually. You'll get used to it soon enough..."
"I don't want to get used to it," America whined. The quivering of his body had subsided and his tears dwindled into soft sniffling.
England snorted but remained silent. As usual, America was just being his stubborn self. "It'll be alright, America. I'll try to keep the pain away."
"America...?" England swore he heard whimpering in the other room where the young man was sleeping. England had just stepped in from dealing with France and all the Natives. It was such a headache lately; everyone was so tense.
"What is it?" came America's gruff reply through the door. Much to England's dismay, America was the worse of them all. Whenever England came to visit now, they were getting into more and more fights over some silly things. Alas, America was becoming a teenager and just as humans were, even colonies could be disruptive. It worried England though. He didn't want to lose his dear America.
England pressed his body against the door and spoke through it, hesitantly. "... I wanted to be sure you were alright."
There was silence before England heard faint ruffle of sheets and soon America opened the door to stand face to face with his care taker. England was sure he would never get used to America's growth spurt.
"It hurts, England," America sighed. The poor thing was hunched over with dark circles under his eyes and hair sticking out in all directions. His clothes were half on as if they were the cause of his awful aches that raked his body.
"I know, lad. I know." England allowed America's head to fall on his shoulder and the older man led him back onto the bed where they were able to sit together. America rested his head in England's lap while the latter hummed a small lullaby to quell the shaking of America's body.
"You said I'd get used to it," America whispered into the dreary darkness of the room.
"It takes time. Don't worry," England promised and smoothed out America's hair with his hand.
"England... Does it hurt for you too?"
"No," was his answer along with a shake of his head. "I've long since grown numb to the pain. The older you become the more constant it is. There will always be a numbness there. Eventually, you grow accustomed to it."
There was a shiver from America that was not caused by his soreness. "Ugh... That sounds awful."
England smiled sadly. "Yes, it does. But there's nothing we can do. Soon you won't feel anything. I promise."
Water spilled everywhere; especially down England's face where rain mixed with salty tears.
His red uniform was caked with mud that he now felt squished between his fingers and under his white clothed knees. A musket was lying on the ground before him that he recognized as his own but he refused to even look at it. Everything had suddenly gone all wrong. When had it gone wrong?
He didn't need to look up to know he was alone. A mud soaked hand reached up to wipe away the glistening streaks down his face that never ceased to spring from his eyes. England refused to gaze out into the open fields that were littered with soldier's wounded bodies.
He would not face what had happened.
The sight of the back of a painfully familiar blue coat descending away from him was too much to bare.
His voice was too hoarse to call out yet he had no strength to move. Finally, England lifted his face allowing his bangs to barely cover his glassy red eyes. In the distance England thought he could make out a figure turning around to watch him.
"America," he sobbed weakly, "it hurts..."