Mummsy's Here

WARNING: Chibirisu cuteness and Fluff. Slight use of human names as well.

Just an idea I've had for a while, I hardly see many fanfictions that feature England's mum so I felt that I should make this little story. I apologise if any of the characters are OOC as this is my first ever Hetalia fanfic, I also apologise if any Scottish vocab I use is wrong. Enjoy and review please :3

I do not own Hetalia or its characters, they belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. I only own this version of Britannia.

Harsh footsteps echoed through the empty, dimly lit halls. England trudged the hallways of his home, his hands balled into tight fists and a scowl plastered across his face.

"Bloody wankers, what gives them the right to talk to me like that? I'm the United bloody Kingdom!" He seethed. He rounded another corner and marched to the door at the end of the hall which lead to his private study. He opened the door and slammed it behind him, clicking into place with a resounding 'bang!'. The blonde stared at the floor in an unblinking gaze. The reason why the British man was so angry was because he had an unexpected and unwanted visit from his brothers. Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales found themselves comfortable places in their little brother's living room, right then England didn't want to deal with his older siblings since he was feeling sick due to a current recession.

He tried to politely ask his brothers to leave but they wouldn't budge, saying that they wanted to make sure their baby brother was okay. 'Bollocks' he thought, he could tell the patronising tone in their reason for being in his house. He asked for them to leave again more sternly but the result was the same. His temper slowly rose, England stood from his seat to order for a third time for them to get out throwing one or two swear words at them and telling them that they shouldn't be on his land. This got a reaction from them but not the one he wanted. Instead the older three stood and started to curse back at him, the whole thing escalating into a massive argument. It stopped when words that hurt the English nation were said. He could still hear them reverberating in his mind.

'Yer a worthless excuse for a country.' 'Everybody hates you.' 'Ye have no friends.' 'Ye dinna deserve tae be the leader o the island.' They said. Only when England bellowed 'GET OUT!' did the Scot, Irishman and Welshman finally leave him to have some sort of tranquility. He scrunched his face in a frown, a throbbing headache coming on and the words slowly bringing back memories from centuries ago.

"It's not my fault that bad events happened to some of the other countries." he said aloud. Sure he was the cold loner of the world and he didn't have many friends but that's only because he was forced to become like that, the way he is now. As more memories of when he was a child and more when he was a pirate his fists clenched tighter, nails biting into the skin of his palm, drawing the tiniest drops of blood. Him by himself in a dense forest, his little black cloak hiding him as he slinked through the shadows, firing arrows at enemy invaders for a swift and silent death. The visages of flaming ships on the open seas flashed before him, the echoing booms of cannon fire filled his ears along with the screams of pirates unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast or worse, thrown overboard and dragged down to Davey Jones' Locker. Amongst the smoking wreckage were a few lucky survivors clinging to life on stray broken pieces of their former ships, one of them he instantly recognised. A man with curly chocolate-brown hair and vibrant green eyes filled with hate, spitting curses at him in Spanish. The Englishman remembers the words he boasted to the Spaniard.

"Hah ha ha! So Spain, now you know what happens when you mess with my pirates! We will annihilate you!"

The defeat of the Spanish Armada and sending the normally cheerful country into poverty was what caused the hatred Spain had for England. It was the same for all the other countries the island nation had pillaged during his seafaring days, each of them loathing him for damaging their land, not only that, but also for slaughtering innocents and causing nations to sink into economic crises. It wasn't entirely his fault, it was his boss' fault. He was just carrying out his king's orders and ended up bearing the personally brunt of hatred from his enemies while his boss sat around eating and reproducing.

During those times, his pirate blood pumped with the thrill of pillaging and plundering.. but now he felt the opposite, the thrill rush still fills him even now yet he pushes it away, disgusted that a part of him still lusts for ruling the seven seas again.

"No! I'm a gentleman now, I have been for centuries and gentlemen don't do ghastly things like that." England berated himself. After calming down somewhat, he moved to his cushioned wooden chair behind his desk, he hissed at the stings in both palms when he pulled the chair out to take a seat.

Green pools gazed at the small, red crescents in his hands. Trickles of blood soon stopped flowing but the pulsing around them was still there. Of all the hurtful things his brothers said to him just minutes ago, a particular one from Scotland struck him through his being.

'Ye wull ne'er be loved by aebody. Ye tried tae tak care o yer colonies but ye failed every time.' Every single one of those words were laced with spite, and Scotland knew that it would affect him.

"Bastard, what does he know? He's never had to go through what I have. They don't have countries outside the island who hate them." England ranted. Another wave of memories came, this time good. They were of a little blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy in white baptism robes with a red ribbon tied around the front of his neck. That bit of hair that stuck up from the rest and eyes filled with innocence. A baby America. The Brit smiled as he reminisced on the days he spent with his new colony; cooking for him, singing him to sleep and even showing him the fairies. Those were one of the best years of his life until he visited the child one day to find that he was now an almost fully grown man.

