Rating: T

Talking: Thank Google translate for the French here! Also, I almost accidentally updated chapter 21 of the sequel :| that would've been confusing. Also, it's so late at night it's actually early morning and I'm literally struggling to keep my eyes open because I forgot to update this.

Also, yesterday I found out that RSVP stands for respondez s'il vous plait and am now very confused about my language. Why do we use this so often. Why do we use French and Spanish as slang. Why is everything in English French.

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.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

"You're so stupid," England says conversationally as he preens my wings, his delicate fingers gently healing whatever scratches and tears and broken bones he finds. His own wounds were healed by Italy when the two of us were carried in by a desperate America.

I sigh. It doesn't hurt as much anymore. "Oui, I know," I agree.

"Never sacrifice yourself for me again," England orders, glancing up at me for a moment. I quickly shift my gaze to the ceiling to avoid looking at him.

"You're one to talk, mon lapin," I reply with the slightest smirk, and artfully dodge any promising he might try to make me do.

England pauses. "What does that mean?"

"At that last fight!" I point out. "You cast that spell and when you did it you knew it would knock you out-don't even try to argue with me, I know you better than you know yourself-and you also knew you were too high up! With your country as weak as it is, your death could've been permanent!"

"Well, I didn't die," he says, and goes back to healing a deep gash in my wing where several feathers have been ripped out.

"Clearly," I say, "That was because I shielded you!"

"And you didn't die either, so I wouldn't have died if you hadn't done anything!" he argues, and his touch is not so gentle anymore. I flinch away, ignoring the bursts of pain that spark at the sudden movement, and he takes a deep breath. Then he goes back to working, his hands much gentler and softer than before.

"Ouais… But… I worry," I confess.

He stares at me. "Do enemies do this?" he wonders suddenly, quietly, plucking a broken feather.

"What do you mean?" I ask, wincing, although I know exactly what he's talking about.

"Do enemies worry about each other? Do they heal each other? Make an alliance? Sacrifice themselves for each other? Sleep in the same bed? Force each other to eat out of worry for their health?" he asks, his cheeks darkening.

"We're just strange, mon lapin," I tell him. "I think this wing can heal on its own. Could you move to the other one?" I ask, flexing the muscles and stretching it as a test

"Uh, sure… Do enemies call each other pet names and endearments? Learn each other's languages so they can communicate better?" he continues, and he does in fact step over me to tend to my other wing. His own wing is forced to sprawl over me, although he tries to draw it close to himself.

"Are we still enemies?" I return.

"What? Of course we are! We've fought since we first met!" he exclaims, glancing up at me with wide eyes.

I shrug. "Just a thought, mon lapin."

He's silent for a little bit, and the only sound is the scratching of too-dry feathers. "Well…" he says at last. "Maybe we're not exactly enemies, per se. But we're not friends either."

"Why not?" I ask, wincing as he pushes my feathers the wrong way.

"Because we've always hated each other!" he says, leaning forward to get a better look at a gash.

My smirk grows. I chuckle quietly. This is the part where I win the argument. "Oh, maybe you've hated me since forever, but I've never completely hated you."

England stops, again. "What?"

"It's like having an annoying little sibling who you kind of want to punch but still love with all your heart, but without the sibling part, mon lapin," I explain, and hope he understands.

"So you're saying you love me, not as a brother, and also want to punch me," England sums up. I sit up, my back throbbing and my breath quickening. "Hey! No, don't do that, you'll hurt yourself!"

"I don't care," I say. "Heal my back, s'il vous plait."

He sighs, grumbles something about confusing, irresponsible frogs, and moves to my back.