A Trustworthy Pirate
By xmystorytime
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, the one to worship would be Hidekazu Himaruya. Please treat him carefully - you don't want him broken and incapable of creating more Hetalia, right?
America might be the most awesome nation to have ever existed, but even he couldn't avoid the side-effects of time travel.
He threw up all over the ground, staggered away from the mess and then collapsed against the first support he came across. He let out a whimper as the world spun even with his eyes shut. His head pounded so he pressed his hands to his temples but that didn't make it any better.
The next few minutes were hell, but eventually he felt half-way awesome and managed to get to his feet and take in his surroundings. For the first time, he noticed he was the recipient of many stares.
'Hey guys?' he waved, forcing a big smile, but the strangers just looked at each other. It was then he realised that these people, this place, didn't look anything like what he expected – that being, of course, the 21st century.
Wow, this was one weird dream.
It had started off alright – getting his daily intake of hamburger after reminding the other nations of how awesome he was – but now it was just… weird. One minute he'd been in McDonalds (with someone? No, he didn't think so…) and the next he was here. Wherever here was.
He frowned and scratched his head. He didn't think he'd ever been sick in a dream before, but there was a first time for everything.
'Yo!' he called to the nearest person, a young girl, who blanched. 'D'you know where I am?' the girl replied but it sounded like gibberish. 'Okay, great, now can you say that in English?' she said something else, but it didn't make any more sense. She looked rather annoyed when he continued to stare blankly at her and then pointed. America turned and let out a low whistle as he saw the most impressive, realistic castle he'd ever seen.
It towered over the tiny town (or port, maybe, judging by the salty smell). England's flag flew proudly above it, flapping away in the wind, and if he squinted he could just make out guards patrolling along the top wall in bright uniforms, while others look out the tiny slit in the wall.
Man, his imagination was fucking awesome.
Wait, England's flag?
'Eh? But I was just in America!' he exclaimed and then lightly whacked himself on the head. 'Why're we in England, buddy?' Of course, his head didn't reply. He sighed and turned back to the girl only to realise she'd gone and more people were watching him. They huddled together, whispering and pointing. He glanced down, but his clothes didn't look any different to normal. They were just intimidated by his awesomeness, then!
In that case he'd go easy on them – it took lots of people time to recover when they first noticed, after all. 'I'll see you guys around then!' he clapped his hands together and started down the road… path… thing (it didn't look like any road he knew…).
Except he hadn't been watching where he stepped (he hadn't thought he needed to) so he tripped over something soft and soggy. Being awesome, he managed to avoid falling on his face but when he turned around to see what he'd tripped over he turned green. Oh, man, how the hell had he managed to walk through a pile of crap? Why would anyone leave a pile of that stuff just lying in the middle of the road-y thing?
'Dudes, think of your hygiene!' he shouted to whoever was listening, shaking his left leg with a grimace. 'You don't just leave your shit around! Literally! Fuck…' the bottom of his trousers had turned a totally un-awesome brown and his previously bran'-spanking new shoes – ew… he needed to clean them, fast.
He'd thought stepping on dog shit was bad…
This was one of the worst dreams he'd ever had. Why did his imagination have to be so realistic, huh? Why couldn't it have just stuck to making the castles and stuff awesome and leave everything else?
'Wake up!' he slapped his cheeks, garnering more odd looks from the passersby. He looked at them, took in their dirty state and hurried pace, the white aprons and gaunt looks, and realised they looked a lot like those… really poor people in the past. If his mind had decided to make him dream about the past, why couldn't it have put him with nobles or even just something, you know, clean-ish?
Still, he was America. He would get through this weird ass dream, no problem!
He started down the road and covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve a moment later. His eyes watered as he gagged from the smell. It was like a combination of raw fish, shit and sick! God, he hadn't smelt anything this bad since – since ever! Why was no one else making a fuss?
To make matters worse, as he walked he noticed his beloved beige jacket was rapidly turning a grimy black. He tried to brush the dirt off, but only succeeded in covering his skin with the gunk.
How the hell was he getting so dirty? He'd deliberately avoided the sides of the road where people apparently threw out their shit.
'Okay, this isn't fun anymore!' he pinched himself but it did absolutely nothing, except hurt him a little. Apparently he pinched hard. Maybe he should try it out on someone, see if – no! No getting distracted! 'Okay America, you're a hero, this should be a cinch. What're your options?' he stopped in the middle of the street, forcing others to have to walk around him and shoot him annoyed looks.
