Waah! Thanks for the reviews! :D I appreciate them so much!
Also, in your reviews, could you guys tell me if England sounds British enough? I'm very American, and my only exposure to British terminology is Harry Potter… so all I know is 'git' and 'snogging' and 'Merlin's beard!' XD Most of what I've used has been what I've learned from a website that has a list of British slang. So, if any of you live in the UK, just give me some insight about that! I'd appreciate it tons!
Alright, I hope you guys enjoy! Review please! :)
x-x-x-x-x
It had been ages since England had been home last. With France being an idiot like usual—stupid frog—England had been out at war for much longer than he had anticipated. He was glad to finally be home for multiple reasons. It had been such a long time since he had been able to just sit back and relax. And he hadn't seen America for years either. He had always been wondering about him while he had been at war, wondering how he was developing as a country, what he was doing. Maybe he was just about his height by now. He was excited to see how much more mature he had grown over the many years.
"America!" England called, looking around for his little brother. "America, I'm back!"
"England?"
At first, England didn't recognize the voice at all. He thought maybe one of his servants or generals were there taking care of America until he arrived. Then a man came around the corner, one that England didn't recognize. He was about to question him about why he had invaded his house when he actually looked him over. Blue eyes, light brown hair, a cocky grin that screamed confidence. England, green eyes widening with shock, realized that the man in front of him, the man that was taller than him, was America.
"A-America?" England stammered, barely able to believe it. Last time he had seen America, he had been just over a meter tall. He had been so little! But now he was forced to look up to look America's face to face. He had grown so much in just a short span of a few years!
"Hey! What's up British dude?" America said happily as he threw his arms around England. England was shocked by America's strength and felt like his lungs were being crushed by the force of his hug. He was still so stunned—how was America taller than him? How could he have grown so much in such a short period of time? Then, realizing he was being rude, he did his best to return the hug, seeing as his arms were pinned to his sides by America's strong embrace.
"It's been too long, America," England choked out, truly happy to see his 'little' brother. He had missed him and his excitement about everything. He could really use some happiness after all he had been through the past few years.
But the peace quickly faded away between them. England had been sitting while drinking tea, trying to settle into one of his very few moments of peace, when America came up to him. His expression was oddly solemn, but England took no heed to this. America sometimes just had weird things to say. "Yes?" England asked, knowing America had something on his mind.
"England," he said, his voice pained. "England, I…want to become independent."
England looked at him, about to yell at him for joking about such a thing. But once he saw America's face, he knew that he meant what he was saying. He barely heard the shatter of his teacup as his world shattered along with it.
He wanted to leave him, just like everyone else had.
x-x-x-x-x
England's eyes flew open, his heart pounding. He was breathing hard, a cold sweat on his face. With a groan, he threw his arm over his eyes, angry about his dream. Of all the things he had to dream of right now, he had to dream about how America left him all those years ago. He hated those memories, hated the pain, hated how whenever he saw America, he would be reminded all over again of how truly alone he was.
Suddenly, England realized that he was lying down. He removed his arm from his face to examine where he was. With a shock, he discovered that he was once again in America's room. A quick look around showed that America was nowhere to be seen. He growled as he sat up, frustrated. Even after England had been a complete ass, America had brought him in here to sleep again for the night. Meaning that he was sleeping on the couch. Again. Why did he have to make it so damn hard to be angry at him?
Begrudgingly, England forced himself to get up out of the bed. He figured that, since America was being such an idiotically nice person, he should apologize. After all, it wasn't America's fault that he was having these feelings. Once he actually thought about it, England had made him have these feelings for him and—even though he did it on accident—it was wrong to that he hated him so much. He quickly forced himself to stop thinking along these lines, seeing as it was just making him feel even worse.
Once he made it to the living room, England saw America huddled on the couch in a way that he was amazed he hadn't broken his neck already. He had absolutely no idea how he had fallen asleep like that. England had always thought that it was just a little kid thing, but America had apparently never grown out of that stage. With a sigh, he walked up to the couch.
"America," he said, grabbing him by the shoulder. "America, wake up."
"Guhh…" America shoved his face into the cushions, making England even more annoyed. One, he was ignoring him. Two, the idiot was going to asphyxiate himself if he didn't get his face out of there soon.
"America!" England said more forcefully, trying to shake him awake. America gave a few more weak protests until he finally decided to give up and start paying attention to him.
"Wha d'you wan?" he slurred, wiping his mouth. "Whuh, you wanna say you hate how I sleep too?"
