Title: Waiting for the spring
Rating: K
Character(s)/Pairing(s): onesided!US/UK, with colonial!America
Summary: Right now they were in a glacial winter, filled with dull greys and worn out whites, but spring would eventually come and lighten their lives.
Disclaimer: I don't own this series in any way
The coldness of the snow below him was slowly reaching his feet covered by his winter boots and the breeze only made him shiver more and hide his face inside his coat as much as possible. He should've gotten that cap, even if the sensation was uncomfortable because of his cowlick, or he feared his head would quickly turn into a block of ice. America was only wearing clothes, which were only meant to be used indoors, aside from the gloves England had given him.
At the thought of his caretaker, America frowned. It was all England's fault and if he froze into a block of ice, it'd be his fault too. Not that he'd care, with all of his many great and useful colonies and whatnot… America was just another colony, with some materials England intended to use. In the end, wasn't this just playing house while England used what was his, used him? Whenever those thoughts would fill his mind, America tried to ignore them while concentrating on other tasks, waiting for the little voice in the back of his mind to go away. Sometimes he felt like there were another self of him: another America who wanted freedom and independence from any country or person and the other one, who wanted only to be together with England and obey his superiors, whoever they were.
He hated those thoughts and at the same time he loved them. Those ideals that France had once taught him caused a big impression on the young nations and the word 'liberty' never once left his mind. Freedom was a seducing concept for him, that's what America discovered after he became a young man – or so did France and his superior call him at that time. He didn't think he had matured that much, though. There was still so much to learn and he always felt so helpless, so dependable on England and he hated it. The sense of depending on someone was terrible but he also liked the idea of having others depend on him, just like the heroes in the stories he always read.
Their discussion – they were having many recently – started on that same subject. The young nation had once again asked his caretaker to take him together to another political meeting, and as always, England denied him. "You are still young, you should enjoy this time to grow before acquiring new responsibilities." That'd have been okay as long as America actually had responsibilities, aside from being quiet when England was working. He hated when he fought with England, hated to see that anguished look on his caretaker's face and hated himself more than anything else for being the culprit one, but if things continued like that, he would never get his self independence and responsibilities, always needing England for the simplest things, always being a child… And children needed to grow up.
"I thought you'd be here." A comforting, if slightly annoyed, voice said behind him. America just huffed and continued to stubbornly watch the scenery before his eyes. Not much fun in that, though, since it was all covered in snow and the sky was filled with a dull grey color.
The young nation flinched slightly when he felt England sitting next to him, his heat passing to America. Suddenly, he wasn't cold anymore.
They spent a few minutes like that, sitting side by side in the cold, freezing their asses off – America didn't dare say that since England would break the nice atmosphere by addressing his poor grammar and quickly blaming either France or Prussia for his behavior – but still together in that pure white scenery.
America didn't have many memories about snow. As soon as winter would come, he would move to the lower part of his land and then return on warmer days. But since England would always visit him in the same house, America never risked leaving if he could miss a single day with England. He always missed his caretaker terribly, and lately his feelings were just getting stronger, and in a different way. He still demanded England's sole attention and he still nagged about his food, but he also craved for the green-eyed nation's touches and smiles more than ever. If England would hug him even once, America would hug him much tighter and keep like that for at least a few minutes, always leaving both of them breathless – and England with an inexplicably beautiful blush he also loved to see.
Finally, America decided to stop with his stubbornness and turned around to see England, only to find the older nation smiling softly at him. Whatever he meant to say had quickly died in his throat, as it always happened when England would look at him in such a loving way. The green-eyed nation laughed and nuzzled America's hair as he got up.
"You've certainly grown up a bit, haven't you, lad?" He asked in a half-mocking, half-sweet tone and America still couldn't find it in himself to answer.
"Come on, let's go." England gave him his hand and they both went back holding hands. America did his best to hide his blush while chatting about nothing in particular as their feet marked the soft snow under them. There was no reason to feel embarrassed; after all, England was holding his hand like he always did, ever since he was a little boy. There were no romantically feelings involved, America reminded himself, but he couldn't stop the warm sensation coming from the core of his being. The previous cold had completely been forgotten.
His hands were still cold, he realized, when England's soft ones were much warmer. America passed his hand through his wet hair and frowned at the prospective of having to take another bath while in such a cold day. Before, he'd just have asked England to give him a bath so he could at least have his caretaker's company, but England swiftly refused and told him he was too grown for that. Wondering about that, he remembered their fight started exactly with those words and his own answer: "How can I be so grown up if I can't even join a meeting to decide my own decisions?" and all hell broke loose. If he'd had known this was only the beginning of many more fights they would have, with the worst ones going on during a century and then turning into good natured mockery, America would've definitely persisted with his decision.
As if in a dream, he could predict that things wouldn't go well at all from then on. England still didn't see him as an adult and treated him the same way he always had while America couldn't stop feeling both outraged and attracted by his caretaker. Their fights would keep happening in much more frequency, and before they knew it, their relationship could end. Just the thought of it made the young nation stop whatever he was doing and slowly breath, trying to ignore the anxiety that would quickly overcome him.
England probably knew it too, but he never did anything to prevent it. He just continued treating America as his beloved little brother and hope for the best. America also hoped for the best, but only in a different way. Right now they were in a glacial winter, filled with dull greys and worn out whites, with pain and misunderstandings. But the seasons changed and before they knew it, spring with its lovely colorful flowers and heavenly scents would come and lighten their lives. Until then, he could only wait and do his best to work through the unbearable cold.
Author's Notes: Not exactly a Christmas fic, since there will be one next in two weeks when it's closer to the date, but I wanted to write a piece of colonial!America with conflicting feelings while in the winter (weird, I know).
On a side note: do you like Hetalia? Do you like Disney? Would you like to read a crossover story with those two universes, with USUK as a main or side pairing? Then vote on the poll in my profile with your choices – up to three votes per person! Really, it'd be great to know what exactly you guys would like to read and this poll is a way of trying this approach while still using a fantasy universe. It won't take long and I'd really appreciate it.
Reviews are my springs,
Fieldings