Author's Note: Some of these events may or may not be loosely based on my own childhood escapades with my older sister.
From the beginning, he had underestimated his own power.
But Canada knew better.
"Oh, look! Lucioles!" Canada exclaimed with glee as he rushed into the backyard, followed by England and America, hands outstretched toward the sky as he hopped around in the grass, reaching for the little, glowing lights that floated across the sunset-toned heavens.
America frowned, tilting his head in confusion at the flickering, yellow lights. "Oh, you mean fireflies?"
Canada nodded, eyes still sparkling with wonder as a firefly landed on his arm.
"I've always referred to them as lightning bugs," England smiled from behind, carefully holding out his palm and scooping up an insect with ease. "There aren't many back at my residence in Europe." Gingerly, the man clasped his hands together to prevent the creature's escape and kneeled down to America's height to show him the captive animal.
"Wow!" America gasped, amazed that England had managed to capture one without any trouble. "I want to try next!"
England offered his colony a wistful smile, opening his hands and allowing the bug to glide its way back through the cherry-streaked sky as the sun began to hide under the protection of the horizon. "Very well, but be gentle. We mustn't hurt them."
But America hadn't taken the warning to heart as he should have. Without a single hesitant glance back in his guardian's direction, he sprinted forward and clapped his hands together toward the direction of one of the flies. He reeled his hands back toward his chest and separated them, only to find a severely comatose companion resting in his palms.
"Be careful!" Canada tried to cry out upon witnessing the scene, extremely frazzled. He swept his way over to his brother and caught a glimpse of the injured bug before shooting him an icy look. "You always break and ruin everything!"
America stood speechless, hands shaking as he observed the motionless bug. He hadn't meant to be so rough with the fragile thing. Guilt instantly began bubbling in the very depths of his stomach. For a moment, he was afraid that he was going to be sick. "It's just a stupid bug! What does it matter anyway? It's so tiny and there are hundreds of them!"
Canada plucked the bug out of his hands and stroked it for a moment before its light began to flicker wearily once more, lethargic and still frightened from how it had been mishandled. "That doesn't mean it isn't important," he whispered in reply to his brother. Sympathetically, he placed the bug on the lowest leaf he could find, giving it a moment to recuperate before pointedly glaring at America once more.
England sighed softly, still kneeling in the grass, keeping an eye on his charges. He motioned for America to come and join him before embracing him in a soothing hug, assuring the child that no serious damage had been done. From his spot by the familiar tree in the yard, Canada looked stern.
"Neither of us understands our capabilities," the emerald-eyed nation murmured into the child's hair.
At the time, he hadn't understood the meaning behind England's words.
"Would you boys like some tea or biscuits?" England asked thoughtfully one afternoon from the doorway, amusement clear in his expression.
"No, England! We're camping! We can't have tea while we're camping!" America said exasperatedly, fumbling around the little fort of pillows and blankets that he and Canada had built in the living room. Among the "campsite" were scattered storybooks and toys as well as some camping gear that included rope and a lantern.
"Why not? There's never a poor time to have some tea," England established smoothly, maneuvering his way through the mess of scattered supplies before approaching the entrance of the makeshift tent. Inside, America had a book on various star constellations out for him and Canada to decipher. "May I join you boys?"
Canada smiled happily, giggling at the idea of England camping with them from his corner of the tent. He blinked at the man in admiration, hoping America would let him play along.
"No," America finally huffed in response, readjusting the book in his lap. "No adults allowed."
England turned his jade-eyed gaze toward Canada, studying him for a moment. "Is that so? I suppose I'll be on my way then," the nation obliged, departing the tent without further inquiry.
That is, until America suggested they zip up the tent for the night and pretend to sleep. The two colonies hefted a blanket over the pillow fort and veiled the entrance to their little hut, hunkering down for the "night". Then, they each closed their eyes and pretended to sleep, suddenly aware of how quiet the house had become without their constant chatting. A stilled silence came over them, leaving the pair of twins blinking uncertainly at each other in hushed fear.
Then, in the midst of the boys' silent conversation, something banged roughly against the side of their fort. Swiftly, America shot up into a sitting position, eyes wide with anticipation. "What was that?" he whispered to Canada, who shrugged his shoulders in response.
"Fee-fi-fo-fum," England growled with a husky lilt, thumping his feet against the wooden floorboards loudly to signal his approach.
"It's a grizzly bear!" America cried out, playing along. Canada rolled his eyes at his brother, but decided to join in on the game as well. The pair crawled their way to the door of their fort, uncharacteristically silent and timid.
"I smell the blood of British colonies,
Be they live, or be they dead
I'll grind their bones to make my bread!" England roared just a few feet from the fort, slowly reaching out a hand and gripping the blanket that was covering the entrance. He could hear the stifled giggles of America and Canada inside, waiting for the attack. Then, he ripped away the blanket and tossed it aside, preparing himself for the chase.
Immediately, both boys let out hollers of terror, jumping up and dashing out of the fort. America ran to the right and Canada ran to the left, both stopping at the corners of the walls to see who England would decide to go after first.
