Ah~~ I will never understand why I love to be so descriptive~ \(=u=)/
I came up with this while I was in history about a week ago, I don't know how (considering we were learning about the French and Indian/Seven Year's War), but I did.
I will probably keep this as a one-shot unless I find some good inspiration, so please tell me if you think I should continue because there's certainly enough room to continue it.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to review~
I don't own Hetalia.
"Engwand, can I go pway outside?" America asked innocently, standing in the door of England's office. He was rocking back and forth on his heals as children tended to do when they wanted a positive response from a question.
England looked up from the financial paperwork he had been contemplating over. He slid the pair of reading glasses, that he really didn't need but wore while doing paperwork anyway, down he bridge of his nose to look out the window. "America, it's almost dusk."
"Yeah, but Skywe said that we could go catch firefwies!" America said excitedly, "And they come owt when the sun gows down."
"You mean that's what those little lights were?" England chuckled, smiling softly and leaning back into the chair he was siting in, "Oh, I suppose you can go."
America made an excited sound and waved his little hands in front of his torso, "Thank you, Engwand!"
England stood up and set the reading glasses down on his desk as America came to hug his legs, "But only for a few minutes."
"Yes, Engwand."
"And at least three fays have to go with you."
"Yes, Engwand."
England chuckled again and stooped pat America on the head, "Alright, now don't make Skyle wait. I'll be expecting you in when it gets dark."
"Thank you, Engwand." America smiled, oh how beautiful his smile was. The way his eyes sparkled such a rich, prairie-sky blue, and the way his face always went slightly pink with little dimples forming at the corners of his pale lips. England could never get enough of it. He constantly did little things to make America laugh just so he could see it. It was even the highlight of his day on quite a few occasions.
America quickly ran out of the room, rustling the papers on England's desk as he passed by.
England smile grew slightly, He's just so cute. He sighed as he returned to his paperwork.
"Monsieur Bonnefoy? Monsieur Martin 'as been dispatched at your request."
France smiled darkly, "Merci, Lieutenant Lucas." He tapped his quill pen on his desk as the young lieutenant left his office, Now all I 'ave to do is wait~
A little while later, as it began to become night, England heard a soft, frantic sound. He had been expecting America to come back inside at any moment, but instead he looked up to see three fays tapping at this window, their usually soft luminescence blinking brightly as if to catch his attention.
England stood up abruptly, causing several papers to float off his desk, and practically ran to the window, one of those fays was Skyle.
"What happed to America?!" England asked frantically, the hair on the nape of his neck beginning to stand on edge as he leaned unto the windowsill.
The trio blinked out apologetically, one of them pointing to the open field where America had planned on going.
England could barely make out a fleeing form carrying something... or someone. "America!"
He dashed outside as quickly as his legs would move, taking on a predatory posture as he ran through the field; his eyes were wide and focused, pupils more wide then being out in the dark would typically cause, hair standing on edge, similar to how the hair on a cat's back does when they feel threatened, and mind ravenous, solely focused on the dark form.
England heard the sound of screaming and crying as he go closer to the man, sending his instincts into a frenzy. He forced himself to run faster, letting out a roar that a lion could envy, No one is taking America from me!
He half pounced, half tackled the man, causing the crying and screaming America to fall from his arms and unto the ground a few feet away.
England grabbed the man by the collar of his fur-lined coat with his left hand, shoved his right knee into the man's stomach, and held up his right hand, that could have easily been mistaken for a paw with two-inch claws, in preparation to strike.
The man screamed out in terror, his hands rising to protect his face, "Ne me blesse pas! J-Je vais vous dire quoi que ce soit! (Don't hurt me! I-I'll tell you anything!)"
"Are you working for France?!" England yelled, giving the man a shake with the hand that was in his coat.
"J-Je ne comprends pas! Je ne parle pas anglais! (I-I don't understand! I don't speak English!)" The man shrieked loudly in French.
"Qui êtes vous travaillant pour!? (Who are you working for!?)" England shouted back, unable to keep his temper any longer. He wanted answers, and he would lower himself to speak French if it so desperately required.
"Monsieur Bonnefoy!" The man flinched as England prepared to shake him again, "Je travaille pour Monsieur Bonnefoy! (I work for Monsieur Bonnefoy!)"
England swore, "Pourquoi avez-vous été envoyé ici?! Es-tu venu pour enlever l'Amérique?! (Why were you sent here?! Have you come to take America?!)" He growled lowly, his large eyebrows pointing fiercely downward.
"O-Oui. Monsieur Bonnefoy pensé que ce serait vous blesser si le petit a été pris auprès de vous! (Y-Yes. Monsieur Bonnefoy thought that it would hurt you if the little one was taken from you!)" The kidnapper could not get the words out of his mouth fast enough to feel safe from harm in England's presence.
England swore again, "I should kill you, maybe then France would get the message!" His growl grew louder, starting to rumble across the darkening field, "Si jamais vous revenez, je n'hésiterai pas à vous tuer! (If you ever return, I will not hesitate to kill you!)" He would let the kidnapper go, for now. England wouldn't risk hurting someone in America's presence.
America!
England dropped the man quickly and jumped to where America had fallen. The kidnapper scurried away like the weasel he was. America was curled up into a small ball, muffled sobs could be heard now and again. England gently picked him up, startling America slightly. "E-Engwand!" He rapped his small arms around the Brit's neck.
"It's okay America, I'm here." England cooed softly, rocking America gently as he started walking in the direction of their home.
"Engwand... who was that m-man?" America asked shakily, sniffling and rubbing his left eye with a hand. It was starting to get late as well as dark.
"No one. It's alright America, you're safe now. I'm not leaving you."
That seemed to calm America a little bit, and he came to rest his head on England's slender chest for the remainder of the walk back.
When the two nations arrived back at their shared home, America said, "Engwand... pwomise me you won't turn into a wion again... you were scawy..."
England was slightly startled, "I thought you were asleep... What do you mean 'I turned into a lion'?" England opened the front door with a hand, shifting America's weight so he could do so.
"...You were a wion... when you jumped on the man... pwomise you won't do it again."
England still didn't quite understand, but he replied as he walked into the foyer, "...I promise."
America smiled and nuzzled the side of England neck. England leaned his head a bit and kissed America's forehead. England always loved the way that America smelled; It was a combination of crunchy fall leaves, sweet prairie grass, sunshine, honey, and their old home. It was another thing England could never get enough of.
Actually, what he could never get enough of was America.