They seemed to be returning to the kitchen a lot that day and even in the same position, America noted, sitting at the table as they grimly clasped their respective mugs of whatever drink it was they wanted. England was staring down at his hands, his expression troubled, before eventually trying to meet America's eyes.
"I…" He sighed. "I'm sorry I lost my temper before. You were only trying to help."
It took a few seconds for America to grasp the fact that he was being presented with a very sincere, and probably very rare, apology. However, it did not take him nearly as long to break out into a grin.
"Took you long enough," America said in a way he knew would irritate the man opposite him, and when England indeed started to scowl he laughed.
"Joking, joking." America smiled. "It's fine, okay?"
"...Right." England's eyes fell downwards again, but the following silence was much more comfortable than any other they had found themselves in that day. America couldn't stop the forming grin, nor the optimistic thought that maybe, hey, they could actually do this. The way to break the curse, or whatever it was, would be found if they just pushed on a little more, and then... Well...
Deep in thought, resting his chin on his hand, America's gaze drifted to the window. From this position he had a rather nice view of the sunset, the sky slowly turning a blood red as the sun sunk further and further.
"Wow," America said. "It's already this late? We must've been down there for a while."
And the silence shattered.
England stood up roughly, his eyes on the setting sun as his chair screeched against the floor. It didn't take long for America to figure out just what was wrong—after all, the orange tinted sky only served to warn them just how close nightfall was.
"So, what now?" he asked, a little uncertain. "I mean, if you're going to change soon, then..."
Already turned away, England briskly made his way to the door, reacting only slightly when America got up to follow. His expression was blank, his movements almost mechanical.
"I started on something the other day," England said, "after I first changed again. I suppose you could say it's a spell of sorts. It's not complete so there's a chance it won't work, but it should hopefully keep me contained until morning."
America stared at him. "Wait, so, your plan is basically the same as keeping you in a cage?"
"Whatother option do I have?" England's voice was laced with barely contained anger. "I'm doing what I have to, America. It's honestly a miracle that I haven't killed anyone yet."
Of course, America wanted to argue with this, to say that there was another way to keep the monster under control, but a reluctantly sensible part of his mind agreed with the older nation. Luck had been on their side for the first few transformations; suppose this time the wolf ran into a more heavily populated area?
He nodded glumly, though this action went unnoticed as England was already opening the basement door, revealing the room they had been searching through what felt like a lifetime ago. America looked through the doorway, confused as to how he could have possibly missed something big enough to contain the monster.
England was walking down the stairs in a manner that was just a little too tense to be considered calm, and America hurried after him. "But it's not completely dark yet. Do you really have to do this now?"
"Yes," England said. "Even if I don't change now, I'd rather stay in here all night than take any chances." He gestured to the chalk circle on the floor, something America had noticed earlier and disregarded as one of England's weird occult thing. Now America could only blink at it, a few seconds passing by before he truly understood what England meant.
"You mean that's how you're going to stop the monster from getting out of here?" America asked, his tone a sort of astonished disappointment. "What, is it allergic to chalk or something?"
England rolled his eyes. "I told you—it's a spell. Once I step in it shouldn't let me out until morning. What did you expect?"
"I don't know… Something big?"
"You would, wouldn't you." With a shake of the head, England took a step forward.
"H-hey, wait." America reached for him, giving the circle a wary glance. "Okay, this might sound kind of weird, but… are you sure it's safe?"
"Since when have you ever cared about safety?" England was sounding a little exasperated now. "Yes, America, I'm positive it's safe. I've done this sort of thing more times than you could imagine, and if I had more time it'd be perfect. I'm surprised you can be worried about me than yourself in this situation."
"I'm not worried—I'm just…"America had trouble finishing that sentence, his embarrassed expression making it very obvious that, yes, the younger nation was pretty damn worried about England. He had seen the after effects of one of these transformations. "A hero's got to protect the weak, you know?" he mumbled.
England's expression was incredulous. "Weak?" he said, glaring, and America just about wondered if he was going to transform there and then. "Did you really just—? Oh, forget it! Getting upset over something so stupid would just…" He sighed, pulling away from what had been America's attempt to grasp his hand, and finally entered the confines of the circle.
"So, how much longer do you think you've got as yourself?" America asked after a moment of anticlimactic silence.
"I don't know. If I'm lucky, I won't change at all."
"Oh." America's eyes lit up suddenly. "Hey, you can watch movies on that laptop in your living room, right? How about I bring that down with some pillows and food? It'd be like a sleep over!"
"America, no."
"Huh? Why not? I mean, if you're gonna be locked in there all night then—
"America." Now England's expression was strained. "I… I want you to go upstairs."
America frowned at him. "What? Hey, what's wrong?"
"I don't want you to see it. Especially not you." England tried to smile. "So, go upstairs. You should lock the door, too, just in case. The key's in the kitchen."
"But England—"
"Please." England cut him off in a sad voice. "I'll be fine, okay? So, please."
America had to swallow his argument. England would stand firm no matter what, and he honestly couldn't think of a reason that would let him stay where he was besides wanting to. So he turned, head low, and started towards the top of the stairs. The door swung shut behind him.
