This was written for #hetaliawritersmonthly challenge on tumblr. I hope you'll like it as well, let me know what you think!

Theme: Turning Over a New Leaf
Prompt: Hesitance

Summary: England's first days with his new colony, Canada, bring some scary realizations.

In Time of Need

The boy was small.

That was the only thing England could think as he stared at the wide lilac eyes looking up at him, gleaming with a mixture of apprehension and timid hope.

If France could have heard his thoughts, he would have scoffed and rolled his eyes with that practised air of superiority of his. "Of course he's small, how were you thinking he would be? He's just a young colony!"

And England knew all about that – he was already taking care of another young colony, after all. However, America's exuberance and boundless energy often made him look bigger than he actually was, bigger than life itself.

The child standing in front of England, instead, had nothing like that. He was probably just a bit thinner than America – but the way hunched his shoulders and neck as if to protect himself made him look even smaller. There was a vulnerability about him that plummeted to the bottom of England's stomach.

He recognized that look with painful clarity. That trembling hesitance, that bottomless neediness born out of loneliness.

…A corner of his mind wondered if older personifications had ever recognized that look in him, in spite of how hard he had tried to hide it behind a façade of cheekiness.

Good Lord, what am I even going to do about him?

He didn't know. He couldn't. One thing was America, with his brightness and confidence, but that child who had already been so hurt… England's head was spinning. There was no way he could deal with something like that.

…But the child was still in front of him, waiting for his reaction. A small child that shouldn't have known hesitation, the pain of rejection.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, England forced his stiff lips into a smile and extended his right hand towards the child.

"I was serious," he declared with much more confidence than he actually felt, "From now on, you're going to be part of my family. Come with me."

The child's entire face opened in a smile of such blinding warmth that England's heart constricted.

"Thank you, Mr England! I won't make you regret this."

His fingers slipped inside England's hand, so small and fragile that England almost wanted to scream. He didn't know what he was doing. How could he, when nobody had ever shown him what he was supposed to?

Hopefully, this entire situation will improve quickly.

The situation did not improve quickly.

If he was honest with himself, England had been fully aware it wasn't going to. He had a very young colony in his hands, a very young colony who had just experienced a war followed by a power transition. The result was plainly foreseeable.

…Yet, part of him had still hoped. Hoped that like America, his new colony would be blessed with unnatural health and strength and be spared from the pain England knew all too well. Hoped that the rosy flush gracing the child's cheeks was natural, in spite of his otherwise ghostly pale complexion.

(He had hoped he wouldn't have to intervene. What did England know, of taking care of sick children?)

Nevertheless, England could draw a small consolation from the fact he was prepared. The moment he saw the child wobble, his eyes dazed, almost confused, he jumped up and gathered the small (so small, so light, so frail!) body in his arms.

He didn't have to think about his destination, his feet automatically leading him towards the bedrooms. The child's skin burned with fever against his collarbone.

"You're going to be all right," England said automatically, refusing to let his voice tremble.

His stomach coiled on itself. What a pathetic reassurance that was, for a child who was surely experiencing the worst pain of his short life… England was surprised he wasn't even crying. If not from the pain, at least from the scare… Actually, such a young child should have started complaining a lot earlier.

Instead, Canada was quiet in his arms, keeping his body rigid as if to prevent it from trembling.

"I'm so sorry, Mr England… I don't know what came over me, I…"

England almost missed a step, dread washing over him.

How am I supposed to fix this?

Physical illness, that he could deal with. But that quiet resignation, that sorrow of a child shaped by a type of rejection he was far too young to endure… England didn't know how to heal it. (He had never had.)

"There's nothing to apologize for," he said anyway, because he had to say something, "it isn't your fault. It's a normal reaction after going through such a big political change."

Doubt still clouded Canada's fever-bright eyes, but a coughing fit that left him breathless prevented him from replying.

Relief shouldn't have gripped England at that. Only the worst scum would react that way to a child's pain.

…Yet, gently drawing circles on his back was a lot easier than answering questions.

At last, England deposited the child on the bed. He fussed with the pillows and blankets, faking a reassuring smile all the while. His lips almost hurt from the unnatural position – yet, he couldn't show how he was truly feeling.

"Try to get some sleep now," he said in the most soothing voice he could muster, "You need to rest and keep up your strength."

He couldn't tell Canada that he didn't know how long the illness would last, that it would probably get worse before getting better. Instead, he wetted and wrung a cold cloth before placing it on the child's forehead. He had to tense his muscles to prevent his hands from trembling.

All the while, Canada's half-lidded eyes followed his movements.

"The cold cloth is probably uncomfortable, but it will help with the fever," England rambled, "And if it doesn't go down on its own, I have some medicine for it. So, you just rest and don't worry about anything…"

What am I doing?

That probably wasn't reassuring in the slightest. In spite of being a personification, Canada was still a young child – a sick child who needed reassurances, not a scientific explanation. England's stomach was knotted with tension. He wasn't cut out for that, he was probably just making things worse…

"Thank you so much, Mr England… I'll sleep now, you don't have to stay…"

The words reached England like a punch to his chest, stealing away his breath. He was gripped by a strong impulse to cry for that poor child (and for his own inadequacy). How could he even begin to fix that?

Perhaps, he should admit defeat and leave the task to somebody else, somebody better equipped for that. But who? A human doctor, who would be able to deal with Canada's symptoms only in part due to his nature, and wouldn't even be able to understand the complexity of the situation, let alone provide the needed reassurances?

…France? The mere thought brought a sour taste inside England's mouth, but he couldn't deny France had always been better than him at providing emotional comfort.

Yet, France had abandoned Canada. England, instead, was right next to him.

"No, Matthew," he declared in a gentle voice, using for the first time his colony's name. "I'll stay with you until you're feeling better. You're my little brother now. Do you know what this means? It means that I'll never leave you alone when you need me."

Such bold words. A taunting voice in a corner of his brain told England he was being ridiculous. He swallowed it back and focused on threading his fingers through Canada's soft hair.

After a moment of hesitation, the child seemed to melt under his hand.

"Thank you, Mr England."

It was nothing more than a feeble whisper, but filled with so much abandon that England forgot how to breathe for a moment.

He still didn't know what to do. But now he had another child relying on him – a meeker, weaker one – so he had to find a way. He couldn't break the trust that had just been placed on him.

(word count: 1,350)