AN: Another story written to kill time instead of working on my homework. x) I should be ashamed.
Even England had to admit that the day was gorgeous. The sun shined proudly in the sky, beaming with absolute brilliance and comforting warmth. It was a picture-perfect spring afternoon, which was probably why it wasn't surprising in the least when America had nagged England endlessly to have France bring Canada over so that the two 12-year olds could play outside.
England warily obliged, hoping that France wouldn't take the gesture as a cue to hang about for too long. Thankfully, the man was occupied with his own heaps of work, and was rather pleased at the prospect of getting Canada out of his hair for a while. The child was well behaved, but even he was getting antsy and insistent in getting some fresh air.
Thus, England was inside, tending to some daily errands while the two boys brainstormed ideas of what to do out in the front yard.
"How about we play some hockey?" Canada suggested, his voice just barely loud enough for America to understand.
Regardless, America broke out into a toothy smile at the idea, but then glowered. "England says hockey is dangerous. He doesn't want me playing it."
Canada frowned as well. "I guess we'll just have to find something else to do then."
"Are you kidding me! No way! We're gonna play hockey no matter what England says. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, he's probably inside burning dinner right now. He's not going to come out to check on us for a good hour or so," America reassured his reluctant companion.
"I don't know, America. I don't want to get England angry."
America laughed airily. "England's always angry."
With that, the energetic boy rushed to the back of the house, snuck into the basement, and retrieved his secret stash of hockey sticks, roller skates, and tennis balls. He juggled the items with the utmost care and traversed back outside into the burning sunlight. He tossed Canada a pair of worn skates and a hockey stick before plopping himself on the grass and putting on his own equipment.
"What about safety gear? No helmets or kneepads?" Canada asked with a hint of concern.
"Psh," America huffed. "What kind of hero wears safety equipment?"
Canada nibbled on his lower lip. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, America."
"Are you kidding? It's a great idea," America urged. He pulled two stray trashcans from the sidewalk and laid them down on their sides so that they would act as nets on opposite sides. America skated his way back and forth across the street, trying to practice keeping his balance considering that it had been a while since he had last had an opportunity to skate.
"You ready, bro?" America questioned absently, pushing his hair out of his face and grabbing a hockey stick.
"B-Bring it on," Canada stammered. He wasn't going to lose to America at hockey! This was his area of expertise, his forte, and he was going to finally give America a what for!
He promptly swung his hockey stick at the tennis ball laid before him and hit a clean shot that collided with America's stomach.
"DUDE!" America spluttered, clutching his abdomen. "What was that for?"
Canada tried not to look too triumphant.
America grinned in a way that made Canada want to immediately take back what he had done. The American skated toward the other boy with alarming speed and shot the tennis ball at Canada's chest.
Canada cried out in pain. "That's not how your supposed to play!"
"Well, you're not supposed to aim for people's stomachs either!" America defended.
Canada scowled. "Fine, we're even now."
America smiled again before stealing the tennis ball right from underneath Canada. He skillfully made his way to the trashcan on Canada's side and shot the ball into it's hollow inside, smirking as the street filled with a resounding thud at the ball colliding with the metal.
"HA! A point for me!" America boasted to a very displeased Canada.
After about fifteen minutes of perpetual arguing and skating circles around each other, America whined, "This is getting boring."
Canada sighed as he swiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. "What do you want to do now?"
America considered the scene thoughtfully for a moment before stating, "I bet I could hit a tennis ball while in mid-air."
"Oh, no," Canada muttered. "Something tells me you're about to do something really stupid. France won't be happy if he finds out that you put me in danger again with your st-"
"Oh, stop complaining," America snapped. "I'm not going to make you do anything."
Canada sighed with relief.
"Not much anyway. All you need to do is throw a tennis ball at me as I skate down from the top of that little incline," America said, pointing to a small hill at the end of the street. "I'm going to try and knock it with my hockey stick into that tree over there."
The Canadian grumbled something unpleasant under his breath. "Fine, if you want to hurt yourself, then go ahead… Always dragging me into these master plans of yours…"
America sped up the incline at the end of the block and began to skate back down it, picking up tremendous speed. Canada tossed the tennis ball into the air above him and watched as America jumped into the air and attempted to whack it.
Remarkably enough, he had actually managed to do it, except there was one little flaw in the procedure. Instead of hitting the tree, the tennis ball went hurtling into the upstairs bedroom window of the house. The glass shattered upon contact, leaving a gaping hole in the center.
To make matters worse, America had lost his balance coming down, and instead of landing on his feet, his body sort of contorted, the wheels on his skates making him fall flat on his butt.
The American huddled on the ground in pain, clutching his skate-clad foot.
"America!" Canada cried out, rushing towards the other boy.
"Broke the window?" America asked shakily, just barely lifting his head.
"Y-Yeah," Canada stuttered, placing a hand on America's shoulder.
"England's gonna kill me," America said through grit teeth, pain fleeting through his right foot.
As if on cue, England's bellows sliced through the atmosphere like a knife through butter. America winced at the sound, pathetically turning his head in the opposite direction and shielding his face with his hands.
"AMERICA!" England roared. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE!"
The man was livid, his face a shade of tomato red from shouting. He stormed over to where the two boys were and took in the situation.
"What happened to the window!" England interrogated Canada.
The nervous boy couldn't dare lie to England. He simply admitted miserably that America had shot a tennis ball through the window while they were playing street hockey.
"YOU WERE PLAYING HOCKEY! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR BLOODY MINDS!" England seethed. Hockey was a terribly dangerous sport, and though he was all for America being exposed to cultural diffusion in his sports, this was not one that he encouraged.
"I'm sorry," America whimpered from where he laid on the ground.