He remained oblivious to them as he thought out-loud. 'I'm either dreaming, which means I've got to do something impressive before I can wake up, or… I've gone back in time. Which isn't a good thing to think about. Plus, impossible. Let's go with sleeping…' But, if he was dreaming then why was he in England? Why couldn't he understand a word of what anyone said? 'I need a translator,' he mused. 'Where's Google when you need it?'
'Possessed!' someone shouted.
'Huh?' he looked up.
'Witch! He was trying to cast a spell!' someone else shouted, and two things surprised America then. One, that they were speaking a form of English he'd never heard before. Two, he understood it – mostly.
'GOOGLE I LOVE YOU!'
In a time far far away, and certainly not thanks to Google, the fairies breathed a sigh of relief. One crisis averted.
'A witch? Where?' America spun on the spot, craning his neck to try and see the alleged witch, but instead the people in that direction ran away screaming. From him. 'You mean me?' he blinked, turning back to the accuser with a frown. 'I'm not a witch, I'm a hero!' he flapped his arms around. 'Say it with me! H-e-r-o…' he spelt out the word, but no one seemed to be listening.
'He's possessed by the devil! Run for your lives!'
And so America could only watch as, in a flash, the street emptied and he was left alone. He scratched his head and shrugged – maybe they'd been scared by his awesomeness?
Though, to be called a witch… did that mean he looked like a girl?
'DON'T LET THIS BE A DREAM WHERE I WAKE UP IN A DRESS OH GOD I CANT LOOK-' he dared to look down and, upon seeing his faithful bomber jacket and dark uniform and no boobs, he breathed a sigh of relief. Of course the shit stain was still there, but you know, when he could've had boobs…
Heart attack over, he shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking. He could smell the sea, which meant there was a place he could clean up. He hadn't been dreaming long – the sun hadn't moved at all in the sky – but he already felt filthier than he'd been crawling through trenches in the World Wars. Thankfully the bad stench was going (or was he just getting used to it?) so that was one small mercy.
This was one of the more ridiculous dreams he'd had and he'd hada lot. Had Prussia slipped him some drugs again? Was he actually in hospital and just hallucinating? That would explain why he couldn't wake…
Sadly, just smelling the sea didn't lead him right to it. Every street looked the same – grey, small and cramped with people running around doing their work. The only difference in the streets was when he spotted gutted fish mixed in with the crap on the streets, which he hoped meant he was getting closer to the dock.
Mostly, he was just wandering around hoping for the best. Seriously, why couldn't he have had one companion? This was so boring!
'There he is!'
'Get 'im!' he was seized before he knew what happened.
'Uh…' he blinked at the men blankly. What was he supposed to say? 'Top of the morning to you chaps!' he tried, doing his best English accent, but their expressions didn't change. Damn. 'Say, you good – fine! - fellows wouldn't mind not wielding those pointy things at me, now would you?' he eyed their knives with disgust. 'Man, they look pretty rusted…'
He wasn't scared, though. Once you'd seen a nuclear bomb, well, knives just didn't cut it.
Though just think of all the germs on there. Oozing and wriggling around and – and if it cut someone, think of the infection… he shuddered.
'Stop your talking or you'll get it!' the one who was holding him dug something sharp in his back.
America scowled and easily broke free. 'Hey, don't you know it's how un-heroic it is to attack a guy with his back to you?' he looked around and grimaced. There were at least a dozen people surrounding him. 'You don't know who you're messing with! If you value your lives, you should stay back! Or else-' he flailed for an effective threat. 'Or else I'll curse you! Yeah! I'm awesome with curses!'
Okay, so that was more England but they didn't need to know that.
The weakest of the group backed away, but that still left a lot of others. America glanced over his shoulder, hoping for an escape, but there was none. He really would have to fight them. Oh well, they couldn't be that tough…
'You asked for it!' he exclaimed, pointing his finger at them. 'I'm gonna -' and, in that moment, they struck. They grabbed his outstretched arm and twisted it back, quickly handcuffing it to the other before he could stop them. 'Aw, shit,' he lamented.
'Now you can't do your hocus pocus!' the attackers jeered. 'Try and curse us now, witch!'