England's stomach twinged with guilt. "I don't want you to sleep on the couch, you gi…" He cut off his insult, figuring if he wanted to actually apologize, he shouldn't start it by calling him rude names. "Go sleep in your bed."
"You're the guest, idiot," America muttered. There was just enough light in the room for England to see that America's eyes were just barely half open. "Juss go back n' sleep."
"I'd actually be able to fit on the couch!" England argued, trying to pull America up by his arm. "You're too tall for it. I don't even know how you were able to fall asleep like that."
"It's pretty easy… I juss close my eyes n'…"
"Go sleep in your bed, idiot!"
America glared at him groggily. "Make me."
England huffed. "Fine," he growled. He walked to the other side of the couch, grabbed him under the arms and promptly began to drag America off of the couch.
"Gah! D-dude!" America said as he fell to the ground, England suddenly remembering just how bloody heavy he was. "What the crap, man?"
"Bloody hell, you need to stop eating so many hamburgers," England complained as he continued trying to drag America to his room with a nonexistent amount of success.
"Hey, just leave me alone, dude!" America said, trying to get out of England's grasp. But England wasn't going to give up that easily. With all of the battles England had been through, he knew how to get someone in a hold that they wouldn't be able to get out of very easily.
"Go to your room, dammit!" England grunted as he fought against America's protests. Even though he had a very good hold on him, he knew he wasn't going to be able to hold on for much longer. America was much stronger than he was.
"Why?" America asked, still putting up a huge struggle. "Why can't you just sleep in my bed?"
"Why can't you sleep in your bed?"
"I'm not going to be a jerk and make you sleep on the couch!" America argued, still trying to escape his hold. "That would be totally un-heroic!"
England held fast to him, trying to think of how to solve this problem. Neither wanted the other to sleep on the couch. How could they both get what they wanted? Suddenly, England remembered America's suggestion that he had completely shot down. He still wasn't all that fond of it, but… it seemed like that was going to be the only way to make them stop fighting.
He just hoped that America wouldn't get the wrong idea.
x-x-x-x-x
America was still trying to get out of England's hold, not wanting England to win this fight, or any fight for that matter. He was not going to make England sleep on the couch! It would be rude and it so totally wouldn't be what a hero would do!
"America," England said, his voice stressed. "I don't want you sleeping on the couch… and you don't want me sleeping on the couch either."
"Well, I'm glad we got that figured out," America grunted sarcastically, trying yet again to shrug him off, yet again failing.
"I have a compromise," England said, not sounding too happy about said 'compromise.' "If you promise to keep to your side and not bother me, we can… sleep… in the bed… together."
America froze. Carefully, he turned his head to make sure that England wasn't just being a jerk and yanking his chain. But when he saw England's reddening face, he knew that he wasn't joking. He was really saying that they could sleep together. America felt his face blush at the thought of it. "R-really?' he asked, barely able to believe it.
"Don't think that I want to sleep with you!" England said a little bit too quickly, making him smirk. "I just think that this way we both win! That's all! Nothing more!"
England finally released him, letting America stand as he rolled his shoulders, flinching slightly as they popped. "Okay," he said, his mood immediately shooting up. "Sounds good to me." It actually sounded much better than 'good' to America—it sounded like a dream come true. But he knew that he wouldn't be able to do anything with England besides just sleep.
But it sure could be a start.
x-x-x-x-x
England threw as many pillows as he could possibly find in America's house in the center of the bed, making a very clear border between America's side of the bed and his. He could feel America watching him as he did this with a look of bewilderment, but he just ignored it. He was not going to let America have any ideas tonight. They were just going to sleep in the same bed, nothing else; and England wanted to make sure that that's how it stayed.
"England, if you keep on doing that, there won't be any room for us to sleep," America complained.
Taking time to stop throwing pillows on the bed, he looked at his handiwork. There were a few too many pillows, but England just shrugged. "Just stay on your side of the bed, okay?"
"Sure thing!" America said as he plopped down on the bed, making some of the pillows bounce out of place. England sighed—he'd have to fix it again.
England climbed into the bed, doing his best to keep a good distance between him and America. He quickly rearranged the pillows once again, making sure that the border was incredibly clear. America was looking at him as if what he was doing was completely ridiculous. Okay, maybe he was working a little bit too hard on this. So what? He wanted to make sure that America understood that he didn't want anything going on between them. They were just in the same bed, that's all.
