Notes: Thank you so much for the support, your comments were truly heart-warming and appreciated!
As promised, here is the last chapter – quite a bit longer than the other one.
No warnings aside from the fact that English isn't my first language.
I hope you'll enjoy this, and please review!
Chapter 2
England was in a daze as he stormed out of the house, his legs automatically carrying him towards the tree he had previously stumbled upon listening to America's cries. All England could focus on was the memory of Canada's frame huddled on the ground. He couldn't understand how he had dismissed his injuries – the child has been curled up on himself, unmoving, his skin had been so pale – how could he have not realized that he was hurt?
Because you were focused on Alfred, who was crying, and you forgot about anything else.
If anything, that made the matter worse. Theoretically, England knew that Canada was quieter than America, that it was harder for the second colony to express his needs – but England always forgot to act accordingly. His stomach twisted painfully, England had to swallow down the bile at the back of his throat.
"Is Mattie going to be all right?"
England started as the small voice disrupted his train of thoughts, prompting him to cast a glace behind his shoulders. America was trotting behind him, uncaring of the torn tunic that had slid down his shoulder, his still red eyes huge on his uncharacteristically pale skin.
England's mind automatically went back to Canada's ashen face.
'I have no idea. Because I left him alone and didn't even check,' would have been the truthful answer, but it wasn't one England could offer America – the only child he hadn't betrayed, whose eyes still looked full of trust as he waited for his reply.
"Of course he is, love. We just need to take care of him," he answered with a fake smile, trying to ignore the unbearable weight at the bottom of his stomach.
England slowed down for a single moment to let America catch up with him, then he swiftly picked up the child, holding him against his chest. He had been intentioned to leave America inside the safety of the house, but now that the child was beside him, England couldn't let him run, in his concern, he might trip and get hurt… England couldn't have borne that, he could feel his heart threatening to burst at the mere thought.
America didn't protest. He curled up against England's chest as his older brother ran and grabbed his shirt, the tense grip conveying all his perturbation. England could feel the child hold his breath against his chest, but he to refuse to think about the implications, or he would break down – instead, he forced his legs to move faster.
When he reached the tree, England was out of breath and dizzy. The panic eating at his mind felt like a déjà vu. He almost didn't register as he crouched down to let America free, his ringing ears barely caught the high-pitched cry of "Mattie!".
All England could focus on was the child right in front of him, curled into a ball and clutching his left shoulder. He hadn't moved from the position England had left him, but his eyes were closed on his sickly wan face. His bear companion was right next to him, but he wasn't a concern of England's.
"Matthew!" he gasped, holding his arms out to the child as took a step closer.
England's advance was suddenly halted by a menacing growl. Kumajiro stepped in front of his owner, showing his bare teeth to America and England.
"Kuma! Let us pass, Mattie's hurt!" Alfred protested.
The bear only growled louder, his body stiffening. Behind him, Canada stirred, alerted by the sound.
England cautiously knelt in front of Kumajiro, swallowing to try and keep the panic from seeping through his voice.
"Kumajiro, you must be scared because Canada is hurt, aren't you?" The bear could feel Canada's pain just like America had, probably. "I'm here to help. But to do so, I need to see Canada, I need to take him back to the house. Please, let me get to him."
England's eyes kept darting to Canada's frame, worryingly still behind the bear. While he could probably forcefully remove Kumajiro, that wouldn't be the best way to keep Canada calm.
The bear let out a sound between a scoff and a growl, his blazing black eyes fixed on England.
"If you want to help, why didn't you do it before? You left him alone instead. How can you help him if you hurt him?"
The bear's accusatory words felt like he had stomped right on England's chest, his eyes were scorching flames. England's mouth was frozen, his brain couldn't come up with words to counter that accusation – because it was a painfully true one.
America whined at his right, suddenly tearing England away from his self-commiseration. He took a deep breath, lowering his head in surrender.
"I know. I know I have hurt him, and words will never be enough to amend to this. But please, I beg you to let me through. You will have the time to berate me as much as you want later, but now, taking care of Matthew is more important."
England held his breath as he waited for Kumajiro's answer.
The voice that tore the silence, however, was much softer and insecure, almost trembling.
"Mr England?"
England abruptly raised his head as Canada stirred, blinking. The pain and confusion filling the child's eyes reached England's chest like a stab.
"Mr England, you came back?"