It seemed that Canada was going to be the first victim as England sprinted after him, watching as the little boy circled once around the room before hurdling up the stairs right behind America. The eldest nation beat Canada to the fifth step, snatching him up by the collar of his shirt and pulling him towards his chest.
"NO! Not Canada! He was so young!" America wailed in mock grief, reaching out a hand to pull Canada back toward himself. "Let him go, you big meanie!"
"Never!" England cackled as Canada squirmed in his arms, trying to latch himself onto America to break free. Then, with a burst of exhilaration, America sped forward and tugged on England's leg, forcing him to let go of Canada in order to grab the banister to regain his balance on the steps.
"Hurry! Run!" America shrieked, grabbing Canada's wrist and jerking him forward. "He's still coming!" They rounded the corner and slid into England's master bedroom, splitting up once more as America hid in the closet and Canada crawled under the bed.
England panted slightly as he finally reached the bedroom, a smile still working its way onto his lips. Smiling was a rare gesture that was only reserved for the boys. "Fee-fi-fo-fum… I smell the blood of British colonies…"
Canada squeaked from under the bed, gaining England's attention. The man cautiously made his way over to the source of the noise, moving the bedcovers aside and extracting a nervous Canadian from under the springs of the mattress.
"My dinner has arrived," England snarled, still using his guttural voice as he adjusted Canada in his arms and nuzzled his hair. "This fresh catch is worthy of a king."
Jokingly, he took hold of Canada's thumb and pretended to take a large bite out of it. The colony wiggled and laughed hysterically in England's clutches, his face a rosy red.
At that, America opened the door to the closet and joined the laughing pair, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, looking awfully glum as his eyes wandered around the lavish room. By the time he had snapped out of his daydream, Canada had already been put down on the ground and ordered to wash up for lunch, leaving him and England alone. The man took a seat next to his other colony, placing a tender hand on his shoulder. "Something on your mind, my dear boy?"
America's face scrunched up uncertainly, cowlick still standing proudly on his head. "Will I ever be a king, England?"
England frowned, eyes growing slightly concerned. "America, you know that you are a colony, not a government official. Likewise, I am a nation, not the head of a monarchy."
America nodded, eyes still perturbed. "I know. It was a stupid question… I just wanted to make sure…"
"Make sure of what, pray tell?"
America stood from the bed and stretched out on his tippy toes, eyes pensive as his gaze roamed upon the various picture frames aligned on England's drawer. He spotted a speckled, monochrome picture of him as a toddler among them. "I wanted to make sure that I'll never be anything great. I'm just a colony… That's all I'll ever be. I'm not a king or a hero; I'm just me."
England pursed his lips, taken aback by America's musings. "And what's so wrong with being the way you are?"
America's melancholy azure eyes fell to look at the ornate design on the carpet. "I don't know. It just doesn't feel right. I feel like there's more that I need to be doing."
"America, you're still just a child. There's little more that you can be doing."
America dipped his head in agreement, shuffling his way out of the room to find Canada.
"What has gotten into that boy?" England asked himself softly.
He'd been a hero before he'd even acknowledged it.
"Hey! Best two out of three! No fair! Slow down and wait for m—Oomph!"
America face-planted into the snow, earning himself a mouthful of ice as one of his skates slid off of his foot. He lifted his freezing skin up to meet the world again, shivering madly in the midst of the winter wonderland that he had found himself encased in. Grudgingly, he put his skate back on.
An entertained laugh rang out above his head before a gloved hand reached down to help him up. He accepted the gesture without a second thought, pulling himself uneasily back onto his own two feet. He wobbled in place for a moment, still trying to get accustomed to traversing around on ice skates.
Canada bit his bottom lip to contain his sheepish grin. "I told you that chasing each other while skating wasn't a good idea."
America brushed the snow off of his soggy pants, knowing that England was going to have a conniption as soon as he witnessed his colony's sorry state. He had to clean himself up as best as he could. "I still can't believe you caught me! I'm ten times a better skater than you are."
Canada scoffed. "Sure you are."
America pouted. "Anyway, I don't want to skate anymore. I'm cold." He'd had enough of winter kicking his butt for one day. He must have taken a nosedive into the snow and ice about six times already.
"Oh, don't be such a sore loser," Canada teased. "You just want to go home because you don't want me to win again."
"Nuh-uh," America denied feverishly, beginning to skate down the length of the lake to make it back to the house. He kept close to the edge of the ice, hoping that if he would fall again, he'd fall on softer snow and grass. "It's just that it's almost dinnertime and I'm starving."
Canada snickered. "You're always starving, aren't you? Hold on, I want to show you a trick that France taught me when I was younger." He was becoming so much more confident in front of America; something he'd never been able to accomplish in front of anyone else, not even France or England. His timidity just seemed to dissolve whenever he was playing with his hyperactive twin.
"Okay, but don't show off and brag about how much better you are than me," America whined, stopping in his retreat toward the house to see what his brother wanted to show him. He watched as Canada moved to the middle of the lake and prepared himself to perform an axel. He circled around a few times and gained some speed before preparing for the jump, finally feeling at home and in his element on the ice.