'Stop with the witch thing, I already told you I'm a hero-' but, with his arms in the awkward position, defending himself became much harder.
He ducked a blow and kicked a guy in the stomach, sending him back into a few barrels and spilling the alcohol everywhere. He bit the next hand that came near his face and managed to tackle the bulkiest of the lot with his shoulder, landing on the floor. The others piled on top of him and, suddenly trapped, he could only watch with dismay as one raised his arm with something hard and clobbered him on the head.
America went out like a light. The men got off him with triumphant smiles and tied him up, before one slung him over a shoulder.
'I'll take 'im to the authorities, two pence he's tried by dawn,' he bet.
'Tonight,' his friend said, holding out his hand, and they shook on it before the group split – half going with the captor, to make sure the witch didn't wake up and curse them all, and the other going to the pub.
They needed a stiff drink after that fuss, after all.
!DRAW A CIRCLE THERE'S THE EARTH!
For the second time that day, America woke up with a headache.
'Aw, you mean I haven't woke up yet?' he whined upon seeing his cell and shivered from a cold draft. 'Hey! Is anyone out there? Can I get a blanket or something 'cause… it's kind of cold…' he trailed off as it was obvious there was no one out there. It seemed they'd taken him here and abandoned him, which could mean a lot of things.
Right now, though, it meant he had time to try and find an escape. There was always a way out in these situations – he'd seen the movies. Plus, this was his dream. He would definitely put a way out somewhere.
But first, he had to pee.
After he'd relieved himself (in the dark dampest corner so no one, imaginary or otherwise, could see his blush because shit why wasn't there a loo?) he felt the damp stones and tried to wiggle them, but they wouldn't budge. He did find a finger-sized hole in one, however, that crumbled beneath his touch and became a hand-sized hole. He pulled his hand back and shook off the rubble, before going flat on his stomach and peering through the hole.
There was only black. He frowned and then jumped when the black thing moved.
'Hello?' he called. 'Is anyone there?' he didn't get a response. He pouted and tried again. 'Helloooo?' Maybe it was just an empty room? No, he'd seen something mo- oh shit. It was a ghost.
Oh man oh man oh man this was just his luck he would have a ghost in the cell behind shit what was he meant to do he – he –
'I've gone barmy,' a familiar voice declared faintly, and America's panic screeched to a halt. He brightened. Never before had he been so pleased to hear England's voice. Well, at least he thought it was England. It sounded a bit… younger than he remembered, if a voice could sound young when one was an adult because obviously as a child the voice sounded young.
'England! Thank fuck, I thought you were a ghost!' he shouted, looking back through the hole. 'Did you get called a witch too?' he heard some shuffling and then, on the other side of the hole, came a bushy eyebrow. America yelped and scrambled backwards. 'Dude, warn a guy first!'
'Who are you?' England demanded, his voice cold. America blinked. 'How do you know me by that name?'
'Eh, what're you talking about?' he replied. 'You told me!'
'I certainly did not. I remember all whom I tell and I don't believe we're acquainted, let alone familiar enough for me to reveal something like that,' the other nation said. America was silent as he translated it into English.
'Oh… but, I'm America! I'm the most awesome guy you know!' he exclaimed. 'You can't forget me!'
'It's not a matter of forgetting -' but America wasn't listening. How could England, of all people, not know who he was? He had raised him, he cried over him every year on his birthday, he bickered and hated and… he frowned and then it hit him.
'It's okay!' he reassured. 'You've just been in this cell so long you've lost your memory. It's a good thing this hero came along, huh?' he would rescue England and they would make an awesome escape, and then England would remember him and America would succeed in his mission and wake up (or the doctors would have finally got the drugs out of his system, depending).
He jumped to his feet to continue finding a way out, ignoring the confusion of his fellow nation, only to promptly trip over a chain he hadn't noticed before.
'That's odd,' he murmured, sitting upright and following it to one end – the wall. He followed it the other way and found it connected to his ankle. 'Euston, we have a problem,' he muttered. Still, he was a hero. He couldn't let a small thing like being chained stop him!
How did it go in the movies?
He twisted and took hold of his chain. He would just have to pull it out the wall – no sweat!
America pulled backwards, he pulled at various angles, he even tried to pull at it low and high (barely, and spending a few minutes clutching his precious jewels because he'd crushed them after failing at the splits) but the chain didn't budge.
