In the dim light of dusk, Williamsburg seemed enchantingly surreal.
Lanterns glowed in the windows and people moved quickly on the cobble streets, their modern clothing less jarring in the darkness. As night fell the buildings merged together into a long line of silhouettes, distinguished only by the happy laughter and bright lights from within the pubs and restaurants. They certainly seemed to be doing a brisk business.
England shivered as a cool breeze blew across the cobble streets. At his insistence they had returned their costume rentals before the store closed, but now he regretted handing back his heavy suit. They had fifteen minutes to wait before the ghost tour started (since England had also insisted on arriving early for the tour) and he wasn't looking forward to lingering outside in the cool evening air.
A moment later a warm and cozy jacket came to rest on his shoulders. England turned his head to the side and watched a now-jacketless America lower his arms and smile. "Better?" the younger nation asked eagerly.
"I wasn't that cold," England protested, even as he blushed and pulled the jacket more securely around his shoulders. He could feel America's warmth lingering in the jacket and found himself enveloped in an earthy scent that reminded him of summer days and sun-ripened wheat. It wasn't the first time America had lent out his bomber jacket, but the occasions were rare enough that England collected them like precious jewels.
He even knew—thanks to a video posted online by Scotland—that America sometimes covered him in the jacket when he was drunk and half-naked in his sexy waiter outfit, though he had no personal recollection of those incidents for obvious reasons. Scotland had probably intended to embarrass him with the video, but his effort backfired. England had been too pleased by the sight of himself wrapped in America's jacket to feel truly annoyed. He stored the video on his computer and watched it often. It was such an intimate gesture and one that, as far as England knew, America had never shared with another nation. As much as he and America argued, that told England that there was something truly special about their relationship.
"...want one, England?"
"Sorry?" The British nation blinked, pulled out of his fond reminiscence by the sound of America's voice.
He listened as America repeated his explanation and his question. They were going on a candlelit tour and America wanted to know if England wanted to carry a candle during the tour. England nodded and waited for America to fetch three sets of candlesticks from the guides, one each for the two older Americas and England. No one bothered to ask the United States if he wanted one. The poor teenager continued to tremble in fear, making a candle absolutely useless in his hands. England hid a smile. He would never admit it, but America was rather adorable when scared. Hence his long-running (and highly successful) efforts to frighten the lad on Halloween.
Feeling a moment of pity, England leaned closer to the teen. "We really could just return to your home," he suggested kindly, avoiding the dreaded g-word. "I wouldn't mind making an early night of it."
"We can't leave!" Freddie protested. "I wanna go on the tour."
"Not everything is about you," England said, slightly annoyed by the child's whining. "And I'm sure Al or America would be happy to stay with you."
The U.S. glanced up at England, his gaze vulnerable and confused. "You'd go back if I wanted to?"
"Yes," England agreed, not offering a further explanation because he was unsure of it himself. But he felt that if any of the Americas needed his help, he would gladly give it, and the frightened teenager seemed to need the most help at the moment. Despite the teen's annoying behavior, England could tell that the younger nation was mostly just confused and unable to communicate his own feelings. For reasons he didn't want to discuss in public, England sympathized.
The U.S. continued to stare at England in shock. It didn't look like he had ever expected England to choose him over Freddie. But after a moment's thought, the teen refused to take England up on his offer. "I'm not scared," he said through chattering teeth.
"If you say so," England sighed. "Honestly, I really don't understand how someone can continue to deny the obvious for so long."
Al snorted. "You can't understand? Come on, England. You're sort of the Queen of Denial."
"What are you talking about?" England demanded. "And I'm not a queen."
"Oh, let's see. We've got your bad cooking, your 'invisible' friends, your hidden porn stash―," Al listed, ticking each item off on his fingers.
"―his low alcohol tolerance―," America added helpfully.
"―his secret love of fast food―," the U.S. mentioned between shivers.
"―and let's not forget his complete love affair with America," Al finished.
"My what?" England sputtered indignantly. "I'm not... I don't..."
"You don't wuv us?" Freddie asked with a sniffle.
"Of course, I..." England glanced around at the grinning Americas. "I mean, that's not necessarily the same thing. There are different sorts of love."
"Hey, it's okay. We're going to help you!" America promised, tossing his arm around England's shoulders in a way that made the jacket feel even warmer. It was definitely the heat that was making England's face flush. "It's what heroes do."
Al winked. "And cowboys like to ride off into the sunset together."
"I'm sensing some self-interest here," England muttered, trying to steer the conversation so that it was focused on America instead of his slight crush on the other nation.
