(I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters)
It was the late morning when America was playing in England's back garden. When England was busy and America had nothing to do, England suggested he go out and play in the garden for a few hours. America had decided to explore the long garden, and the large wood behind it because he remembered the time England had told him about a tree he had once planted, years and years ago. He was walking, as he came across the large oak tree. It was a massive tree, bigger than any of the others in the garden. It look quite sturdy, although it was old. America circled the tree trunk. Not quite sure what to do next. He decided he would climb the tree, he could only imagine what the world looked like from so high up. He'd be like the king of the world.
America held his hands out and began trying to climb the massive oak tree. It was hard, considering the amount of times America had fallen down the trunk and fell flat on his face or his butt. His hands were already scratched and looked like they'd bleed at any minute. Although America's hands hurt, his shoes were scuffed and it was beginning to rain. That wouldn't stop him as he scurried up the trunk. Finally pulling himself up onto the first branch. He noticed blood on the branch where his hands had begun to bleed. He winced at the sight of his own blood but ignored it, pulling himself upwards.
America was a strong kid, even with his young age and pulling himself upwards was easy. Well, it would've been if his hands weren't cut to ribbons, covered in old and new blood and were stinging with impact. Though the rain was halted by the leaves in the trees. It was pouring now and even with the leaves, it still was making a lot of contact with America and the icy water was beginning to make him shake as his clothes began plastering to his skin. He kept going until he reached the unsteady top of the tree where he thought he could see everything.
But with so much rain, he could see nothing.
"I'm the hero." America muttered as he sufficed a shiver. It wasn't that big of a triumph anymore.
America slowly started to climb down the damp branches, but as he got half way down them. A branch broke off just when America had let his feet touch it. He fell down a series of branches as he grabbed a low branch. As he grabbed the branch, America was so scared and the impact had really hurt his arms. He suddenly burst into floods of tears.
America could've yelled for England, but he probably would've gotten into trouble for breaking the branch of England's oak tree and for climbing so high when it was pouring out. But as he hung from one of the lower branches, recovering from his fall. He heard steps trudging out from the garden.
"America! Come here! America!" England was calling. He was shocked and a bit disappointed when he saw his big brother coming to find him but was just relived he was holding his umbrella.
"England!" America cried as he grabbed his guardian's attention. England looked puzzled to see his little brother hanging from his oak tree crying his eyes out in the pouring rain.
"Come down from there America!" England yelled.
"I can't!"
"Come on, yes you can! Come down here at once!" England yelled as America started to climb down all the way and flop onto the ground even if it almost killed his hands to try. England watched as his little brother stood and cried in front of him.
"Oh America you're so filthy!" England groaned, picking pieces of twig out of America's sopping hair. America whimpered like a little dog. Plus he was shaking and trembling hard in his sopping shoes. England sighed.
"Oh what's the point," England sighed not seeing the point in scolding the boy. "Come on. Let's get you inside. You must be freezing." England reached out for America's hand and was met by a river of blood. He sighed again, dismissing the thought that he'd have to clean that up later as he pulled the little boy under the umbrella.
England brought Little America indoors. Putting the umbrella in the stand. He kneeled down to the boy's level.
"Now, what were you thinking?" England asked.
"I-I wanted to climb the t-tree so I could s-see the whole town." America replied through a whimper.
"You shouldn't have climbed it. If you'd fallen you would've really hurt yourself. It was pouring any way! You should've come down when it got that bad!" England scolded.
"I'm sorry!" America cried breaking down into new floods of tears. Running down his cheeks that were red from the cold. England frowned.
"You should be, that tree is years old, and how many times have I told you? Rain is not a suitable weather to go out playing in. You always come back filthy and expect me to just turn my head and ignore it! I told you to go out and play, yes. But I didn't expect you to be so stupid as to climb a massive tree in the middle of a downpour." England scolded. America tried to whimper another sorry but it was barely recognizable as words as he sobbed.
America held a soft spot in England's heart and he couldn't stand to see the boy cry. England's giant caterpillars he called 'eyebrows' were raised at the sight of the crying child as he saw no point in telling him off anymore.
"Come along, let's have you cleaned up." England said.
He quickly bathed the boy in hot water to stop him shivering. It was harder than it had looked because America simply wouldn't stop shivering. England then had the task of cleaning up the river of America's blood soaked hands.
"I'm going to wash your hands off. It might sting a bit, alright?" England declared as he took hold of the boy's bloody hands. America nodded slowly as he sniffed and hiccupped. England reached towards the water and placed his little brother's hands into it. America winced.
"Shhh, it's okay, you're doing fine." England whispered as he began to clean his hands up, it was difficult as little bits of bark and filth had gotten clotted up in the wet and dry blood. England had a hard time with how much blood America had accidently smeared on his face and the blood that had dripped halfway up America's chubby little arms. His hands (when they were clean) were covered in red blisters, red scratches and a few tiny gashes. It wasn't as bad as America had feared, but he still moaned at the sight of it.
America cried all the way through his bath. Putting his head back and sobbing, sometimes shouting. England only comforted America with silent shushing sounds and by gently patting his head when he shouted loudest. Surprisingly America didn't have a fit over actually getting in the tub like usual. America let England peel off his wet things and bathe him, he was far too tired and miserable to get more upset.
England dried the boy and dressed him in warm, softer clothes. In long chocolate brown shorts, a long-sleeved white shirt, a blue bow tied round his neck. Though America still trembled, England sighed and pulled a green woollen sweater over his head and wrapped his sore hands in bandages.
"Are you hungry, lad?" England asked as he finished combing the boy's hair down. America didn't answer but trembled.
"Come on, lad. Let's get some hot tea inside you." England muttered leading America by his shoulders down the halls. He made them tea, but America hadn't touched his and hadn't wolfed down the little plate of burnt biscuits and scones like he usually would. He sat on the large green sofa sniffing and starring at his sore hands.
England finally came and sat next to him, pulling the boy onto his lap, stroking his newly washed hair. Combing his fingers through his hair with his fingers.
"Shhhh, that's a good boy." England cooed "that's it, stop crying."
"Aren't you mad I b-broke the tree?" America whimpered. England sighed, he'd planted that tree years and years ago when France had boasted that there was the most beautiful cherry blossoming tree in his garden. England had grown angry and planted his own tree. The tree was way old but barely grew acorns or leaves anymore. In a way it was a dead tree.
"No, it's a tree. An ugly tree. But what if you had fallen?" England asked "you would've seriously hurt yourself and then what would've I done?" America burst into new floods of tears. England didn't mean to make him cry even more. He was already afraid America was making himself sick by crying so much.
"I'm s-sorry!" America cried. As he was quickly held close and rocked back and forth in England's arms. It was all England knew how to do to comfort him.
"Shhh, shhh. I'm not angry," England cooed as he held the boy. "I promise, shhhh." America ended up falling soundly asleep in England's arms after a minute or so. His face was red and looked sore from crying so much but he left it, and placed the boy on the sofa. Wrapping him in the forest green blanket that was usually thrown over the back of the sofa.
England watched his little colony as he slept soundly. He'd tried himself out again. England had worked it into America's routine to settle him down for a nap in the middle of the day. He almost always tired himself out so much from playing his loud, running about games and by about two pm he was soundly curled up, asleep. What was so funny was how America could fall asleep anywhere he wished. He could curl up on the grass in the pouring rain if he wanted to.
England pulled America tactfully onto his lap and opened up a book. He looked over at the little one's hands that were staining with wet blood. He looked over at his colony. Poor little America, with his poor little blood hands.