The child's words were tearing England's heart into pieces, but he did his best to offer Canada a soft smile.
"Of course I came back."
"It was just a mistake, Mattie!" America added helpfully, "I couldn't tell it wasn't me who was hurting, at first…"
England barely registered his word, his undivided attention taken by Canada. The small child blinked in his confusion, but the glimmer of hope that gave alertness to his glazed eyes was unmistakable.
"It thought it was Alfred who was hurt, Matthew." The admission cost England all his self-restraint, but he knew that it was needed. "That's why I took him away, leaving you here because I thought you were simply scared, as you weren't crying."
The excuse sounded pathetic even to England's how ears.
At loss of words, Canada tried to shift, only to stop as a grimace warped his features.
"Don't move! Can you tell me where you are hurt?" England urged the child.
He placed a hand on America's shoulder as the child fidgeted, trying to prevent him from reaching Canada and starling Kumajiro, but the same trepidation tensed his nerves.
"I… I think it's my shoulder. It hurts real real bad," Canada answered in a half-sob, his eyes finally welling with tears.
Swallowing down the painful lump in his throat, England nodded.
"I have to look at it. Don't try to move. Can I come to you?"
At Canada's small nod, Kumajiro finally moved to a side, even if he still addressed a small growl at England when he stepped closer to Canada. The man did his best to ignore it as he finally wrapped his hands around the small body and hoisted it in his arms as carefully as he could, shushing the child when he whimpered.
With America trotting at his side and Kumajiro silently following behind them, England started heading back to the house, hyperaware of the weight of Canada's body in his arms. The child didn't let out a single sound, but he squeezed his eyes shut and buried his head against England's shoulder, pain lacing his tight features.
"Mattie? Mattie, I'm so sorry…" America mumbled a couple of times.
He fell silent after his brother failed to answer, and England himself wasn't feeling up to tackling the issue, he could hardly think straight. He simply cradled the small body closer to his chest when a suppressed half-sob bubbled up Canada's throat.
When they finally reached the house, England took a small consolation in the fact that all the medical supplies were already laid on the table, where he gently deposited Canada's trembling form.
The boy's eyes were closed, his breath coming out in rapid gasps and his forehead drenched in cold sweat. When England called him, Canada's eyelids fluttered open, but he didn't speak, all that went past his lips was a whimper that tore England's heart in pieces. He would have wanted nothing more than hug the child and apologize over and over, but he knew that it wasn't the right moment.
"Let's see your shoulder, Matthew," he said instead, fighting to keep his voice even.
England gently wrapped his fingers around the child's small ones, noticing how they trembled as he pried them away.
Canada let out a high-pitched whine, his eyes filling with tears as they looked pleadingly up to England.
"Non, non! Arrêtez! Ça fait mal…"
Canada's feeble plead was followed short by a yelp from America and a growl from Kumajiro.
"All right, all right," England murmured soothingly as he retracted his hands, his heart racing. "No more of this."
His stomach flipped as his eyes landed on one of the dark bottles he had previously deposited on the table. Laudanum. The fact that a child so young would need a pain reliever spellt out on its own how wrong the entire situation was, but England also knew that he needed Canada to be compliant if he wanted to have a proper examination of his shoulder.
After a gentle caress to Canada's soft but sweaty hair, England took out a spoon and filled it with the thick dark brown liquid that spread a strong smell of alcohol over the room. Canada grimaced when the spoon was placed in front of lips.
"It probably isn't going to taste good," England admitted, "But it will make you feel better, poppet."
That seemed to convince Canada to open his lips and accept the spoon. The child coughed immediately after, squeezing his eyes and recoiling, but he swallowed all the liquid.
"Good, good. It's going to be all right now," England murmured, stroking the child's hair as he waited for the laudanum to take effect.
His other hand went to America's head when the child pressed himself against his leg, seeking comfort. At loss of words, England started slowly humming the tune he used for the children's lullabies. Both colonies relaxed under his hands, and after a bit, Canada's eyes started growing hazy and his hitched breathing slowed down to a regular pattern.
"That's it, love," England whispered encouragingly, "You're doing wonderfully."
This time, when his hands went to Canada's shoulder, the child didn't oppose any resistance, abandoning his boneless body to England's prying fingers. Only a small whimper went through his lips as the hand clutching his shoulder was gently removed to fall limply on his lap.