'Shit, how strong is this thing?' he groaned, glaring at the chain. This was his dream, right? Shouldn't that mean what he wanted he got? 'Alright, I get it. Screw you, chain, screw you.'
He tried pulling it one more time and felt something shift. Hope restored, he pulled harder. Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, getting louder every second, but he ignored them in favour of feeling the chain buckle under his grip. 'Just… a bit… more…' he grunted. There was some shouting from England but he ignored it – it wouldn't be that important, after all.
The chain came loose just as his cell door opened. Suddenly free, America tumbled back into whoever had just entered and the whole group tumbled to the floor. There was probably some cursing, but it was drowned out by the sound of bricks collapsing.
'Hell yes!' America cheered. 'I'm just that awesome!' he jumped to his feet and brushed at his clothes. He was a free man again! "England, you there?' he peered through the dust. As the mess cleared, he could see an identical cell on the other side and someone's silhouette. America's jaw dropped once he saw their appearance – he'd seen enough movies to know what a pirate looked like. 'Dude, no way! You get to be a pirate?'
'What the – did you just knock down the wall?' England demanded, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair and shaking out the dirt, which coincidentally drew America's attention to his eye patch. 'Who are you?'
The younger nation shook himself out of his daze. 'I'm your hero!' he said proudly, but he couldn't silence the voice at the back of his mind chanting 'he has an eye patch England has an eye patch and he looks good how the hell does he and why don't I get an eye patch?'
And then people tackled him from behind, ruining his fantastic scene.
'Aha! None of yer witchcraft'll help you now,' America had, once more, been handcuffed and tied up.
'Seriously, what is with you people and handcuffs? Is it some kind of kink from the French ancestry?' Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say. They looked like he couldn't have said anything more insulting if he'd tried. Right, they were English...
At least this time he got the honour of kicking and managed to get a very satisfying crack when his foot hit a nose.
'Bloody -' the man gasped, hands trying to stem the blood.
'Get him out of here!' another shouted and so America was dragged out the cell and down the hallway, where they took advantage of his limp state to tie some rope around him.
The cold ground scraped his skin and he winced, scrabbling for something to grab onto but only breaking a few nails. This seriously had to be the most realistic dream he'd ever had. Oddest, too. England was a pirate. Of course he probably wasn't a good one – he was too uptight and a spoilsport and grumpy, after all, but he'd looked good.
The men dragged the American out a door and his chin hit a step.
'Ow!' his chin hit another step. 'Ow! Ow, ow, ow…' and so began a litany of 'ow's for each step they went up – and there were a lot. They travelled up a winding staircase and it was just when America began to worry he might get brain damage that they reached the top. He was greeted with a reddening sky, and he wondered how long he'd been unconscious.
Though, the fact he'd been knocked out for a few hours by a human was rather embarrassing to think about…
Something flapped in the wind. He twisted his head, recognising the flag earlier. Realising he was in the castle, he turned to look at the two dragging him.
'So, where're we going?' he asked, and then caught sight of the view. The sea glistened awesomely from atop the awesome castle walls that his imagination had crafted, and the waves crashing on the rocks sounded awesomely fierce, and seagulls wailed and the fresh sea air helped clear his head after all the bashing earlier.
'… tried,' one of the men was saying.
'Oh, is that all?' America blinked as the words sank in. 'Wait, but I'm not a witch! I'm a hero! You don't put heroes on trial!'
'Don't try to trick us!' the other guy snarled, kicking him in the stomach. America swore loudly. 'You lot are all the same – distracting us with words and then, when we're not looking, killing and taking off… that's what they all do.'
The nation sighed and let them drag him to wherever his destination was. He was going to be tried, huh? Well, they had no evidence so he wouldn't be found guilty and then – hopefully – that would be the pivotal moment and he would wake up. Although, being found guilty and then hung or something seemed more likely to be the end of the dream… he didn't really want to die though, even if it was just a dream…
A group of people caught his eye. They were dressed up in fancy ruffles and curly hats, and America didn't bother to hide his laughter. Seriously, who wore that stuff anymore? Someone pulled him upright and held him there, in front of the group. The one at the front cleared his throat.
'Foreigner,' his lip curled in disgust. 'You have been accused of witchcraft. How do you plead?'
'Not guilty,' but America couldn't stop a snigger. They even had the accent down to pact. The noble's face darkened.