"Ah, don't worry, darling," Al drawled as he snaked an arm around England's waist. "It'll be good for you too," he whispered into England's ear.
England's face flared red but he was spared further indignities when the guide arrived and invited them to gather 'round for the start of the ghost tour. Al and America jumped at the word 'ghost,' proving they weren't as immune to fear as they pretended. They let go of England and held their flickering candles aloft, clearly hoping the flames would be enough to protect them from any colonial-era poltergeists.
"I'm scared, Engwand!" Freddie cried, although he sounded more cheerful than frightened. "Hold my hand?" he asked, reaching for England with a pleading expression.
Despite seeing through the child's blatant ruse, England held the boy's hand on the tour, promising him that he would be safe as long as he stayed by England's side. Al and America flanked them on either end, creating a warm island of flickering candlelight. The United States sulked behind them, although the teen took care not to fall too far behind.
As they passed each of the city's landmarks, England listened with half an ear to the various ghost stories. Some of the stories he knew, some were new, and some sounded like they had been fabricated out of whole cloth. But England didn't expect Americans to respect the supernatural, so he kept his grumbling to himself, and simply enjoyed the spooky atmosphere as the tour wound its way through the city.
Mostly, he enjoyed watching Al and America jump in fright at the end of each ghost story and then laugh it off a moment later. The U.S. stayed silent but moved closer and closer as the tour progressed, soon brushing against England's shoulder and then blindly reaching for England's hand. When the guide finished with the story of pirate ghosts who haunted the gaol, the United States of America—a global superpower with the world's second-largest army, third-largest population, and fourth-largest land area—clutched England's arm for dear life and whimpered. He buried his head against England's shoulder and refused to let go even after the tour ended and they walked to the car.
It wasn't until they reached the house that the U.S. seemed to realize what he was doing. He let go of England's arm and gave the other nation a shocked look before he glared, blushed, and ran up to his room. England chuckled as he heard the sound of a door slam upstairs. They put away coats and shoes and England decided it was Freddie's bedtime.
"Can I have a bedtime story?" Freddie asked sweetly. "I'm scared."
"You're not the least bit scared, you little minx," England replied, not sure if he should be amused or annoyed by the boy's blatant efforts to monopolize his affections.
"I am scared! But I'm not scared because I know you'll protect me," the boy said, his smile so trusting and innocent that England's heart melted at the sight.
"And I'll protect England!" America added.
"What, from ghosts?" England asked, enjoying the way America jumped into the air and then spun around, trying to see if any ghosts were closing in. England laughed. "You two might as well come up and listen to the bedtime story with Freddie. I know you're all going to end up sharing a bed with me anyway."
"Damn right," Al said with a wink. "And I want a bedtime story from your secret stash."
ߛ ߛ ߛ
America and Al somehow fit two queen beds into one of the guest bedrooms, giving them a bed long enough to hold everyone. England curled up in the center and read one of his favorite stories from the Tales of Beedle the Bard.
"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful fountain. And once a year, every year, a person could bathe in the fountain and enjoy fair fortune forevermore," he began, describing the efforts of three witches who sought to find the fountain and bathe in its waters.
The first was sick and she desired a cure for an incurable disease. The second wanted to reclaim her riches after a terrible robbery. And the third sought love after her beloved deserted her. They ran into a knight and began their quest. They faced three difficult tests, but they overcame each one with the help of their new friends. By the time they finally reached the fountain, the witches no longer needed its help. The poor witch had brewed a potion to cure the sick witch and realized she could rely on her talents to restore her wealth. The third witch had left behind her memories of her former love. So they allowed the knight to bathe in the fountain, and, feeling lucky, he promptly asked for the third witch's hand in marriage.
England smiled as he finished the story. "The four lived long, happy lives, never realizing that the fountain's waters carried no enchantment at all."
He tucked Freddie under the sheets and fell asleep with the boy cradled in his arms. England wasn't surprised to be awakened sometime during the night as a shivering body climbed into bed next to him. Nor was he surprised when he woke up in the morning with the U.S. curled up against his side, clutching England for security like a teddy bear. What was surprising was how remarkably comfortable it felt.
Author's Notes
You guys were waiting for the obligatory England-in-America's-jacket scene, right? :3
Anyway, sorry for the slow update! As you can probably tell, the story is pretty close to the grand finale. And by grand finale, I mean that the real America will be showing up next chapter.
Credit to JK Rowling for the fairy tale. I like to imagine that England enjoys her writing as much as I do :)