Just like he had done with America, England tore off the tunic – but this time, the reason he found the breath blocked in his throat was a completely different one. Canada's shoulder was a horribly swollen mass of red and purple, no trace was left of his white skin. Even worse, the mere sight was enough to confirm a fracture. England's hands were trembling as they hovered over the injury, the blood hammering in his ears as the gut-wrenching knowledge of what he had to do settled in his stomach. He took a deep breath, forcefully banning the panic to a corner of his mind and commanding his hands to stay still.
"I'm so sorry, love," he murmured, but Canada only reacted with a small whine when England's fingers started prodding his shoulder.
A corner of England's brain wanted to feel grateful for the fact that the laudanum was doing exactly what it had promised to, but the unsettling sight of that dazed look in Canada's eyes only increased the uneasiness. Such a young colony should have never needed something as strong as laudanum in the first place.
England's chest was so tight that he could barely breathe, yet he forced himself to divert his eyes from Canada's face and ignore America's movements at his side, focusing all his attention on his examination before the child could get back some feeling.
The broken bone ends felt misaligned under England's fingers. Beads of sweat cropped up his forehead as he carefully manoeuvred around Canada's shoulder to set them back in place, but the child didn't react with anything more than a mewled whine. By the time England had finished wrapping up the shoulder so it could remain still and heal, Canada hadn't uttered a single word, and his dull, drooping eyes were devoid of tears.
England took his chance for a careful examination of the child's body, but there weren't other serious injuries aside from multiple bruises and scratches littering the pale skin.
England finally let his hand fall to a side and closed his eyes to try and regain control of himself, a wave of dizziness washing over him.
"How's Mattie?" America asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.
England turned to see the colony sitting on the ground, nestled against Kumajiro's side, a serious expression darkening his features.
In spite of the exhaustion, England managed to summon a soft smile to reassure the child. Lying probably wasn't wise, seeing how America was apparently able of sensing his brother's distress, but he could avoid being too detailed.
"There are some broken bones in his shoulder, but I've set and immobilized them, so they will heal completely. It will take two weeks at most, then he'll be as good as new."
England wasn't truly sure of that, he had never seen a colony being badly injured. He only knew that it was going to take longer than it would for himself.
America nodded solemnly, keeping his jaw rigid in a futile attempt of hiding the trembling of his lower lip. England didn't know how to soothe him.
"Come on, I'll take him to bed," he declared instead with a tired sigh as he carefully hoisted Canada into his arms.
The child barely mumbled at the motion, but he didn't offer any other reaction. Was that the reaction to the laudanum? England himself had been administered it after some bad injuries, and his memories of those times were hazy and muffled, but seeing that effect on a child was plainly wrong.
Setting aside all his concerns, England walked to his bedroom and deposited Canada's limp form in the middle of the bed before wrapping it in two blankets.
"Here?" America asked, hesitantly walking closer.
"I want to keep an eye on him. And it's not the first time you two sleep here, isn't it? It won't be any different."
After what had happened, England couldn't bear the thought of the child potentially waking up alone in a dark room, as scared as he had been in the woods. Even if he wasn't sure that his presence would truly be welcome, after his mistake…
Trying to shake off the uneasiness, England turned his head to America to find the child fidgeting next to the bed. When his eyes focused on America's knees, another pang of guilt flared up in his stomach.
"I've done everything I could for Matthew. Now, let me have a look at your knees," he declared softly, kneeling to be at America's level.
Much to his surprise, the child shook his head.
"It's fine. They're already healing, anyway."
America was right, such superficial injuries were quick to heal for a nation. The thought didn't make England feel any better, and neither did America's downcast eyes and uncharacteristically quiet voice, hitting England like a punch in a chest with another reminder of what an inadequate caretaker he was.
Will I ever do something right?
The gloomy thoughts pressing on England's brain were sapping away all his strength, he wanted nothing but to lie down and sleep for an entire week. Maybe, he would forget about the guilt constricting his chest, then.
But, of course, it wasn't anything more than wishful thinking. In spite of how long the day had felt, the sun wasn't even set yet, England still had many other matters to attend.
"Are you hungry?" he asked America, remembering that the child hadn't eaten anything since lunch and his appetite was usually anything but meagre.
America hesitated a moment before raising his head, confusion shining in his widened eyes.
"And what about Mattie?"
"I doubt he feels like eating right now," England answered, casting another glance at the small frame in the middle of the bed. "But you should have dinner. I'll just fetch something from the kitchen, it won't take more than a minute, then we can all have dinner here. Does it sound good?"
