Thank you all for the positive response so far! I'm happy people are enjoying this odd little story so very inappropriate for this lovely season! XD
Thanks to: tokyoghoul234, Antheia Gwynn, suzako, Roaming Snow, AnyaZeAwesomeGlaceon, Diurnal Days, flamethrowerqueen and phantomfox!
Evergreen
[2/3]
"I'm not convinced you really know where you're going."
"Sure I do." America tugged on his hand, leading him beneath a silvered bough. "Come on, this way." He grinned back at him. "And try to keep up, old timer."
"I'm going to put my foot up your cheeky arse in a minute, boy."
"Haha, like you could even catch me."
"...You know I'll always catch you, America."
America stopped dead. England bumped into his back, his feet crunching on the frost underfoot as he stumbled. He shook his head.
"Love?"
"I know," America said quietly. He bowed his head, clenched his fists, nails curling into his palms. "I know you will, England."
England exhaled through his nose, putting a hand to his shoulder.
"I didn't mean... that is..."
"I know," America said again. He reached back, clasped his cold hand atop England's for a moment. "Still, it doesn't hurt, does it?" Another pause. "To be reminded."
"I wasn't being cruel. At least... not on purpose."
"I don't think you're ever cruel on purpose, England." America pulled away, striding ahead. The axe gleamed across his back. "In fact, I've always felt that your particular cruelty is an accident, a by-product."
England stuck his hands in his pockets, crunching after him. "How kind of you absolve me of sin," he said, "but I'm afraid it's not true. Spain, France, China... I knew exactly what I was doing then."
"Oh, god, I wasn't talking about them." America stretched out his arms, his fingertips tracing over the blackened trunks of crusted trees. "I was talking about me."
"I should have known. You're always talking about yourself."
"Heh. You're always talking about me, too." He turned towards England, walking backwards. "I am your sun."
"My thoughts exactly. You're full of hot air."
America laughed uproariously, unoffended, genuinely amused. His laughter echoed all throughout the silent woodland, tangling in the cold grasping naked branches. It populated, miraculously magnified, made it sound like there was a crowd – hundreds of other invisible Americas between the trees, just out of sight, the re-emergence of Roanoke.
England shivered and shook it off. No, he knew well enough. It was just the two of them out here.
They left America's laughter behind, venturing ever deeper into the cold quiet heart of the woods beyond their home. England supposed he could see why America seemed so certain of snow, with everything crisp and brittle and bright; leaf veins and grass blades brought to brash attention, swollen under the weight of winter. Only the thick crusts of sharp holly and sly winding ivy remained their deep fierce green – filigree and crowns, England half-remembering old customs, mad merriment from centuries before America, the scent of tangerines and cloves.
Ah, and now the sudden heavy smell of pine.
"Ta-dah!" America gestured triumphantly towards the nestled grove of splendid spruces, sparkling silver in the sun. "Perfect, aren't they?"
"Indeed." England frowned. "They are... rather big. How do you propose to–?"
"Ah, it'll be fine. I'll drag it home, no sweat." America bounced on the balls of his feet. "So... which one do you want?"
"Oh, I'm not bothered. You decide. You're the one who really wants it." England folded his arms. "I really can't see the point, myself."
"Oh, piss off, Scrooge." America waved his hand dismissively at him. "Fine, fine, I'll pick one." He rubbed at his chin, tilting his head. "It needs to be a good one..."
England huffed, shivering. He didn't know why he'd allowed America to even talk him into this. Perhaps he'd just felt like the walk. He knew perfectly well that nothing was going to come of all this.
"This one!" America announced, pointing to a medium-ish perfectly formed tree twinkling in the middle. "How about it, England? Do you like it?"
"They all look the same to me."
"They do not!" America sulked. "This is serious business, England! You should know that better than anybody! You're the one who started this Christmas Tree thing!"
"Wrong. It was Germany. I pinched it from him." England pressed his lips together. "You knew that."
"Ugh, I can't remember all that stuff. It was like a thousand years ago."
"No, it wasn't." England didn't bite. "Fucking hurry up, will you? I'm freezing my bollocks off."
"I told you, it's gonna snow." America reached back for the axe, taking it in both hands. "Anyway, stand back. I'm gonna go all George Washington on this thing."
England was torn between saying "I'm amazed you even remember who George Washington is" and "No, you're not" but in the end he said nothing, watching America line the axe up with the trunk. He gave a few lazy practice swings and England saw his hands falter even then. Finally he took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, tensed his powerful muscles and pulled back, swung–
Stopped dead. The axe was inches from the tree, which trembled in the wind. There wasn't a sound. England felt in his pocket for cigarettes, as he often did at times like this, but of course came up empty-handed.