'Do I amuse you, boy?' he questioned.
'Nope,' the nation grinned and looked around. They were quite high up. 'Nice place you got here,' he added on, admiring the walls. It had looked awesome from a distance, but it was even awesomer up close. His imagination was pretty sweet to come up with something like this. It would be even sweeter, though, if he would wake up any time now please and thank you!
'Thank you. Now, who here claims they saw him practising the taboo?' the noble raised his voice and turned. For the first time, America noticed the villagers in the courtyard below, watching the proceedings. Most of them raised their hands, hatred in their eyes, and the noble nodded. 'Foreigner, the majority is against you. However, let it not be said the English are not merciful,' he smirked.
America breathed a sigh of relief, 'Good! 'Cause I'm telling ya, I was getting worried -'
'To prove your innocence, we will tie a stone to you and throw you out to sea.'
'- land does pretty nasty things and – wait, what?'
'If you float, we will know you are a witch,' the noble raised an eyebrow. 'Do you have any questions?'
'Hell yes! How does that even work? I'll sink whatever and then I'll be dead, and what, you'll go 'oh I guess he was innocent, whoops!' and just continue your lives?' America's jaw dropped. That was pretty fucked up stuff. England was more of a sadist than he'd realised. 'I wasn't even doing anything!'
'He was muttering nonsense to himself! No one understood the words, but afterwards he made people run away with just a glance! That has to be a curse!'
'Who called American nonsense? I'll kick your ass!' America snapped, glaring down at the crowd. 'Plus, that other thing just means you're a coward! I didn't do anything!'
'There's no such thing as American – I say he's a spy for the French!' the chorus of gasps would have been funny at any other time. Except, this time America was being faced with sinking or sinking, and he didn't really want to sink at all, preferably. Could he even drown, being a nation? Or would drowning wake him up? 'I bet that's why his accent is so bad! Get rid of him already!' Though, being called a spy for the French just based on his American accent was just insulting.
'You people are crazy!' he shouted.
'He's clearly a foreigner. Whether or not he's a bloody French spy, let's just throw him to the rocks and be done with it!' this cry got the most support.
This was so stupid, didn't they know how a real trial worked? You had to give the accused a chance to defend themselves and schedule it all in, and there was usually several months – even years! – to come to a final decision. Yet it was near evening now, which meant it hadn't even been a day, and he was already being sentenced to death for something he didn't even do? He didn't get another chance to plead his case. The people who had dragged him across the walls of this fort grabbed hold of him again and took him to the edge of the wall.
As an awesome hero he most definitely wasn't scared when he saw the waves crashing on the rocks. He especially wasn't scared of being dashed to bits. Heroes weren't scared of anything!
'Don't let him escape!'
A loud commotion on the other side of the walls interrupted what would've been America's bloody death, much to his relief. He turned and, after taking a moment to register what was occurring, cheered loudly. England the Pirate darting along the wall, pursued by a large amount of guards.
What made it more awesome was that he'd recaptured his hat.
'Kirkland's escaped, sir!' a young teenager skidded to a halt in front of the nobles, gasping for air. America beamed. He had no idea why England was a pirate but, yanno, it was definitely England. Kirkland was his human name whenever he couldn't use England to introduce himself… which was quite often. Of course, Arthur Kirkland wasn't as awesome a name as Alfred F Jones.
'Yes, I can see that!' the noble who had been sentencing America to death seconds before growled as the rest drew their swords. 'How?'
'S-somehow, the wall his chain was on was destroyed and -' America ignored the kid and cheered England on. Whether this was a dream or not, England's escape was pretty epic. Despite hitting a dead end the pirate didn't panic; he merely turned around, stepped onto the tiny ledge and then jumped from shoulder to shoulder (grabbing a sword on his way through) until he was on the other side and heading in America's direction.
Dude, he hadn't even thought that was possible outside of movies.
'That was awesome man!' he shouted over the clatter of metal and cursing. England glanced at him and then smirked. Oh, damn, he looked kind of scary like that…
'He's coming this way! What should we do?'
'Stand and fight! He's only one man!'
America's glee drained out of him and he looked between the shiny, sharp items and the approaching pirate. England was going to get hurt if he didn't do something quickly! In one swift movement, America quickly broke the handcuffs – they just didn't make them as well as they used to – and grinned. It was payback time.