'All' probably amounted to America alone, England's stomach was clenched shut, but at the child's hesitant nod England strode off the room, trying his best not to think about anything but the most compelling actions, his mind weighted down by the knowledge of how careful he had to be: he had already made a horrid mistake. No matter how worried he was for Canada, England couldn't forget about America, either, or he would be back to the same situation.
Fortunately, England had prepared some meat pie for lunch and he wouldn't have to cook again… some added bread and cherry pie he had bought at the village before getting to the children would be enough for America's dinner.
England has just gathered the food on a wooden tray when a sudden cry made him start.
"Arthur!"
England's blood ran cold at the note of panic in America's voice. The man immediately rushed back to the bedroom, the tray still clutched in his hands only because putting it down would have meant wasting some other precious moments.
"Alfred? Alfred, what's wrong?" he shouted as he ran.
This time, his mind immediately identified the hollow feeling in his gut as America's terror. At the doorway, England's eyes automatically landed on the edge of the bed, his stomach lurching. Canada was hunched over, his body shaking with heaves. America was right next to him, clutching his brother's sane arm as he alternated between calling Canada's and England's names. A corner of England's brain acknowledged Kumajro on the ground, holding a chamber pot that had prevented Canada from dirtying the floor. England might have even felt grateful, if it weren't for the ball of horror that welled up in his chest, drowning any other feeling.
"Matthew!" he cried out, almost letting the tray drop as he dashed to the child.
America stepped back when England forcefully took hold of Canada's body, rubbing his back and keeping the injured arm pressed against the child's chest to avoid it being jostled. A litany of useless words of comfort England was only partially aware of spewed from his lips.
Canada looked hardly aware of what was happening, but he was sobbing among the heaves, each sound stabbing England's chest deeper and deeper.
While his hands automatically worked to support the child, England's mind was reeling from the scare, it took him some unbearably long moments to put together what had happened.
It had to be the laudanum. I gave him too much.
England berated himself for not checking Canada's reaction to it before administering the full dose. While he himself had never had issues, he knew of people reacting badly to laudanum. There was no excuse for forgetting about it.
Thankfully, it didn't take long for Canada to settle down. Soft sobs still seeped through his lips and tears ran down his ashen cheeks, but the child's eyes were glassy, he didn't look truly aware of what was happening. Only scared.
England wiped Canada's face with a towel before pressing him to his chest.
"It's all right, love. It's over now," he murmured sweetly, hoping that his words would be heard through the haze enveloping his colony's mind.
England was lying, of course. Canada's reaction meant that he could no longer use laudanum to soothe the child's pain. Thankfully, he had already set his shoulder, but the injury was severe, it was probably going to hurt for another couple of days at least. Canada might still stomach Willow bark, but it wasn't nearly as strong.
In spite of everything, England couldn't show any of his insecurities. He kept cradling Canada to his chest, gently humming a lullaby, until the child's breathing slowed down to a normal rate. England's heart-rate followed short, but the cold grip around his chest never loosened. The feeling of guilt only increased when England tried to lower Canada on the bed only for the child to struggle slightly, his healthy hand blindly groping England's sleeve.
"Ne me laisse pas seul," the child slurred. (Don't leave me alone)
"I won't. I'm right here," England promised, his voice trembling in spite of his best effort.
He was aware of how hollow his words sounded, after what had happened, but he swallowed around the lump in his throat and kept holding Canada's hand until he was sure that the child had slid into a full sleep.
Only then, England turned to America, who had been sitting worryingly still and quiet the entire time, with his eyes stubbornly trained on the clenched fists in his lap. England could still feel the lingering tendrils of his panic.
"Alfred, love? Matthew is going to be all right. He reacted badly to the medicine, but it's over now. He just needs some rest – we all do. I know that it's early, but it has been a long day. Why don't you eat your dinner and then come to lie down next to your brother? Everything will be better, tomorrow."
America pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. He spared a quick glance at England before sliding down to retrieve the tray with his food, but, instead of heading back to the bed, he started walking towards the door.
"I'll go to my room," he declared in a small voice, his shoulders tensed in determination. "I'm fine. I don't need to stay here."
The words reached England like a punch in the gut. He wanted to call back America, but he found himself frozen, his eyes glued to child's back.