With a sigh, England finally decided that the border was as good as it was going to get. "Good night, America," he said as he pulled his blanket up to his chin.
"Night, England!" America said, turning on his side, thankfully away from England. It seemed like he had gotten the point. England began to breathe deeply, feeling himself fall to sleep. He hoped that they would be able to sleep all the night through with no awkward situations.
But, knowing America was America, he didn't get his hopes up too high.
x-x-x-x-x
America opened his bleary eyes, his heart beat rapidly increasing. Nothing was making sense. He was trying to remember how he had gotten here, trying to figure out why he didn't remember anything. The room he was in now was dark and smelled eerily like bleach. Everything was far too clean, making him feel sick. While looking at his surroundings, his eyes fell on a mass in the middle of the room that he couldn't identify. It was taking him too long to try to figure out what it was, so he began to focus on how he was going to get out of here.
While he was trying to decipher where a door or a window was, desperately looking for any way to escape, he heard a shuffling sound behind him. America jumped and suddenly realized that he was tied in a chair with thin wire-like rope. Tied to a chair that was bolted to the floor. What the hell was going on?
"Kol kol kol…"
America froze. He knew that cold voice; he could recognize that laugh anywhere.
Russia.
"Russia, what the hell are you doing?" America said, trying to sound calm even though he was on the verge of screaming in terror.
"It's about time you woke up," Russia hummed, still hiding behind America out of his vision. His voice was still in its usual high pitch, sounding like it belonged to an innocent child. America could feel his breath on the back of his neck that smelled strongly of vodka. It sent chills through his body. "You've been rude, making England wait for you this long."
America desperately tried to turn around, but his restraints dug viciously into his skin. "Where's England?" he cried. "What did you do?"
"Where is he?" Russia asked, giving an ice cold chuckle. Finally, Russia came into his field of vision. America felt his body go frigid. All over Russia's coat and scarf were splotches of sickly red blood. In his hands was the pipe he always carried with him, ominously dripping with blood. "He's right there."
Slowly, very slowly, America turned his vision back to the mass he had been looking at. With his eyes now adjusted to the dark, he realized that the mass was in a green suit. A green suit that was soaked in blood.
"England!" America yelled, ignoring the pain as he strained against his restraints. "England!" He couldn't breathe as he realized that England wasn't moving. "Oh God."
"Hmm." Slowly, Russia sauntered over to England's body, his boots leaving bloody foot prints behind him. "How rude, being unconscious from blood loss when we have company." He lifted his blood stained pipe above his head, a deadly sweet smile on his face.
"NO!" America cried as he watched Russia ram his pipe into England's ribs. A crack emanated from the hit, echoing through the room as England made a painful gasping noise.
"Wakey wakey," Russia cooed as he nudged England's face with his pipe. "It's rude to ignore guests."
"Stop it!" America screamed, his throat closing off. "Stop it! Don't hurt him!"
"…Mer'ca…"
America stopped breathing, just barely able to hear England speak. At first, he wasn't even sure he had heard him talk, his voice sounding so choked. "England?" he croaked.
"Mer'ca," England slurred as his body began to move slightly. His blonde head tilted up, and America was just able to see one green eye peering at him. The other was swollen shut. "Mer'ca… you need… to go…"
Russia looked down at him, a disturbed smile still on his face. "You know, England," he said sweetly, "I'm getting bored of you. You were so much more fun when you were screaming and begging." England tilted his head back down to look at Russia's shoes. With what sounded like a great amount of effort, he spat on his feet with a mixture of saliva and blood. Russia continued to stare down at him, his expression staying the same. He then pulled his pipe back up above his head. "I hope you weren't too fond of your skull," he said, his voice having an edge of annoyance.
America started screaming then, not sure of all he was saying. He was begging, pleading, for Russia to not hurt him. But he knew that it was hopeless. He sat there, screaming, the only sound he could hear being England's voice.
"America. America. America."
Russia's pipe swung down, and America felt himself die along with England.
x-x-x-x-x
"America," England said, trying to shake him awake. America must have been having an interesting dream, because he was muttering nonstop. He was being so annoying! Why did he have to have all of these stupid habits when he was sleeping? Why couldn't he just sleep like a normal person?
"America!" he said again, finally succeeding in waking him up. To his surprise, America woke up with a gasp, nearly sitting straight up upon awakening. England didn't notice until now that he was shaking, his breathing shallow and rapid. "America?" England said, sincerely worried. America usually didn't show such cowardice unless they were watching a scary movie.