'You think you can stop me?' the pirate did some kind of jumpy-twisty-turny thing and landed next to America, using his stolen sword to cut through the ropes binding America.
Oh, yeah… he'd forgotten about them.
'Aha! Now it's really payback time!' he crowed and swiftly punched the two who had dragged him across the stone. His chin still hurt, damn it. 'Take that!' they staggered back and one fell over the edge with a scream; the other knocked into two others and sent them to the ground. England glanced at him curiously.
'You might actually be useful,' he muttered.
America beamed, 'Well, I am a hero!'
They were soon surrounded and he gulped at seeing so many swords pointing at him. Fists didn't really work against metal. England didn't look at all worried, though, but then again bastard had a sword.
'You can be anything you wish, but first we need an escape. Are you with me?' America flinched when one of the men swung his sword at him, but England moved forward half-a-step and the two swords clanged together. While the attacker was off balance, England stole his sword and threw the original stolen one at America. 'Look sharp lad!' he laughed as the nation fumbled, but finally held the sword correctly and pointed it at their enemies.
'Aha, now we're even!' he declared, ignoring the fact he didn't know how to use a sword. It couldn't be that hard.
'I said, are you with me?' England asked again and America yelped, narrowly avoiding being sliced on the arm. Sweat trickled down his brow as he flailed his sword in every direction, whacking away the ensuing hits.
'I'm with you! I'm with you!" he squeaked, though he would deny it later.
England shot him a wolfish grin, 'Then let's go matey,' and with that, the pirate cut them an exit and darted off. The guards that had been chasing England earlier were finally arriving and, combined with the original nobles, they all looked like a foe America shouldn't take on alone – so he followed England, but only because England might get in trouble if he didn't have any awesomeness with him!
He hadn't the faintest idea where they were going, but England appeared to. He didn't hesitate when it came to the twisting stairs and winding corridors. He was fantastic with a sword too; it was like an extension of his arm.
The same couldn't be said of America.
He kept forgetting he had a sword, so several times he'd almost hit England with it ('Watch it you dimwit!') or got it stuck in the wall. So maybe it wasn't as easy as the video games made it look. He had a memory of getting his sword stuck in a wall in those games, too, but he'd assumed that was just a glitch…
Of course, the most curious thing was that England's hat hadn't once blown off. He had to learn that trick!
'Here we go,' England stated, halting in front of a thick oak door. He tried the handle but it was locked. 'Can I trust you to deal with the landlubbers while I deal with this?' he glanced at America. Said nation stared back. What was a landlubber again? The pirate made an irritated noise and nodded to the guards that had just appeared at the end of the hallway. In a flash, America realised what the other had meant.
'Oh! Yeah, it's cool, I can do that.' It was finally time to be a hero. This was what he'd been waiting for the whole time, the chance to show his moves and prove that he could be just as awesome as England right now. Besides, how unfair was it that this was his dream and England, of all people, was cooler than him? He should be the best!
He pointed his sword at the incoming guards.
'Avast, me hearties!' he shouted in his best pirate accent – which was heavily based on Pirates of the Caribbean. 'Back or I'll slice off yer heads off!' he waved the sword at them. They halted, watching him wearily.
'Kill the foreigner but keep Kirkland alive! He's wanted by Her Majesty!' the leader of the group ordered.
America blinked, 'Dude, you're wanted by your Queen? What did you do?'
'It's not what you think,' England replied, grunting as he fiddled with the lock.
'Whatever, don't worry – I won't let them get you!' he spotted the guard whose nose he had broken earlier, glaring daggers, and glared back at him. 'I'll give 'em a taste of true American medicine!' He was going to show them all what happened when you messed with a hero.
'Bingo!' England managed to get the door open, and so America didn't get the chance to prove just how awesome Americans were because the other nation grabbed the scruff of his neck and hauled him through the open door. He slammed it shut behind them and then bolted it with his sword.
America stared mournfully at it. 'But… but I didn't even get a chance to show my stuff!' he wailed. 'I had it all planned out and everything!' the door bulged suddenly and he yelped, stepping backwards.
'Idiot!'
Only England's hand on his arm stopped him from tumbling back into the sea. 'We can't have you heading for Davy Jones just yet, can we lad?' England stabilised him and then let go, and America did not have the sudden urge to cling to him again. He gulped, staring down at the steep drop. Where England had taken them didn't look any different to where he'd been awhile ago.