America was angry at him. It was to be expected, after all, because of England's negligence, his brother was hurt… but the realization didn't hurt any less.
How am I ever going to fix everything?
England wasn't sure that he could. Shaking his head, he forced himself to turn his eyes from the door. He couldn't bear to look at Canada, either, his form looked minuscule in the middle of the bed, stirring unpleasant feelings, so England just let his eyes roam over the room, not truly taking anything in until they fell on the chamber pot at the feet of the bed. That needed cleaning.
When he tried gathering the strength to stand up, however, England found himself frozen in the motion.
"Are you just going to stay here and do nothing?" a small voice snapped.
England turned, startled, realizing only at that moment that Kumajiro had climbed up next to his owner and was staring at him.
"I… Of course not," England stammered, "I just don't want to leave Matthew alone after this, if he felt sick again…"
"I'll stay," Kumajiro declared, his black eyes fixed on England's form, judging him. "He's not going to be alone. Washing a pot won't take much more than preparing dinner."
England flinched at the clear note of accusation in Kumajiro's words. He could just have left the conversation there, he shouldn't have to explain himself to a bear, of all things, but England found the words spilling from his lips.
"It's not the same," he had to admit through gritted teeth, "Alfred was here before. I could feel his distress, so I came back as soon as I felt something wrong. But… I cannot feel Matthew the same way."
The admission brought a sour taste to England's mouth as he suddenly realized that it was the same reason he had been so focused on America's pain and dismissed Canada's.
"Alfred and I share a different bond. Even if we don't share blood ties, he was originally born out of my people, so I can sometimes feel him as a part of me – especially if there's something wrong. But Matthew is different. He was born out of French people, I conquered him only later. He's not… mine in the same way."
The realization only doubled the weight pressing down on England's chest, breathing was almost physically painful. There was no excuse for how he had neglected Canada, he should have known better. He had known. Even France had urged him to be more careful, and, for how much England pretended not to listen to him, he had treasured his words, in the beginning. But he had eventually forgotten. Canada's timid and silent nature didn't help England to focus on him, but he knew that it was no excuse: Canada was merely a small colony, a child. England was the one responsible for him. He should have known better. His actions were unforgivable.
And Kumajiro was still staring at him, his black, expressionless eyes seemed to lay England's soul bare.
"And what are you going to do, now?" the bear challenged him, "Are you going to try to do better and fix this, or are you going to be too busy feeling sorry for yourself?"
The bear's words hit England like a slap.
"I'm not—"
Kumajiro harrumphed.
"You made a mistake. A horrible mistake. Now you can either wallow in your guilt and not change anything, or accept it, move on and try to do better."
After that, Kumajiro jumped off the bed, took the dirty chamber pot and scurried away, leaving England gaping at him.
After what felt like an eternity, England managed to shake himself and turned to Canada's sleeping figure. He certainly hadn't been expecting a life-lesson from a talking bear cub, of all things, and yet, there he was.
"I don't have much choice, do I?" England mused as he observed the slow raise and fall of Canada's chest under the blankets.
Now, the child's face was slack, completely devoid of pain.
The guilt was still pulsing in England's chest, a painful reminder of his mistake, but Canada deserved England's best efforts, not empty apologies. And so did America, once he would get over his rage and talk to England again.
Sighing, England threaded his fingers through Canada's soft hair as a thunder roared in the distance. He wasn't sure that he could do it. But he was the only one his colonies had, so he had to at least try.
A harsh light suddenly filled the room, the furniture casting ominous shadows against the walls. A deafening thunder followed short, making the bed vibrate with its roar.
America whimpered and he curled himself tighter under the blankets, his heart hammering. Tears were prickling at the corners of his eyes, but he gritted his teeth and refused to let them fall.
'I'll be fine. Everything will be fine,' America kept telling himself, swallowing down the whine that bubbled up his throat as another lighting soared in the sky, visible even through the blankets.
It wasn't fine.
What had started as a slow, comforting drizzle hitting the wood had since turned into a storm that had woken up America and was now keeping the child firmly into the grip of panic, his pulse racing.
America didn't like storms. They were too loud, too dangerous, and their clamour hid any other noise that could have identified danger. America hated that.
Even more, he hated the idea of having a possible source of comfort so close to him, yet being unable to reach it.
America wanted England.
When there was a storm, England would let the child sleep in his own bed, tucked against his chest, and the rain would sound fainter, the thunders less scary.