"Hey," he said softly. "America. Let's go home."
America let the axe drop with a clatter. He let out a deep breath, perhaps one he hadn't realised he'd been holding in, and straightened. He looked at England blankly.
"England," he said. "...I can't do it. I... I just can't."
England sniffed. "I don't know what you were expecting," he replied.
[1863]
America self-consciously smoothed down the lapels of his suit as he made his way through the twirling crowd. It was rather shabby, fraying at the seams, a little out of fashion, but it was the only good one he had.
He had other things to spend his money on, after all – whether he wanted to or not.
He came to a halt beneath the balcony and looked up. There was a gleaming tree at the head of both staircases, grand silvered things encrusted with gleaming baubles and wreaths of tinsel, so heavily jewelled that they no longer looked real. Between them, his elbows on the balcony's velvet banister, was England. He was smoking and looked bored as hell. Even when his green eyes shifted and met America's, his expression didn't really change – like he was well beyond reaching. Perhaps the opium rumours were true after all.
He did, however, straighten in acknowledgement. He beckoned and America needed no excuse, climbing the stairs, ascending to meet him. He couldn't even find it in him to much care that England would make a public spectacle of it.
"Well," England said, one hand on the velvet. He looked him up and down. "I confess, I didn't think you would come. I thought you would be... otherwise engaged."
"Yes." America nodded. "I... I am. I should be."
"And yet...?"
America exhaled. "I just... needed to get away for a while. I couldn't breathe. I mean, you understand, don't you? England?"
"Hmm?" England craned his neck to look over the balcony again. His eyes flickered over the crowd in all their finery, whirling to a waltz. He rolled his cigarette back and forth between his fingers.
"...No," America muttered. He looked at the carpet, feeling like an idiot. "How... how could you?"
"Of course I understand," England replied. He didn't look at him. "I wasn't always like this. You know that."
"I suppose... sometimes I forget."
England, reversed meteor: once so small and scrappy, now splendid, scorching, sun-never-setting. He, too, was buried beneath the baubles of his edgeless empire, a sapphire like a fist at the froth of his throat. He was in black embroidered velvet with a blue sash across his chest and a cape gathered at one shoulder, the silk lining glistening like a new-split fruit. He had white gloves, kid, something soft, completely covered from the neck down. America couldn't remember what he even looked like underneath, couldn't recall the scent of his skin, not anymore.
England pushed off the balcony, looking America up and down.
"You're afraid of me," he said.
"No, I'm not."
"You are. You think you don't know me."
England stubbed out his cigarette and reached for him. America recoiled as far as he could without actually daring to take a step back – and England caught him, rubbing at his cheek with his thumb. He examined his glove afterwards, frowning at the mark.
"Dirty business, isn't it?" he said. "...War, I mean."
"It's got nothing to do with me." A little vehement, maybe. "The goddamn humans again...! They're fighting between themselves now, can you believe it? After all that!"
"Yes," England said absently. "After they dragged you away from me as their trophy... It's a shame, really it is."
I mean, look at me now. This is what you're missing. Do make sure you go back and tell them, won't you?
England, he thought, was preening – just a little bit, a new habit, but it was definitely there. America wasn't afraid, not really, but he was wary. It was true that he didn't know him anymore. He didn't feel that he could hang off his neck and beg, at the very least.
Besides, England was supremely selfish. In the end, he had been no fucking help at all.
"I do like your trees," America said vaguely, changing the subject. He didn't want to be asked. "They're very pretty."
"Oh, thank you." England had gone back to sounding bored as sin. "Germany's idea."
"Ah." America scrunched his nose. "Yes, I had heard... that you two are practically married."
England waved his hand. "Purely political, I assure you. Victoria does what she bloody well likes."
"So do you."
England looked right at him, his green eyes gleaming.
"That's rich," he drawled, "coming from you."
(England got dressed again before the long mirror in his parlour. America watched him, curled under the covers. He was too exhausted to move.
"I'm afraid I must go back to the party," England said. "It is Christmas, after all. I'd better show my face."
"Yes," America sighed. He closed his eyes.
"But you may stay here if you want," England went on. He pinned his cravat with the huge sapphire. "...Hiding."
America opened his eyes again. He didn't say anything, watching England glance at him in the mirror.
"I know that is why you're here," England said. "You ran away."
A sigh. "What does it matter?"
"Nothing. Not to me." England buttoned his jacket. "But you cannot flee forever."
America pulled the covers over his head. "Yes, I can.")
Next update on Christmas Eve! So far I have managed to keep to my schedule so I have high hopes, haha!