Rocks, sea, a nasty fall – oh yes, this was familiar indeed.
'Dude, what're you doing?' he demanded. England shrugged one shoulder and hopped onto the small edge that inched around the outside of the fort, looking like he did it every day.
'Do you trust me?' he questioned.
'No!'
'Good lad,' England smirked. America swallowed. He'd seen England's smirks before – they were fleeting, of course, though not as rare as an actual smile – but they'd looked nothing like this. There was a sparkle in his one emerald eye that thrived on danger and, as the wind whipped around them and sent both hair and clothes all over the place, he had a manic, dangerous air.
But England… could never be that scary, right? England was just a stuffy old man who couldn't cook and knitted and spent his hours arguing with France... right?
The door bulged again and the sword bent dangerously. America swore before clambering onto the ledge after Not-England and followed him. He moved just in time because the guards burst through the next second, but couldn't follow them due to their bulky clothing.
The one in charge shouted something about heading to the other side, but America didn't hear because he was too busy trying not to lose his balance and plunge to a bloody death.
Seriously, this dream should have ended a long time ago. Why hadn't it ended?
'Here's the spot!' Not-England stopped and turned so his back was to the wall and his front faced the open sea. For a moment, there was a wistful look on his face, but it disappeared so quick America wondered if he imagined it. Not-England turned and held out his hand, whilst the other went to hold his hat to his head. 'Are you ready?'
'… For what?' America eyed the hand dubiously. It was dirty and calloused – another sign this wasn't England. England would never let himself stay so dirty.
'To jump of course,' the other scoffed. 'What did you think we were going to do?' America looked between the pirate and the sea and then blanched.
'You're not serious. I know you want to keep up with my awesomeness, but seriously, this is not a good idea because hello, rocks? Smashing? Dying?' he babbled, hoping to convince Not-England that this was an extremely bad idea. 'Look, we're nations so we can survive a lot but that doesn't mean we should -'
Not-England scowled, 'I still want to know how you know about that…' he shook his head and sighed. 'Look, you can jump with me or you can continue on this ledge to its end where you'll meet a bloody death. Which'll it be?'
The way he looked at America made him feel like a kid again, looking up at Big Brother England after another scary story. He would always look like he didn't know whether to be amused or exasperated and settled for a combination of both. It was truly a trademark England look – no one else combined condescension and amusement so well.
But it was also different – there was a challenge in his eyes, daring him to prove he wasn't a coward and hell, a hero could never be accused of being a coward.
'Screw you!' he snapped, taking hold of Not-England's hand. The pirate's smirk widened.
'Smartly now lad!' and then he jumped. Without warning. Their linked hands meant America was yanked away from the wall to go with him, and then they were falling and the salty wind was stinging on their faces and making his eyes water and he couldn't help it, he screamed.
And then they hit the water.
A/N: Here's the second revised chapter of A Trustworthy Pirate. It's actually not all that different to the original draft, but I hope it's better written. The biggest change is taking out where America calls England 'Iggy' and human names because, actually, America rarely calls England that in the actual manga itself. Likewise, human names aren't ever actually used. However, IMO, you can't just have someone running around parliament calling themselves the country, right? So, the human names are used to hide their real names.
Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, please, or if you spot any mistakes. Also, how am I doing for humour? I'm not that good at it, so if there's anything that doesn't work please tell me, and why. Thank you for reading! :3
Explanations and Shit: so I figured that, uh, there might be some explanations necessary.
1) The human feces... well, there was no sewers or anything, so where else would it go? Likewise with the loo. There's no modern plumbing, so... corner it is. :3
2) The reason why America's jacket goes black is because of all the grime on the streets that's clinging to him. He's not used to it so he notices it, but because everyone else has lived in it all their lives they don't notice it. The same with the smell.
3) People were very superstitious in those times. Anything abnormal and, well, you're screwed. Generally, whilst it was done, sinking with a stone to test their innocent wasn't the regular punishment at the time. The usual method was hanging - only the important got beheaded. Oh, they also hated foreigners - a lot. Especially the French and the Spanish. Probably the Dutch, too. But we like the Portuguese - got a 600-odd year treaty with them, ha.
4) French ancestry... 1066. Nuff said.