America curled up tighter on himself, clenching his fists as his breathing hitched.
He couldn't call England. He had promised himself that he wouldn't, at least this time. No matter how scary it got, America was going to endure it. Even when he couldn't restrain himself anymore, and his fear erupted in tears streaming down his face, America refused to call out for England, curling his trembling body into a tighter ball.
Because this time, America didn't deserve England's comfort.
When the door was suddenly slammed open, America hated himself for the wave of relief that made his body automatically relax at the familiar voice calling out his name.
"Go away!" he sobbed, "I'm fine, go away!"
England halted at the door before taking a hesitant step in.
"Alfred, you're crying," he said in a tender voice that made America's chest clench. "I know that storms scare you. You can sleep with me and Matthew, love."
America's chest ached with longing, but England's words reminded him why he had to be strong. He forced himself to shake his head and buried his body deeper under the blankets.
"No, go away!"
Go back to Mattie.
In his egoism, America had claimed England's attention for himself far too many times – and now, as a direct result of that, his brother was suffering, plagued by the worst pain America could have ever imagined.
There was a moment of silence, then America's mattress shifted under England's added weight. A gentle hand landed on the child's shoulder.
"Poppet, I know that you're angry at me."
Any remark died down in America's throat at the unexpected words, the surprise tying his tongue.
"I know. And you have every right to be, I understand this. No apology will ever be enough…"
"But I'm not."
America automatically turned to face England, his determination washed away by the confusion. The regret in England's voice was foreign, almost more unsettling than the storm raging outside.
England's eyebrows rose in bafflement.
"Aren't you upset because I left Matthew alone in the woods?"
Pain pierced America's chest, stealing the air away from his lungs.
"B—but…" he whimpered, tears once again gathering in his eyes, "That… that was my fault! If I hadn't cried so much, you would have taken care of Mattie, not me!"
England straightened up, his eyes widening for a moment before his expression softened.
"Oh, no," he murmured, shaking his head. "You two can feel each other emotions, can't you? It's not your fault. You simply didn't recognize that the pain was coming from Matthew and not from you. But I… I should have known better."
England's words made warmth blossom in America's chest with their sincerity. The child longed to launch himself into his brother's arms and sob until exhaustion washed away all the pain and fear.
But he couldn't, because, even if England didn't blame America for that part, he still didn't know the full story. The tears were ready to spill over, America's body was shaking.
"B—but… It was my fault! Mattie didn't want to c—climb the tree, and he told me to be ca—careful, but I didn't l—listen to him and I mo—mocked him so he w—would be quicker and he f—fell and n—now he's hurt! So, you should just leave me alone!"
Here it is.
America burst into tears, unable to restrain himself any longer. Now England was going to hate him, but America knew that he deserved it. At least, England would finally focus on Canada, just as he should have done from the beginning.
'I'm so sorry,' America thought desperately, but the bond between him and his brother had been frighteningly faint and dull since Canada had been administered that foul-smelling medicine.
Being left alone and scared would be his well-deserved punishment.
Instead, after a soft gasp, strong hands pressed America's body against England's warm shirt.
"Oh, no," England murmured, "It was an accident, poppet. Yes, you shouldn't have tried to climb the tree or press Matthew to do so, but… I don't even think you need any scolding, at this point. I think it's quite clear why I had told you not to climb the tree, isn't it? And either way, you don't deserve to be left alone and scared just because you made a mistake."
"But Mattie's hurt!" America wailed, raising his tear-filled eyes to look at England.
There was no anger written in his brother's features, only regret shone in his eyes.
"He is. And that's where you'll learn not to do something like this again. However, you didn't physically force your brother to follow you, in the end, it was his decision. He made a mistake as well, as we all do. You clearly didn't mean to hurt Matthew, I will never think about blaming you for his injuries. I can only blame you for your disobedience."
America wanted to believe England more than anything else. He wanted to be held by his older brother and be at Canada's side again. But he couldn't erase from his memories Canada's panicked-filled eyes, the sudden explosion of pain.
"B—but…"
"Alfred." In spite of his gentle voice, England's intonation was serious, almost solemn. "The mere fact that you place such a heavy blame on yourself show that you didn't have bad intentions. Yes, what happened was horrible, but it wasn't your fault. You're still a child, you're still learning. Making mistakes is normal, as long as you learn from them – and your reaction shows that you have. Now, all you have to do is to go forward with what you have learned. For example, you can be careful around Canada for the next few days and help him until he's healed. And now, you can come back with me and him, you don't have to stay here and be scared."
