Rating: T and I forgot to put in strong language but hey this is the Hetalia fandom, it can't be that bad.
Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya
In the morning, I insist on a checkup. It's not safe for him to be doing this kind of reckless stuff, especially when he's no longer at his prime.
"Fine," England huffs at last, and I'm glad the spitted insults have stopped. "Do what you want, but my clothes are staying on."
"Oui, I know!" I say. "I'm not as perverted as you seem to think!"
He sighs and lets me approach him, watching me warily as I sit beside him on his bed. I move slowly, like he's some sort of wild animal or has a fuse that could go off at any moment.
First I check the wound on his head. The gash has scabbed over, thankfully, and doesn't seem to be infected. I'll have to check that again-it can take some time for infections to show, and with close quarters such as these, we can't have anyone getting sick in case it spreads. His hair mostly hides it, but… "Hm… If anyone asks, you got this cut because you tripped over your wing, oui?"
"I know! Why can't you just heal it?" England demands, half-turning his head.
"Don't move!" I hiss, jerking my hand away. "I can't just heal it because the Practitioners would realize I've used some of my magic already today, which I could get in trouble for. If Italy doesn't notice, the human will. I'll fix it when-if-it actually gets concerning."
England crosses his arms tightly, his wings starting to fluff up. "Just say I tripped and you were on hand and you decided to help. I'm sure your subordinates wouldn't think it's too much of a disturbance."
"No need to get angry, mon lapin," I caution, edging away and eyeing his wings. They're strong enough to break my neck if he tried… Not that he would do that. Probably. "Non. That could not work. Who would believe that I volunteered to help you?"
"Good point, frog," England says thoughtfully, his arms relaxing into a more comfortable position. The insult isn't even said resentfully-like a nickname more than anything. "Get on with it, then. Are you going to insist upon anything else, or may we begin work?"
I sigh. "Go, do whatever you'd like. Just don't try that spell again, it's clearly dangerous."
"Don't tell me what to do," he hisses, standing, hands clenched. "Come on, we have work to do."
"We?" I ask, following suit as I straighten my uniform. He glances back at me.
"Yes, of course. I told them you would be helping me with a spell, and I do actually have a spell that would be much easier with the help of a medic. Come along, now," he tells me, and I follow in a sort of trance. What does he think he's doing? Does he really believe we could spend a whole day around each other without something or other being destroyed along the way?
We step out of the tent, wings held tense and our shoulders back because we have to set a good example to the thousands of soldiers stationed here. They don't know we're nations, but they do know that we're their commanding officers.
"So what are we doing?" I ask him, looking over. He doesn't spare me a glance.
"We're getting breakfast," he says after he's done snapping at a young Illusionist-one of the lowest ranks for a mage. She salutes, but as soon as he turns his back she sticks out her tongue at him. I wink and she looks mortified.
"Isn't it a bit late for that?" I wonder, looking back at him, but follow him into the mess hall. It's very basic-a high, domed ceiling made of wood and thin walls I could probably knock over if I wanted-but then again, I am a nation, so maybe humans wouldn't be able to do that. The inside of the room is full of small tables, and in the corner the cooks distribute food-bland, dry, and tasteless, but England seems happy enough. He would be happy eating cardboard, I think as we sit down. Maybe concrete too, but that would make his teeth worse than they already are.
He quickly finishes and spends the rest of the time chatting away with Japan, his immediate subordinate-a Sorcerer. Japan's wings are odd-unusually stiff, like he's constantly tense. Otherwise, though, they're completely normal-no streaks and with the long, narrower wings distinctive to the Asian nations (pretty much the opposite of my own rounded, broad wings). I just sit there, trying to force down the dry food I know I need but I'm sure will just sit there like lead in my stomach. We don't have any water in the mornings.
The world is running out of freshwater. The rivers are contaminated, our reservoirs drying up in the scorching heatwaves of the modern day. The Scarlets want to destroy what's left of the Earth, and the Cobalts-us-hope to restore it by looking for water in icy boulders of the Asteroid Belt.
I long for the days when wars didn't balance the fate of humanity.
We leave at last, just a few minutes before the cooks come to shoo us away. Japan follows us for a bit, and I'm half-sure he's speaking English, but most of them are magical terms that sound mostly like gibberish to me. He then bids England a quiet goodbye and rushes off towards another tent, his wings fluttering nervously and muttering something about South Korea groping-wait, what? It sounds like I need to team up with South Korea!
"Quelle?" I ask, quickening my pace to fall into step beside England.
He grits his teeth. "It was nothing," he says, and I give him a skeptical look. He keeps his eyes firmly focused on the ground. "Really, we're just old friends. Anglo-Japanese alliance and all that."
"You were talking about magic. What's going on?" I wonder as England guides me back to his-no, our-tent.
"None of your business, frog-face," he snaps, scowling, his wings flaring. "Now. You're going to have to wait silently unless I directly ask you a question. And don't move at all because I don't want you distracting me. It would be preferable if you didn't breathe, actually, but I doubt you'll agree to that."
"You are cruel, mon lapin," I mutter. He ignores me and I go to my cot, stretching like a cat, my wings unfolding and nearly whacking England in the head. He smacks it away and I glare at him, flopping down on my stomach and propping my head up on my hand. "What are you doing first?"
"Making sure the force field around the camp is still strong, because the Illusionists and the Enchanters are useless idiots who have no idea what they're doing," he says conversationally.
"You mean, they're like you?" I ask, smirking. He glares, furious, and retorts with what I'm sure he thinks is a biting comment but really only makes me try not to laugh.
And so is our life together.