A half-hearted search of the kitchen brought forth a collection of keys, one much larger and older than the others. America grabbed at it and looked down at the cold metal miserably. England had told him to lock the door, but was that really the best idea? What if he needed help? What if—?
A scream tore straight through America's thoughts and caused the key to slip out of his hands with a clatter, England's scream—that was the only prompt he needed to charge back towards the basement. He yanked at the doorknob, just about ready to tear the door of its hinges, and descended down into the gloom.
England was hunched over in the circle of chalk, America stopping just at the edge.
"England?! Hey, what's wrong? What's happening?" America's voice was filled with a desperate worry, a worry that only increased when there was no reply. "England?!"
There was no movement, no sound. America had just started to wonder if England could even hear him when the older nation slumped down to his knees, shaking, supporting himself with his arms.
America flinched at the sound of a sickening crack, then another, and another, the sound of England's bones breaking and rearranging. Red trickled down from his arms, only for more to follow as his skin ripped apart. Clumps of fur had started to appear already, and by the end of it, when England's true body could not be seen except for the remains of clothes, blood and skin, the monster in wolf's form rose to its full height.
America thought he was going to be sick, an ignored part of him mind begging him to run as the wolf set its eyes on him.
It lunged for him, America stepping back out of instinct, but the air above the circle almost seemed to shimmer before the monster was thrown back. It clawed and bit at the invisible wall with such force that America wondered if it really would break free; however, these actions were of no avail, and eventually it moved back with a continuous growl.
The monster's eyes were clouded with a frenzied anger that only seemed to increase with the realisation of its entrapment. Carefully, refusing to look away, America went forward, earning a snarl from the wolf. He crouched down by the circle so that the two of them were at eye level. The monster almost seemed to glare at him.
"England...?" He paused for a moment, but there was no spark of recognition this time. The wolf simply bared its teeth, as if annoyed by America's efforts. "Come on, snap out of it... It's me, America. I know you're in there."
Though the wolf seemed no less ready to pounce, the growing stopped, bringing a heavy silence to the room. America tried to tell himself this was a good sign.
"Just... try and fight it, okay? You did it last night, and I'm sure you can do it again. And I'm going to stay right here with you." In a sudden sense of ease, lulled into security by the wolf's lack of animalistic response, America reached his arm forward. The barrier put up no resistance.
There was no warning, no time for him to realise what a stupid decision this was. A moment passed, and then the monster snapped forward and sunk its teeth into America's hand.
America screamed, jerked back, pain exploding in his hand and shooting down his arm, the razor teeth easily ripping through flesh. The monster moved as if to pull him further into the circle, but America grit his teeth and yanked his arm back, the wolf slamming into the barrier being enough for the wolf to part its maw and allow him to retrieve his red soaked hand.
He clutched at his hand, hissing, cursing, and the monster, angered by losing its prey, returned to attacking and growling at the invisible wall in an attempt to free itself.
"Hell. Okay, yeah, that was my fault," America said weakly, only in case of the slim chance that England was listening behind those clouded eyes. They had made progress earlier, but this injury would surely make the older nation blame himself and push America away again once he turned back.
America glanced from the snarling monster to his injured hand. He needed to do something about this, needed better light to inspect the injury and see how serious it was. He wouldn't be any help if the wound got infected, after all, and with this motivation he climbed to unsteady feet, his hand throbbing.
"I'll be right back," he promised, but the monster paid no heed.
Upstairs, a light was switched on and his injury put under a cold tap. The blood swirled through the water, and America decided that though the cuts were deep it wasn't life-threatening. He had suffered much worse wounds in the past, and as long as he bandaged it, kept it clean and the economy didn't decide to take a sudden drop it should heal fine. Stretching and moving his fingers, though painful, proved that nothing important had been severed, so unless an infection set in a hospital visit wasn't necessary.
A low, melancholy howl sounded throughout the house as he started to search for a First Aid kit, and America felt his spirits drop. Was England right? Was there really nothing he could do? He had hastily wrapped the wound with a tea towel to slow the bleeding, and even that seemed to be slowly staining a darker colour along with his mood. Would England be stuck with this curse forever, then?
America thought to the way England had only just let him in to help after pushing him away, how he coldly insisted there was no way to stop the monster, how England, England, had cried in his arms.
...Had he let England down? Had he really failed?
"Dammit..." he murmured, and the howling continued. "Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit!" He slammed both hands down onto the counter, and the resulting pain only fuelled his anger. "England, I... I'd do anything if I just knew it'd help you! I...!"
A hand closed over his own injured one.
"Anything, hmm...?"
―Chapter end.
*Dramatic music* Well, um... plot twist? :D
This chapter went a little all over the place... Sorry. Plus, I promised action and I don't think I lived up to expectations 0-0 And some reactions are probably unrealistic... Yeah, this is a bit of a train-wreck, huh? XD
So, any guesses to the mysterious hand owner? :3
I want to focus on this fic a little more because it'll probably be one of my more shorter fics :) So, for now, please review and tell me what you think ^_^