When It's too Late
Everyone was acting like his predicament was so hilarious, but he himself couldn't find any amusement in it. England was a young teenager, just turned fourteen, he guessed. But if he were to judge himself in an optimistic light, he would say maybe on the cusp of fifteen. Only time would tell him exactly how old he really was, he supposed. England was shorter, having not yet hit the growth spurt garnered from Queen Victoria's reign. What he felt was the worst of it all, though, was the size of his hands. To most people such a thing would have been scoffed at. What did it matter what sizes your hands were compared to everything else? But it did matter! It mattered so much to him because these hands hadn't held the world in their palms – they just couldn't possibly have it!
They were boy-hands and boy-hands were little good for anything beyond grunt work. They couldn't command respect, lead a ship, or direct an army.
These hands couldn't rule.
He was so furious, he could cry. The worst part, England thought, was that he hadn't felt such an urge in years. Not during the War of Roses, or the Hundred Year war, definitely not in the midst of the World Wars and certainly not during the American Revolution!
But now England did and he just didn't know what to do with all this pent-up anger he felt thanks to his situation. Much to his luck, though, England was about to be given a target to release his fury upon in the form of one overly-giddy, amused America.
"Hey Iggy! How 'bout that meeting?" America snickered as he came up beside him and gave England's bony back a firm thwack.
England stumbled forward, cursing beneath his breath, "Bloody hell!"
America laughed. "Too much for ya, huh, Iggy?" he jabbed, still giggling beneath his breath.
His fury pushed into crimson-blinding rage, England snarled and before he knew what he was doing, he was laying into America with all the dirty, scrappy, underdog tactics he'd learned as a little boy. Tactics he'd picked from the times when he'd been under siege, accosted and assaulted by empires, wannabe-empires and his own contemporaries.
Beating into the other with the roars of the possessed, England had to be dragged off by not one - but two - separate nations. "Hey! Hey!" one yelled as the other just pulled and pulled. He didn't pay them much mind until he knew he was too far away to hit America and at that point, he went lax. But when they loosened their holds he-
"Whoa!" the other cried as they retightened their grip. "Calm down!"
England wasn't in the mood, but he could see refusing wasn't an option right now. So, instead, the young teenager slumped back with his full weight into the other and said, "Pardon me."
"Pardon you!?" one of them, Prussia, he realized, scoffed. "You just beat up America, vhat the fuck dude?"
Glancing to the albino man, England just shrugged in his borrowed, ill-fitting suit and brought his sore knuckles to his mouth to suck on.
"Are you okay England?" the guy holding him asked in little more than a whisper.
Scrunching his brows into a unibrow, England tilted his head back to get a good look at the nation who was holding him. It was America's brother, Canada. Smiling around his hand, he replied to the technically younger nation, "I'm alright now, lad."
Prussia snorted. "After decking America like that I'd think so! Nobody can still be so mad after they've fucked someone's face up!"
What the older said was just true enough to elicit a laugh from England as he pushed himself up on tired legs. "If you will excuse me, I need to go clean up," he told them.
"I'll come with," Canada insisted as England headed for the bathroom down the hall.
England shrugged. What else could he do after all?
Under the harsh light of the bathroom's fluorescent bulbs, England did his best to stare at the water running over his fingers and not his appearance. He always looked too long in a mirror when he tried glancing at himself and so, he felt the best method to keep himself from doing it was not to look at all. No matter how much he just wanted to see if any of his age was coming back to him, to see if this hadn't been a dream all along…
"So, uh, I think your hands are pretty clean," Canada broke in from where he was leaning against the ugly grey tiles that made up the backsplash of the wall beside him. England grunted in reply and wrenched his hands out from beneath the faucet to put them under the hand drier beside it. Once done, he looked to his ex-colony and found the expression Canada wore to be displeasing.
"What's got your knickers in a twist, lad?" England asked.
The other nation frowned and said, "You just beat up my brother and you're asking that?"
"He had it coming," he countered in a tone he truly hoped didn't sound as petulant to Canada as it did to England.
Pushing off from the wall, the young man's face took on a brutish scowl. "He had it coming? You had it coming, eh? How many times have you messed with your 'magic' and had disastrous results? This one is just as much your fault as all the rest and it's not fair to blame America for finding it funny!"
A bit surprised by the usually timid nation's rant, England's only response was to correct him once again. "This," he hissed as he gestured to himself, "wasn't my fault!"
"Who's is it then, eh? You've never said, you know!"
England bit so hard into his cheek that he could feel the heat of his blood as it began to coat his tongue. "I don't know," he growled. And he truly, he didn't either. He had some suspicions, but what good were those? A sizable number of nations knew magic and those daft enough to mess with it were an even larger number. He wouldn't put it past someone such as America or Sealand to have stumbled across one of his many spell book and used it for kicks.