That's when more bad memories came. Tensions rising within the colony, America wanted independence but England wouldn't allow it. Soon enough it became war, known as the American Revolution. So much blood was shed and the final confrontation was as clear as day in his mind. England and his 'little brother' holding each other at gunpoint, the rain pouring down on them in the middle of the battlefield. The older nation would have fired the shot but he couldn't because he didn't see America as the strong and determined person he was at that moment, but as the tiny child who looked up to him and loved being around him. That's when he broke, surrendering and allowing the young nation to become independent. That day caused a rift between them that could never be fully healed, it would take far too long for that to happen.

England's previous expression of anger became one of sadness. He knew the truth of his brothers' words, he's forever been alone, hated by everyone and loved by no one. A tight coil in his chest tightened around his heart like a serpent, the emotional pain was setting in.

"It's true, I am worthless. Nobody hardly cares about me anymore, I'm a murderer, I'm lonely and that's how I'll die. Alone..." The haunting voices of every country he'd hurt began to speaking, blaming him for the terrible events that happened to them and spiting him, some in their native tongues.

'¡Usted sacrificado mi pueblo!'

'Why did you burn her? Pourquoi avez-vous tué Jeanne?!'

'You used to be so.. great.'

'Ye controlling little wretch, ye cannae keep us dependent fore'er.'

He grabbed his head as felt it spinning, the voices getting louder and louder and a nauseous feeling churning in his stomach. His eyes closed shut as a pained looked crossed his face. Whispering left his lips, inaudible at first but gradually increased in volume and desperation.

"Stop it, please... Stop it. Stop it. Stop it! STOP IT!" He pleaded, the voice getting louder, swarming in his mind like a hive of angry bees. His body tensed, wanting to lash out at something. Anything. Just to make the voices go away.

'Arthur.' A new voice called. It was undoubtedly female and whoever it belonged to, it was able to quell the verbal storm. When England heard the voice his rich green orbs opened again, this time they held a calmer feeling. Eyes darted around the study as hands steadily fell from his head to the desk. Seeing no one else apart from him in the room, he then realised that the voice was in his head and it was very familiar. It called again. 'Arthur.'

His eyes widened a little upon recognising who it belonged to. More memories started to resurface, this time from further back. To when he was but a young child and when he and his brothers lived together at one point, under the care of a woman who looked very much like England except her hair was longer, to her lower back and she wore a long blue, short-sleeve dress with a brown satchel and holster around her waist and she wore a pair of leather, Celtic boots. She was also like him in personality, cold and hostile to others but inside she had a softer side. This was none other than Britannia, mother of the British Isles or as the youngest of the brothers called her, 'Mummsy'.

One particular memory that he clearly recalled was when Britannia had left Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland to watch him while she went shopping, well, what could be called shopping during the rule of Ancient Rome.

The older three weren't doing exactly as they were told seeing as they were more preoccupied with making more arrows and talking with each other. While his brothers were busy, little England thought up an idea, his big green eyes sparkling with cheer and determination. He glanced over his shoulder to check his siblings weren't watching, which they weren't, and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head then ventured into the woods. He looked high and low for his target but couldn't find it anywhere so he asked the fairies within the trees to help him find it. After what seemed like an eternity, England and the fairies found what he'd been searching for with a little guidance from an elder tree sprite. A victorious smile graced his face and he quickly got to work.

After finishing his goal he began to make his way back to where Scotland and the others were, but the only problem the boy had was that he felt as though someone was watching him. He didn't bring his bow and arrows with him so he had to hurry back to his brothers. His pace quickened, his little legs carrying him as fast as they could. As he was about turn at the next tree, something whizzed by his head, skimming his shaggy, blonde locks and embedding itself into a nearby trunk. An arrow.

England's eyes widened at the weapon that would've nearly killed him then snapped his head around to try to see where it came from. Out from behind several trees came a group of men, each one holding a weapon, a couple had bows and arrows while others held daggers. From what England could hear from his position, they certainly didn't speak English or Latin, they must be foreign invaders. Regardless, they were dangerous all the same and England knew it. As the older men advanced to closed in on him, the toddler nation turned and fled, his little heart beating overtime from the mix of adrenaline and fear. The child ran in a ragged path, zigzagging in and out of the trees with fervor, breaths coming out as short, quick, labored pants. He could hear angry shouts behind him along with light 'thunks' of arrows hitting the trunks and ground beneath his feet.