America hadn't thought it would have been so easy. Part of him couldn't help but think that it wasn't fair – but England didn't lie. And if England said that America could be forgiven, maybe it was true.
The child let his body slump against England's chest, trembling with exhaustion.
England pressed a gentle kiss to his head, and tightened his hold when a thunder made America yelp.
"It's all right, love. It's going to be all right."
America tightened his fists around the fabric of England's shirt as the older nation rose to his feet, cradling him to his chest.
As England started humming the comforting tune of his favourite lullaby, the grip around America's chest finally loosened. He was still terrified, but he trusted England, and that was enough for now. As soon as Canada was awake, he was going to work on the rest.
Canada had been feeling good, before. Wonderful, even. There was a pleasant layer of wool around his mind that prevented him from thinking, leaving him suspended in a soothing void where he didn't have to feel his body or worry about anything. As the time went by, however, the layer started thinning more and more until the what had first been a faint throbbing in Canada's left shoulder rose to a pulsing pain that took over the child's entire body, invading all his senses.
A whimper seeped through his lips.
At the same time, a gentle voice reached Canada through the sea of mud, accompanied by fingers threading through his hair before brushing back his bangs.
"Matthew?"
Canada pried his eyes open, urged by the familiar voice. After some blinking, the blurred colours in front of him morphed into England's face, that was creased in concern.
"Mr England?" the child asked groggily.
"Don't move," was the answer, and at the same time, a high-pitched "Mattie!" reached the child's ears.
The odd scared intonation of America's voice brought Canada back to complete alertness, making the memories rush back to him. The child gasped, his eyes wildly looking around.
He remembered an awful, all-consuming pain his shoulder, the grass pressing against his cheek – then, everything became hazy. Canada wasn't in the woods anymore, however, but lying in the middle of England's bed, under a soft blanket. His shoulder was still hurting fiercely, but not as bad as right after the fall, and it was immobilized by heavy bandages.
"You broke your clavicle, I had to set it," England explained, his warm hand resting on Canada's cheek, "It has been almost a day since then. It's going to be all right."
The shoulder, however, hadn't been Canada's main concern. His eyes darted back and forth from England's to America's concerned faces as the realization slowly settled into him with a wave of warmth.
"You… you came," Canada stammered, his voice hitching, "It wasn't only a dream…"
England's voice and hands were hazy, the last clear memory Canada had was being left behind. But it hadn't lasted. The sudden warmth blossoming in his chest brought tears to Canada's eyes.
England's expression softened, but his eyes were full of sadness as his thumb brushed away the tears.
He took a deep breath, as if unsure of what to say, but the distress was clearly written in the lines of his face. As the uneasiness spread across his stomach, Canada shifted, but a gasp was torn from his lips when the pain suddenly flared up in his shoulder, filling his vision with black spots.
England jumped to his feet at the same moment, the creases on his forehead growing deeper.
"Oh, bloody hell…" there was something wildly uncontrolled in the way his voice, and his hands were trembling, but England clenched them into fists and took a deep breath, straightening up. "Of course, it hurts. I… Matthew, I need to go downstairs and prepare something against the pain, but I'll be back. You don't move. Alfred and Kumajiro are with you, send one of them after me if you need anything."
England waited for Canada's small nod to dash away, leaving his colonies alone with the bear, who simply offered comfort by pressing himself against Canada's feet. Some moments of silence passed before the shifting of the mattress preannounced America coming closer. The child's eyes were impossibly wide as he looked at Canada, their usual mirth replaced by dejection.
"Mattie, I'm so sorry," the child started in an unusually soft voice, "I really am. I should have listened to you, you were right… and instead, I forced you to climb the tree and you got hurt. I'm so, so sorry. It's okay if you're angry at me, you can yell me as much as you want and I won't complain. I shouldn't have forced you."
Canada would have loved to be angry at America, and he had been annoyed at his carelessness so many times… but his brother looked earnestly crushed, his shoulders were hunched over and his eyes dull. Even worse, the tears prickling at the corners made Canada's stomach twist.
For how much he complained about America, that silent, downcast child wasn't his brother. The vitality was one of the most integral parts of him. And seeing how, for once, America was taking responsibility for his actions, Canada didn't have it in himself to be angry at him.