England finally took the moment to acknowledge his little colony. He had been too furious before to even consider why the boy was lying face down on the ground, but now, he finally registered the predicament at hand.
"America?" England lowered his voice, no longer trembling with fury. His actions took on a fatherly air, and he expertly kneeled down next to America, brushing the golden hair off of his forehead.
"Are you hurt? What's wrong?"
America's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "My foot," he wailed, trying not to cry. Heroes didn't cry. He was twelve years old, and that was way too old to be crying over a few scrapes!
"Sit up, lad," England spoke softly, supporting America as the boy pulled himself into a seated position.
"It's my right foot," America stated, trying to push down the growing lump in his throat.
England clicked his tongue as he took off the roller skate and examined the damage.
The tone of disappointment and concern in England's voice was enough to cause America to release the tears he had been trying to suppress. They streamed down his face in uncomfortably hot streaks.
England tentatively removed America's sock and ran two pale fingers over the skin that was beginning to swell on the boy's ankle. He poked and prodded at it for a while, twisting the foot in various directions that made America yelp in protest.
"Well, it doesn't seem to be broken. Probably just a painful sprain," England announced, putting America's sock back on.
"I'm sorry about the window, England," America blurted out through shameful tears.
"I don't give a damn about the window. I'm just glad you're okay," England whispered, kissing America's head and ruffling his hair before releasing him again.
"You're not angry?" America hiccupped, eyes glistening with amazement.
"I'm very disappointed that you went against my rules, and that you dragged Canada into this as well. We'll discuss a proper punishment for this disobedience later, but for now, let's get you inside. I have a herbal salve that can help with that swelling," England stated firmly, helping America put on his sneakers and limp into the house, Canada trailing behind them.
"I won't say 'I told you so'," Canada mumbled under his breath.
"Oh, and Canada, I'll be informing France of this little incident as well," England added.
Canada inwardly groaned. "Yes, sir."
America laid down on the couch and allowed England to prop up his ankle by placing a few pillows under it to keep it elevated.
"I trust that we've all learned our lesson today?" England raised an eyebrow, casting a critical look at both boys.
"Yes, England," both boys stated in unison, though there was an underlying tone of unhappiness smothered in their words.
Soon, but not before a long lecture, France came to take Canada back home, apologizing for the trouble the boy had caused.
"My colony hasn't been on his best behavior as of late either," England consoled, and guided the two out of the house. When America and England were left alone again, England went upstairs to tend to the mess that had been made in the upstairs bedroom. He gathered the shattered glass together cautiously and tossed it away. He'd find a way to replace it later.
As he treaded his way back down the stairs, he was surprised to see America snoozing the night away after the day's adventure.
"America," England shook his shoulder. "Aren't you hungry? We didn't get a chance to have dinner. I could make you some supper."
America cracked one eye open and shook his head "no", nuzzling deeper into the couch cushions.
"Well, in the very least, you should go up to your bed. You'll be more comfortable there."
"No, I want to stay down here with you," America said hoarsely through his sleep-roughened voice.
England smiled at that. America still needed as much attention and smothering as he did when he was five. He was just less inclined to express it these days.
"Very well, love, but only for a little while," England grudgingly agreed. He sat on the edge of the couch and stroked his colony's hair.
"You gave me a right, good scare today," he sighed. "That's the last time I let you play unsupervised."
America whined, "I don't need a babysitter."
"My window begs to differ."
America pouted, sulking.
England chuckled, rubbing America's arm comfortingly.
"So, what's my punishment? Am I grounded?"
England smiled sardonically while ruffling America's hair. "Mm-hmm."
"For how long?"
"Well, I'm guessing you won't be able to maneuver around on that foot for a good week, so it looks like you'll literally be glued to this spot. Actually, this is the best punishment yet, if I do say so myself. It's inescapable," England smirked.
"No fair," America groaned.
"It's very fair. Maybe you'll think twice before trying stupid stunts again. By the way, since you're going to be grounded, I have the perfect job for you."
"Really, what's that?" America asked hesitantly.
"I'm going to situate you in a nice beach chair outside, where you will watch me set up my new garden. I need someone's opinion on how to arrange my tulips. I'm not letting you out of my sight for the next week," England stated victoriously.
America tried not to look too horrified. He'd rather watch grass die than accompany England with his gardening. He was going to be the first colony to die of boredom.
"Yes, my disobedient little colony, we're going to have loads of fun."
Three days later, America found himself stiffly lying in that foldable beach chair England had mentioned, his back aching from being unable to walk about for such a long period of time. His right ankle was resting upon a fresh stack of pillows, itching to travel around again.
Suddenly, an idea crossed America's brilliant mind. He knew England might prolong his punishment for this little trick, but his expression would be totally worth it.
America snatched the abandoned gardening hose that was lying next to him and pointed it at England's rear, spraying cold water at the man before he could second guess himself.
England jumped up in shock, his eyes widening. Water sprayed him in the face and he swallowed some of it in the process of formulating a shout in America's direction. He coughed and spluttered, spitting out water.
"America!" he hissed angrily.
America threw the gardening hose aside and whistled innocently.
"Don't test me, young man. Remember that you're incapacitated."
America couldn't stop the fit of giggles that escaped his mouth as England's pants and hair dripped with water.
England shook his head with a tired sigh. Before the colony could react, England had taken the opportunity to spray America with the hose in return, wetting the front of his t-shirt.
"HEY!" America laughed. "What if I catch a cold now? I have to change my shirt."
"You're not allowed to catch a cold," England stated, but none the less picked up America five minutes later and carried him inside to help him change.
Maybe being grounded wouldn't be so bad after all, especially not if England was going to be spending all his time with him.
Besides, he'd find a new game to play soon.