Abruptly, America threw his arms around England, making his face flush. What was it with the hugging? England had never been a fan of physical contact, yet America did it all the time. Plus the border he had worked so hard on had now been swept aside by America's twitchiness. England was about to shove him off when he realized that America had buried his face in his shoulder that was becoming wet. America was crying again.
"W-what's wrong?" England asked, trying to re-adjust himself so they were in a more upright position. "What happened?"
"I… I… I…" America was trying to talk, but he couldn't speak through his sobs. "I… Russia… he…"
"Russia?" England asked, surprised. What did he have to do with this? "What about Russia?"
"He… k-killed you!"
England looked down at him, a little shock going through him. He had had a dream about Russia killing him? It did explain why he was so distressed. "It was just a dream, America," England said soothingly, patting his back awkwardly. When he had been a child, it had been easy to comfort him. All you had to do was make them believe that everything was going to be okay, and they'd believe you no matter what. But comforting another grown man, England had no idea on how to do that.
"England," America choked, wrapping his arms tighter around him. "England… I was so scared…"
He looked down at him, still not sure of how to handle the situation. He remembered when America was little, singing would usually help him feel better. Not having any other ideas of how to console him, he began to sing the song he always had when America was just a few years old.
"Hush little baby, don't say a word,
England's going to buy you a mocking bird.
And if that mocking bird won't sing,
England's going to buy you a diamond ring."
England continued to sing softly, finding himself toy with America's soft light brown hair as he had when he was a child. He felt America's cries soften until they eventually stopped altogether as he finally calmed down. England would have pushed him off back to his side of the bed by now, but there was something calming about America's warmth huddled next to him. America's head rested just below his shoulder, his arms draped around his neck. His breath had slowed down as he had fallen back to sleep peacefully. England convinced himself that he just didn't want to disturb him, seeing as he had just had a really bad nightmare. That's all.
Closing his eyes, England left one hand on America's back as the other continued to play with his hair. With him so close, he couldn't help but take in the scent of him. He smelled like a café, the smell of coffee and doughnuts prominent. Surprisingly enough, he didn't smell all that much like hamburgers like England thought he would. Instead, he smelled of cinnamon and sugar. England breathed him in, enjoying his scent. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed before that he smelled so good. So delicious…
England's eyes flashed open as the thought hit him like a Taser. How could he ever think of America as smelling delicious? With a groan, he closed his eyes again, trying to busy his mind with something else. There was no way that he could ever let himself think like that again. It wasn't right.
What in the world was America doing to him? He knew that America was in love with him right now because of his spell gone wrong. But England had no reason to be returning those feelings. He was still very hurt from the Revolution, and still often thought of America as a brother. They had gotten over most of their past arguments, and were usually fairly civilized with each other. But, even with most of their issues having been smoothed over, England still had scars that were sometimes re-opened.
America murmured something as he snuggled closer to England, burying his face in the crook of England's neck. England felt the blood rush to his face as he felt America's breath tickle his neck. But unlike before, he found his warm breath pleasant on his skin. England felt America's cowlick, Nantucket, brush against his chin. England twirled it between his fingers, liking the fine texture of his hair. England hummed quietly to himself, letting his mind calm down. He wasn't going to let his confused feelings concern him right now. He was going to get rid of the curse soon, and everything would get back to normal. He wouldn't have to try to figure out how he felt anymore. He could back to his normal life.
Alone.
He tried to convince himself that being alone would be better than having to deal with connections to other people. Life would be much easier without feelings for others. But in the end, he wasn't very good at lying even to himself.
x-x-x-x-x
The light in the room made America's closed eyes hurt. He tried to bury his face farther in his pillows so he could go back to sleep. But when he realized this his pillow felt an awful lot like skin, he looked up to see what was going on. America's eyes latched on England's face that was just a few inches away from his. He had cradled his head against his neck. America tried to put space between them so England wouldn't get upset with him, but then he realized that England's arms were around him, locking him in place. America flushed, having never expected to wake up to this. England was holding him.
With a smile, America placed his head back against England's neck. He had no idea how long England would let this last, but he decided that he might as well enjoy it for as long as it lasted. He placed one light kiss on England's throat, then happily closed his eyes. "I love you, England," America whispered as he drifted back off to sleep.
x-x-x-x-x
Yay, it didn't end all emo this time! It's so cute! :D And can I just say that I loved writing with Russia? Russia is so fun, him being all cute and psycho. :) Please review! I'll love you if you do! :D
