Feral
Characters: Canada, England, America, France, more later.
Pairings: None yet~
Rating/ Warnings: T for language and some innuendo; Human names used, AU universe, possible slash later on.
Summary: Alfred, Francis, and Arthur find a little feral child in the woods and take it home. It turns out that this boy without a home is carrying more baggage than they bargained for.
Disclaimer: Do not own Hetalia, it belongs to the glorious Himaruya. I just write the fanfiction, guys.
Notes: Alright, haven't posted a fanfiction in awhile... (Or ever, in the case of this username.) Anyway, I'm open to (and practically begging for) suggestions, corrections, critiques, any and all of it. I'll try to respond to the comments I do receive. If any pairing does appear here, it's probably going to be UKCan, just to warn you if you don't like that pairing. Well... On with the show!
Prologue- Found
His boot slid in a patch of mud, almost bringing him to the ground immediately. A strangled curse left his throat, his hands managing to grab a hold on a low-hanging treebranch. Righting himself, the young blonde boy adjusted the pack on his shoulders and marched onwards. It had just rained that morning, spraying the whole forest with a layer of moisture. From the trees and forest matter rose a smell, a rich, full, naturial smell. Being outdoors was nice.
"Don't go too far ahead, or you'll get lost!" A terse, irate English voice called from behind him. The 12-year-old unleashed a laugh full of his usual confident spirit, while on the inside he cringed. Being outdoors was nice without being babysat by him the whole time...
"You worry too much, man. I'm fine, I love exploring the woods. If you're going to harp on anyone, make it your boyfriend; he's probably falling behind again, the big wuss." A pair of offended cries sounded behind him, followed by the crash of undergrowth being trampled underfoot. He broke out in a run, grinning to himself- it was just too easy to wind up his cousin.
"Ferme ta bouche, boy, I shall have you know that I am keeping up just fine."
"Alfred, take that back right now, you little shit! He's not my boyfriend!"
Arthur's longer legs eventually caught up to him, and caught him by the backpack; they collided, momentum sending them tumbling to the ground. From the piles of damp moss and leaf litter they emerged, one blonde whooping with laughter and the other glaring daggers into his younger cousin, who withered sheepishly under the pressure of his gaze, and became rightfully silent. Bringing up the rear was the oldest of the bunch, a young Frenchman who wasn't terribly pleased to be outdoors so long. It wasn't the dirt that was an issue (he did a lot of gardening, dirt barely phased him), so much as the humidity that would render in vain the careful work he had spent on his hair, currently tied back into a loose ponytail.
"You both are idiots," he sighed, crouching down and tittering over the leaves in his companion's perpetually spiky locks- his hand was promptly smacked away.
Pouting, he dragged them to their feet, insisting that they get a move on so they could finish the romp through the woods that Alfred positively insisted on, and still be home before it got dark. The elder of the two grumbled to himself under his breath, allowing the preteen to run ahead. Exasperated, the Frenchman shook his head and sighed, earning another famous glare from his English friend.
"Oh Arthur, you must learn patience with the boy. He knows well what will upset you- don't you realise he just does it for your attention?"
The thick-browed teen snorted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans- smeared with mud from his earlier tumble, he noted with distaste- and trying to pick up the pace to avoid talking about it. "Shut your mouth, bloody frog," he growled, training his eyes on the ground in front of him.
Francis clapped his hand over the shorter man's shoulder. "Things will only get better if you make an attempt, mon ami. But you are not making one."
"And why should I have to make an attempt with that spoilt little-" Arthur's fully prepared rant was cut off by a shout from the mentioned spoilt boy. Gasping in a startled breath of air, he rushed towards the source of the sound ("Not again!" Francis cried), praying to god that it wasn't a bear.
Arriving on the scene, Arthur felt his stomach sink into his boots. It was worse than a bear. It was a bear cub. A little white bear cub, engaged in a blackberry bush, while Alfred stupidly tried to get closer to it. Darting forward, Arthur grabbed the wrist of his cousin seven years his junior, dragging him back a few metres.
"What in all bloody sodding hell do you think you're doing, Al?" he hissed, scanning the area for the mother bear- she had to be close by, and they were just lucky that she hadn't noticed the thoughtless American trying to sneak up on her cub.
Alfred tried to fix him with apologetic puppy-dog eyes and a pout, which normally worked so well on his cousin; this time, the other deflected his gaze and cuffed him about the ears. He was really about to set into the boy with a long talk about how dangerous it was to approach a wild animal, when a rustling sounded from the area of the blackberry bush. Francis had by now caught up, and all three stared warily at the thorny thicket, backing away slowly. This is it, they all thought, feeling prickles of dread creep up their spines. They were done for, about to be eaten by a grumpy mama-bear checking in on her wandering cub. Helpless. Seeing a glint of golden fur- or hair?- Francis tried to run, but found his legs seizing up, unable to carry him away.