In the middle of one of his steps, the boy's foot got caught on a tree root rising from the dirt causing him to fall and tumble down a hill, a yelp of surprise was followed by a series of grunts as he rolled to the bottom. His world spun as he came to a stop at a nearby rock, slowly propping up on his arms as everything went back to standing still. Green eyes gazed up to see that the chasers had finally caught up to him and were drawing closer with each step. England hastily backed away only to be stopped by the large rock behind him. He would've turned to run around the rock but the other men in the group flanked him, cutting off any escape route. He was trapped. Trapped and no one was there to save him. The leader of the group approached, drawing a dagger from a holster around his worn tunic, the sharpened metal glinted in the sunlight seeping through the leaves. The child's eyes widened as tears began welling up, he gripped the secret item tighter in his little fists and held it close to his chest as if it were a lifeline. He closed his eyes tight with his tears falling down his face as he saw the man raise the weapon, he ducked his head to his chest and brought his knees up see he was a tight ball.

"M.. Mu... MUMMSY!" England cried as loud as he could, hoping for her to hear him. A swift swoosh and the sound of skin being pierced sounded silently in the forest. The earlier sounds were followed by a thud, something heavy falling to the ground and multiple outraged and confused yells followed. The same sound sequences repeated six times before silence fell.

Cracking an eye open, the young blonde gasped in shock as he stared at the sight before him. All the men who had chased him now laid sprawled on the grass-covered ground. Arrows sticking out their bodies as blood slowly seeped into their clothes in small puddles, none moved an inch, not even the rising and falling of their chests could be seen. The lad couldn't even begin to process what just happened, he just snapped his head to the side when he heard rustling of grass beside him. Upon seeing the familiar blue dress he knew who had just saved him and was overjoyed to see her. The woman, however, did not look in the slightest bit pleased, her features contorted into anger, fear and worry. She fell to her knees and gripped her son's shoulders firmly.

"Arthur, why did you come out here? You know there are invaders out here, why didn't you stay with your brothers? You had me worried sick! Do you realise what would've happened if I didn't get here in time?!" She questioned, her voice raising with each sentence angered but laced with worry. England's face turned from blank confusion into a look of sadness, tears fell as he leapt into Britannia's arms wrapping as much of his arms around her neck while sobbing into her shoulder. Although the older nation was furious, she did what any mother would do with her crying child, soothed him by rubbing his back accompanied by "Shh, it's okay, Mummsy's here."

Once England had calmed down somewhat he wiped away his tears and looked up at her with a flushed face and eyes still a little watery. He held up the object he had retrieved from further in the forest; a green, prism-shaped crystal with brown strong expertly tied around the top so that it didn't slip. Britannia's expression was one of surprise and awe, the crystal looked so beautiful especially when the odd ray of sunshine reflected off it.

"I-I wanted t-to *sniffle* make you a present so.. I asked the fairies to help me and a tree sprite told me where I could find these crystals. H-He said that they give protection and promise a long life to people who wear it." England explained. "And it matches your eyes, Mummsy!" Britannia was lost for words. Her son went through all that trouble and nearly got killed so he could give her a present? Laughter flowed from her lips making little England confused.

"You silly sod!" She laughed. "You didn't have to do something like this for me." She ruffled his hair and he suddenly found the grass more interesting as his caterpillars furrowed and his face flushed red again this time from embarrassment but was glad to receive his mother's attention. She lifted him so he sat comfortably in her arms and gently pried the necklace from his hands, Britannia looped the string around her neck so the handmade accessory rested on her chest. "But I love it and I love you. Thank you, my little Arthur." Britannia thanked and kissed his forehead, this made England giggle cutely and he returned the kiss to her cheek.

"I love you too, Mummsy." After their family moment, mother and son walked back to where the other British Isle nations were. Britannia subtly cracked her knuckles with an almost evil smirk. As the two approached the edge of the forest, Scotland, Wales and Northern Island had shivers running up their spines, having the ominous feeling that they were in trouble.

It was times like those that England was grateful to have a parent like Britannia to take care of him. She was the only one who loved him more than the world itself, but when she died he lost that love. When she was gone, England felt as though his heart was ripped in two, he was heartbroken. Despite not getting along with his brothers he tried to go to them for solace but each time he tried to enter their land, the older isle nations would drive him away aggressively, firing arrows and throwing stones at the child. And each time, England would return to his homeland in tears. It wasn't long after that he realised that if nobody would be there for him then he could only be there for himself, he had to become strong and independent, able to take care of himself without Britannia.

England's eyes were downcast, staring at the top of the wooden desk. "Maybe that's why I'm cold to everyone, because I was forced to become like this... because of them." He thought bitterly, blaming the other countries around him. He then began wondering that maybe if his mother was still alive he'd be a different person, not so hostile and more friendly, then maybe he wouldn't have so many people against him. A familiar empty, heart-wrenching feeling gripped tightened in his chest, the same feeling that he experienced when Britannia passed away.