But America had been the only one to notice the cracks on the surface of the ice.
His heart banged with life as he rushed forward on teetering legs, barely able to hold himself up on the skates. He watched in horror as Canada skidded over the delicate patch of ice and leaped into the air to perform his trick.
Suddenly, America could not even find his voice to shout out a warning, and he nosedived for the seventh time that day, bulldozing Canada out of the way as the boy's feet made contact with the ice and split it into multiple shards.
Canada fell over and slid toward the grass from the impact, managing to avoid falling into the freezing temperature of the water.
His brother had not been as lucky.
The cracking sound of the ice echoed over and over in Canada's mind as he tried to find a way to help America out of the water without falling in as well. The broken ice had left the entire lake exposed, leaving his twin brother heaving and forcing his lungs to work as his body took in the shock of the dunking. His numb hands messily groped around for a piece of ice to latch onto and lift himself up, but the attempt was futile seeing as his clothes were dragging him down, and every surface around him was too slippery to latch onto. He was surrounded by ice on both sides, making it impossible for him to simply swim to the edge of the lake and stumble his way over to the grass.
Canada quickly deduced that going in to save America by himself was a suicide wish on both their parts. So, with no other option left, Canada kicked off his skates and made a run for the house in his socks, screaming for England to come outside and help them. He'd never shouted so frantically and loudly in his life, amazed by the firmness and power of his own voice as he finally made it to the front doorstep.
Thankfully, before he even reached the door itself, England came bursting out of the house in his coat, grabbing Canada by the shoulders and sternly asking him what the problem was.
Canada opened his mouth and proceeded to stutter incoherently for the most part. "A-A-America fell through the ice! I t-tried to—h-help him, but—"
He couldn't remember a time he'd seen England more frightened than he had been in that moment. The nation had made it to the lake in lightning speed, eyes wide as he watched his precious America flailing around in the water, still trying to keep his grip on a piece of ice with his fingernails.
He fell to his knees by the edge of the lake, careful not to touch the ice should he break it and make the situation even worse. He had to remain calm for America's sake. America needed him to help him, not to hyperventilate.
"E-England!" America quivered. His face blanched and his bones grew tired as his body began to weaken.
"I need you to listen to me America," England began firmly, tone steady. "I want you to put your elbows on the ice and kick your legs as though you are swimming. Turn your body horizontally and try to throw yourself over the edge of the ice. It should be strong enough to hold you up."
Although extremely panicky, America managed to do as he was told, throwing his upper abdomen over the side of the ice and trying to carry his suddenly heavy legs along with him. Shivers racked through his body as England tried to talk him through the process calmly, encouraging him to keep trying. When his body had finally gotten back onto the solid ice, England warned America not to stand, and advised him to roll over instead. Feeling ridiculous, but not testing his older brother's judgment, America followed the instructions to the best of his ability, finally making it to England's side after his lips had turned a formidable hue of blue.
"Oh, dear god," England exhaled as he tore off his coat and wrapped it around America, trying desperately to keep him warm. He easily hoisted the child up and rushed him into the house, barking commands at Canada as he set America on the couch and began peeling off his wet clothing.
"Light a fire in the fireplace and start a warm bath upstairs, Canada. Not too hot, it has to be lukewarm. Do as I say," England muttered in between soothing coos directed at America. "Quickly!" he added, collecting any spare blankets within a six yard radius. He was careful to never leave the child's side for more than a few seconds. "And some tea! We need tea!"
America curled his lip up in disdain as best as he could. "N-No tea... Sick of t-tea."
"Nonsense," England countered dismissively as the fireplace roared with life, thanks to Canada's administrations. "If you ever scare me like this again America…"
America mustered a tired smile. "I k-know… You'll send me to U-Uncle Scotland's house so he c-can make me work in the f-fields…"
"And you'd best not forget it," England hissed, lifting up America once more to carry him into the upstairs bathroom. He thanked Canada absently as he lowered America into the designated bathwater gradually, helping his body warm up.
Not wanting America to get the chance to talk to him or to question him, Canada sped out of the room to go and tend to the tea.
Meanwhile, America shuddered as England rubbed his feet and submersed them repeatedly to bring some feeling back into the frozen limbs.
"How in the world did you manage to fall through the ice?"
Not wanting to rat Canada out for attempting to demonstrate a possibly dangerous trick, America kept his mouth shut and merely claimed that he should have been more careful in choosing the spots where his butt landed multiple times on the ice.
"Skating was never your forte," England consoled with a wistful look, ruffling America's hair. "Thank goodness you're alright and in one piece."
America shivered once more, goose bumps appearing on his arms as his body finally became accustomed to the shifts in temperature. Perhaps England would never find out what had really happened that day; how America had possibly saved Canada's life from ending prematurely.
And as England settled America down into an armchair beside the fireplace with a cup of tea at hand, Canada realized that he would never again mock or question America's heroic incentives. If anything, he'd indulge them.
Because after all, America truly had been his silent hero.
And he knew that he would never look at his brother the same way again.