A low growl emanated from the brush. Alfred looked like he was about to cry.
On all fours, the figure loped out from behind the bush. Untamed, tangled goldenrod hair. Curious indigo eyes. Fair skin. Human. He was bare but for a huge red sweatshirt that dwarfed his thin body. Well, they assumed it had once been red- it was stained, caked with dirt, any colour long past salvageable. His eyes, large and round and glinting in the 2-o'clock sunlight, were trained on the trio, inspecting them.
The little white cub unleashed a huge yawn, and the boy on all fours smiled, creeping over to the bear and scooping him up into his arms. About to call out in warning to the boy, Arthur paused when it glanced up in confusion at first, before seeming to recall something and settling against the boy's sweatshirt. Those eyes turned back to their group. Now on three feet, he crept closer; fascination kept them all rooted to the spot.
Eventually the boy was close enough to reach up and touch Alfred, who stood at the front. With a tentative hand, he brushed against the sunkissed skin of Alfred's face, causing a sort of collective shiver to pass through all four.
"Be careful, he could have fleas," Arthur remarked blandly, never once taking his eyes off the new face. Wondering: where had he come from?
About to make a smart remark back to his cousin, Alfred jumped a foot in the air when the boy took his distraction as an opportunity to steal his glasses off his very nose. Squealing, he swiped his hands before him wildly, demanding that he give them back that instant. Arthur and Francis kept him restrained, not trusting that the boy and his bear wouldn't attack if provoked.
"Stop that, Al, it's very rude."
"Hey, I'm not the one who said he has fleas!"
"Hush you two, look!" Francis finally got their attention, and they followed his finger. The boy was studying the smudged lenses, a little pink tongue poking out at one corner of his mouth, while the cub had moved onto his back to free his hands.
Realising they had stopped talking, the boy smiled again, made a few odd movements with his lips, and slipped the glasses on.
They exchanged glances, at a loss. What were they supposed to make of all this? They had been approached today by some feral child who took care of a bear cub and crawled on all fours, but apparently knew what glasses were. "... He does wear them nicely, though," Francis admitted with a shrug.
"But they're mine," Alfred whined, earning another smack about the side of the head.
"Maybe if you asked for something nicely," Arthur ground out, "then you would receive it, eh?"
With a defiant look, Al brushed off his British cousin's hand and stepped towards the boy, who was inspecting his surroundings with wonder. Crouching so that they were face to face, the boys greeted each other with a smile, mirroring one another.
"You like those, huh? They help you see?" The boy nodded happily. Behind them, Arthur found himself on the verge of fainting with excitement, while Alfred mentally glossed over the fact that the boy could understand English.
"Well, I kind of need them back. They help me see, too. And they're brand new, so my parents will be so mad if they find out I lost them. Or, y'know, gave them away."
The smile faded from the boy's face, and he pulled the spectacles off, handing them over. Pursing his lips in thought, Alfred stood up and tapped his shoe on the ground. An idea smacked him in the face, and he beamed down at the wild-child. "These are new, but I still have my old ones! I could give you those, and then you wouldn't have to worry about seeing things anymore!"
Pleased with himself, Alfred ruffled the boy's hair none-too-gently, only to have his hand smacked away. Just to get his goat, he repeated the motion more aggressively, and, patience wearing thin, the boy pushed him onto his back and pounced. Francis and Arthur rushed forward to defend him, but were stalled when they realised that the boy was doing no harm. He was simply returning the annoying hair-ruffling session that Alfred had treated him to, while the boy beneath him laughed and flailed his legs, shouting 'no fair!'
Pushing the boy off, Alfred was able to crawl to his knees and wrap the boy in an overly friendly embrace, ignoring the unpleasant animal smell the boy and his clothing carried. The boy, for his part, blushed and let his arms dangle at his sides awkwardly. Meeting individually Arthur's gaze and then Francis's, he seemed to shrug with his eyes, making those funny little lip-movements again.
When Alfred finally pulled away, beaming and radiant, he glanced up beseechingly at his cousin. "Can I keep him?"
So, how was it? This idea has been buzzing in my head for weeks, and I wanted to flush it out. Hopefully I'll feel inspired enough to continue, and not get intimidated by the fact that people are reading my story ^^; Remember, though, this is just the prologue- in the next chapter is when the real stuff goes down.
In case anyone was confused about ages, Al is 12, Arthur is 19, Francis is 21; Al and Artie are cousins, Francis is just sort of a family friend/ eternal rival. Well, until next time~
-Shadow Mignonne, Esqr.