"It's all right," he murmured, "You didn't want me to get hurt. And I caved in and followed you up the tree, so it's my fault too."
"It's still wrong…"
America shook his head before lying down at Canada's right side and squeezing his hand.
"I promise I'll be more careful next time, Mattie. And… I don't think you're a wimp. You're my brother and I love playing with you, and I promise I'll take care of you better from now on."
Canada almost couldn't believe his ears, but America's eyes were looking straight at him, as earnest and only he could be. A sudden spark of joy surged in Canada's chest, making his lips open into a smile.
"I like playing with you, too. And it's forgiven."
The silence that fell after that was entirely comfortable. It might have even lulled Canada's exhausted mind to sleep, if it hadn't been for the pain in shoulder preventing him from completely slipping into unconsciousness.
Canada couldn't have said how much time had passed when England's careful steps announced his return.
"I'm sorry for taking so long," England said as he sat down on the bed, careful not spill the liquid inside a bowl in his hands. "This had to be prepared, but I didn't want to leave you alone before."
England's words made Canada's heart skip a beat. The more England talked, the more it looked like he truly regretted leaving Canada alone.
The child accepted England's help to rise to a sitting position, biting down a cry of pain when his shoulder was jostled. He accepted the scalding liquid and drank as much as he could before his stomach started feeling queasy, then gave the bowl back to England.
"This isn't too strong, but it should at least numb the pain a bit," England explained, "Unfortunately, you reacted quite badly to the other pain reliever I gave you before."
Canada couldn't recall anything, but America's fervent nod told him that England wasn't exaggerating.
"It's okay," he murmured, offering a small smile at England.
The man's expression didn't soften. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair before looking again at Canada.
"Nothing about this is okay. Matthew, I want you to know that I'm terribly sorry for what happened. There are no words to express how sorry I am, and no words that could be enough, either. But… you need to know that it wasn't intentional. I… I heard America cry while you were silent, and that led me to mistakenly believe that he was the one hurt and you were just in scared, instead."
Canada's stomach made a summersault at England's words. A mistake. England hadn't knowingly neglected him, it had all been a misunderstanding. Canada's head was spinning, a corner of his mind telling him that he was dreaming, but England went on talking.
"There are no excuses for that, but… I cannot undo what had been done. I can only promise that this is never going to happen again."
The guilt glimmering in England's eyes didn't match the seed of warmth his words had planted inside Canada's chest.
"Mr England, it's okay," the child declared, as firmly as he could manage. "You didn't do it on purpose. Alfred and I feel each other's pain, but I don't think we ever said that. So, you couldn't know. And you came back, in the end. This is what matters."
Canada knew that he wasn't the same as America, in England's eyes. For how much it hurt, he had come to accept it. However, England had just proved that he wasn't completely forgotten, and so had America's panic. Canada was still cared for.
And, as England gently ruffled his hair and America squeezed his hand, Canada couldn't help but think that he didn't truly have anything to complain about. He offered his brothers a soft smile and let himself hope that, as soon as England and America recovered from the shock and he from the injuries, everything would improve for the best. Either way, Canada swore to himself that he wasn't going to forget the fondness England and America had just displayed for him.
(word count: 7,208)
Notes:
It's a headcanon of mine that Canada reverts to French when he's confused or delirious (or simply half-asleep, too). I don't know French, but I found the sentences I was using through google (not translate, I mean that I wrote the entire sentence on google and found some matches in forums) so they should be all right.
As far as I know, Laudanum started being used as a pain reliever around the XV century, so I think it would be plausible for England to have it. I hope so, at least. I don't actually know how it smells, but it's a tincture made of alcohol and opium. Any time I've prepared a syrup containing alcohol the smell of alcohol was the prevalent one, so I went with it.
A side effect of morphine (the main active ingredient of opium) is vomiting, that's what happened to Canada.
Willow bark, instead, contains salicylic acid, that is chemically similar to acetylsalicylic acid (the active ingredient of Aspirin). I've seen records of it being used as a pain reliever and treatment against fever in colonial times.
As a last note, I want to say that England wasn't meant to be a villain in this story – simply a person who, in a moment of great stress, made a mistake (that was influenced by his stronger connection to America, too). For how tragic they can be, mistakes happen, they don't automatically turn the person who made them into an awful one. I hope I have been able to convey it better with this chapter.
That said, I truly hope this short story has brought you some enjoyment!