"I..I wish she was still here." England muttered sorrowfully, burying his face into his arms. He slowly shut his eyes, his ordeal with his brothers, revisiting his bad memories and illness taking their toll on him. Fatigue took over, making the island nation sleepy with the image of his parent in his mind.

England dreamt and dream, where he was in a vast, sunlit forest. His surroundings seemed bigger than usual, only realising that he was now a child when he looked down at himself. He was dressed in his old white tunic and black cloak from centuries ago. A high-pitched giggle filled the air, he looked around and spotted his old friend Flying Mint Bunny fluttering around and waving at him from a few feet away.

A joyful smile reserved only for his magical friends appeared and he ran after her, in response, she flew further through the trees then eventually came to a small clearing where she stopped. England stopped the chase once he saw whose shoulder she was sitting on. A person he recognised all too well, and who still looked as young as she was all those years ago. It was Britannia.

Naturally, the Englishman was delighted to see her after so long and was quick to greet her. They made up for lost time with England bragging to his mum about all the battles he won (sometimes leaving out details of other countries helping him), what new countries he'd colonised and so forth. After the interesting exchange, they decided to have a little walk through the forest. The walk was at a slow, relaxed pace and all was quiet... yet something had plagued England's mind along the way, a question that he wanted to ask her when she was still alive.

"Mummsy?" England asked looking up to Britannia. She stared back down at him with a soft look, silently allowing him to speak. "Why did I have to be born a country?" He asked forlornly. The woman's thick brows turned downwards in a sad frown, a deep sigh escaping past her lips. She led her son through the forest in a straight line, holding his hand gently.

"It's just the way it is, nobody can help how they are born. Everything birthed into this world has a purpose, some are destined for greatness, some to make another happy. For us, we are to represent our land." Britannia explained.

"But why couldn't we be normal humans? At least then we wouldn't have armies attacking us." England replied quickly. The two left the border of the forest and arrived at a wide open field filled with beautiful white flowers, England glanced around awe-struck with his mouth agape. They walked further into the field with fairies fluttering around them, most giggling and cooing over how cute England looked.

"Like I said, we can't help what we're born as and no one can change that. Even if we were normal humans, we would end up dying in or because of armies anyway. Regardless, it will end up the same way, someone will end up losing another who's precious to them."

"But no one loves me, especially Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland! The other countries hate me because of what I've done to their lands and people!" England cried indignantly, his eyes brimming a little with tears. They stopped walking when Britannia looked down at England with a frown, one mixed with anger and scolding. The Brit flinched a little at her gaze and cast his eyes down to the flowers beneath him. "I'm sorry, Mummsy, but it's true. Almost everyone hates me because of me, it's my fault.. it's all my fault."

Her identical green pools looked skyward before she sat among the flowers then she gently pulled her son into her lap.

"Listen Arthur, there are a lot of bad decisions we make in this world that we can't change, no matter how much you regret have to keep being strong, even if it seems like your world is crumbling around you sometimes." Britannia said. England nodded his head in understanding, glancing at the gem that still hung around her neck.

"And you do have friends and family who care about you.. even if some of them are gits and don't want to admit it." Her last comment made England laugh a little, Britannia's arms around him tightened as she stroked the blonde hairs on his head.

The gesture of affection relaxed the Briton and he closed his eyes, enjoying the calm silence and the beat of his mother's heart. "Just remember, if you're ever in trouble then reach out to someone- anyone, because you never know who might take your hand and help." the blonde woman said soothingly. "Arthur, never forget all that I've done for you and your brothers. Don't throw away all that I've taught you, and most importantly, always remember..."

Soft moonlight peeked over the dark clouds and through the window into the study. England still slept at his desk dreaming, his arms acting as a pillow, a small whimper almost so quiet that even a mouse wouldn't have been able to hear it came from the Englishman. From the opposite side of the room, a figure stepped out from the shadows and sauntered towards the sleeping man. A delicate hand reached out once in close enough distance, white skin almost glowing in the moonlight as it bridged the gap, fingers weaving through the shaggy locks.

The whimpers stopped almost immediately, tears leaked through closed eyelids as he leaned closer into the touch. A smile graced the other person's face and the figure leaned down so both foreheads touched.

"...Mummsy's here."

Well, there's my first ever Hetalia fanfiction. I know I might've been a bit lazy with dialogue but I really wanted to get this one done :P I chose to do one for England first because he's in my top ten favourite Hetalia characters and I was born, raised and live in England so it was also out of respect :)

22 days til Christmas and hopefully I can post a new fanfics and chapters everyday during the countdown so expect more from me this year ;P

Hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!