The thin-mouthed look Canada was giving him told England all he needed to know, however, his ex-colony didn't believe him. Canada thought it was England's fault and that he was just lying because he was too embarrassed to admit to it. But England wasn't! This hadn't just affected him and goddamn, it wasn't fair that Scotland and Wales got to sit these World Meetings out! He should have made them come or-or something, because he was here too short, too skinny with hands that were too little to command any sort of respect and-
England felt tears prick in his eyes and so he turned back to the sink and gripped it so hard that blood started to seep from his cut knuckles.
"H-Hey…" Canada murmured.
Going tense, England threw himself away from the other nation and snarled, "Don't act like you care now! You still think this is my fault and it's not and–" He sucked in a breath instead of sobbing. "I don't know who did this or what they did either! This could just be a stupid spell that lasts a month or so before it wears off or it could be–"
England's breath hitched.
"It could be permanent."
Canada's eyes went wide then. It made him look very lost and very frightened. Just as one might when they were told they had cancer or that a close friend had died. "Permanent?" he echoed. "What's that mean for your country and the rest of ours?"
Falling to the ground, England put his head in his hands and shook. "Who knows? I've never done a spell like that. I'm assuming if it is such, someone's going to try and invade the United Kingdoms." He met Canada's lavender eyes with his terrified forrest. "But in theory, that would be really, really stupid because this reversal of age will begin to affect my country and economy – Hell, its history. I'm not– I can't– this age isn't meant for a country of my stature. Things are going to start reversing, we'll wake up one morning and it will be two thousand and twelve instead of fourteen and another blink we'll be back to the damn Blitzkrieg!"
England gave a little whimper then.
"I'll be back to the fucking dark ages before I know it."
Canada man-handled him up from the floor and with the terror of one so much younger, gave his ex-colonizer a firm shake. "Why didn't you say anything during the meeting!"
With dull eyes, England whispered, "I tried."
It was on the tip of the other nation's tongue to say he hadn't, but was that true? England very well could have attempted such. However, everyone was laughing too much to pay any mind to England and now they were all going to pay for their mistake.
"If this is permanent, how much longer do we have before things start going backwards?" Canada demanded.
England's face already so pallid beneath the bathroom light's glow, seemed to turn to a ghost white color. "It might already be too late," the young teenager admitted. "Myself and my brothers have been searching our books for almost two weeks now for a way to fix this and…" he faded off.
His eyes going to his boyish face reflected in the mirror of the bathroom, England continued, "If this doesn't right itself by the end of the month, I'd suggest to start saying your goodbyes, lad. It's going to be a while before France and I come fighting over you and your brother once again."
Canada wasn't a hero archetype by nature, but every instinct screamed for him to save England – to save the world. "There has to be something we can do! A reversal spell or potion or–or something!" he begged.
The boy-nation laughed. It was a brittle sound. "Don't you think William and Dylan and I have been trying to do just that? None of us like this. None of us want to end up back in dark ages where the present will become nothing more than a dream or vision we can only recall in the stages between wakefulness and sleep."
Breathing hard, Canada began to tremble. "There has to be something we can do! There has to!"
"It's okay, lad," England soothed, taking Canada's much larger body into his arms to cradle him close. "It's alright…"
But it wasn't alright. They both knew it now and Canada couldn't stop himself from crying like a boy half his age. To think he'd have to go back to being so small and oh so alone in the wilderness! Just to think! He couldn't! He'd rather die first!
"It won't be so long, you'll see," the boy-nation holding Canada murmured. "For you, it'll be a blink of an eye! You'll be okay Matthew…"
Clinging to the suit that hung off his ex-colonizer's back, Matthew wept, "I'm scared, Arthur! I don't want to go back! It was so scary to be so little and all alone!"
If Canada could have seen the other's eyes, he would have seen them become overcome with empathy. "I know lad," England sighed as he bestowed a kiss to the head of the young man. "I know."
Looking to the ugly tiles of the bathroom, Arthur prayed to all powers that be for this spell to have an end.
First, I leave the end up to you! This could be permanent with all the ramifications it entails or it could be temporary. Next, what do you think of this? I know ideas like the one discussed here have been hinted in other de-aged fics, but never dissected in length, I think.
What did you think of England? Canada? Prussia and even America? Did they seem fairly in-character? Yes? No? Let me know!
Also this is done. Complete. No more to come. And any romance you find within was completely unintended and all in your head.
Names:
William-Scotland
Dylan-Wales
Matthew-Canada
Arthur-England
Thank you very much for reading this guys and let me know what you think by pretty please reviewing!