[CHAPTERFIC] You Can't Take the Sky From Me Chapter Seven (Axis Powers Hetalia)
Title: You Can't Take the Sky From Me [FF.NET Chapter Seven] [ Writing Journal Previous Chapters ]
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland, SpainxRomano, Belarus--->Russia
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,573
Summary: Ace Pilot America is on a mission for the World Military when a chance encounter with a group of Sky-Pirates leads him to team up with their captain, England, against a malevolent group that wants to fill the sky with zeppelins. [USxUK- Steampunk AU]
Chapter Summary: It was America. America, the military captain who’d come to their rescue today. The one who had risked his life and used his entire arsenal in his quest to save them. The one who had kept his promise, who had been honorable. He flushed.
America wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry or distressed either. He looked hesitant, unsure. England wondered if this situation was as strange for America as it was for him. He thought it may have been.
Author's Note: Nothing much. A very character intensive chapter, as this is of course, right after the storm of the Kosmider Battle. I was actually worried this chapter wouldn't be long enough, but then it turned out to be the longest chapter so far. Go figure.
The zeppelin’s path home was unsteady, as if it were limping through the sky on its last legs. Lithuania frowned from his place in the torn open cockpit, the cool air whipping his hair into his face.
Russia would be pleased to know that their mission had been mostly successful, but infuriated to find out that the captain had lived. He shuddered involuntarily and rubbed his arms, attempting to bring warmth to himself. Next to him, his comrade Estonia now piloted the zeppelin. He was a young man, close to his own age, with sandy blond hair and an air of assuredness. Lithuania liked him more than most members of the Kosmider he’d interacted with.
Behind him stood the most devoted member of the Kosmider, the blade master Belarus. Lithuania had watched in avowed amazement as she’d fought the swordsman aboard the Victoria. She was outstandingly good, and quite honestly a bit terrifying. While at times he’d sworn he’d seen doubt flicker in Estonia’s, Latvia’s, and even Ukraine’s eyes, Belarus was resolute. He often wondered why Russia wouldn’t allow her to be his right-hand man and instead relied on Lithuania. She would surely be better at the job.
“We didn’t manage the captains, but I do believe I was able to kill both first mates,” was what Belarus had told him when she’d arrived back on the zeppelin.
Lithuania had watched as the missiles were fired and the ship was blown up, falling to a watery death a thousand meters below. He hated it. He hated it every time he was onboard and he was given the role of commander and he took the blame inwardly for every single body that fell and every single ship that burned. His green eyes were misting and his shivering sigh was carried away by the biting wind.
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When America stepped out of the cockpit of his Aeronaut, both England and Switzerland were already crowded around Prussia’s fallen form. They muttered obscenities and their postures were panicked and distraught as America walked over behind them.
“Damn it, Prussia!” England choked out a curse, his voice raw.
Switzerland had picked up one of the fallen man's hands, and England was inspecting the deep wound on his back.
America felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him, as he watched the silent vigil between the crewmembers. He felt like a voyeur, as if he were intruding upon something deeply personal.
Switzerland now pulled Prussia’s limp wrist up to his ear and muttered a prayer under his breath. He paused and then let out a sigh of relief. “He has a heartbeat.”
England exhaled, clenching his eyes shut and shaking his head. “Th-thank god.”
It was then that America stepped forward, standing next to England. Switzerland’s mouth formed into a thin line and he shot America a wary expression, but England suppressed a half smile.
“I believe he’ll be alright,” England said as he surveyed the sword wound. “I imagine the swordswoman managed to embed one of her daggers in his back and Prussia, being Prussia, ignored it. God's sake, he’s such an imbecile.”
“He’ll be okay…?” America reiterated, tentatively.
“The wound is deep and he lost a lot of blood,” England explained. “That’s why he passed out. Idiot has likely been letting himself bleed for quite some time, still fighting without even a second thought.” America recalled the point in which he’d glanced over to the ship and noticed Prussia’s movements growing sluggish. “He won’t be able to raise his sword until he’s laid up for a while, but it didn’t hit anything vital.”
Switzerland lowered Prussia’s hand and let go of it completely when the trio heard a moan from below them.
Prussia lifted his head dizzily and smirked. “Looks like that fight took a lot out of me, Captain.”
England rolled his eyes. “A lot of blood, you self-righteous git.”
Prussia attempted to turn himself around and sit up, but Switzerland pushed him back down. “Don’t you dare. I’ll carry him below deck and dress the wound, Captain.”
England nodded in approval. “You fought well Prussia.”
He laughed. “’Course I did,” he drawled out, head still swimming. He chanced a glance at Switzerland, then England, then America. “We were all pretty damn awesome.”
Switzerland turned Prussia over and picked him up, carrying him bridal style down to the cabins. A path of dripping blood followed them.
America watched as the pair stepped below deck and allowed himself a small smile. He was about to say something to England, when the patter of a small pair of feet resounded across the deck.
“England!”
He turned around and nodded, greeting the young cabin boy. “’Ello, Sealand.”
Sealand punched him in the arm. “Next time let me fight! I’m a pirate too.”
England gritted his teeth. “You’re the cabin boy. You’re on board to do chores. For Christ’s sake, how often have we had this argument?”
America watched the pair argue for a few moments (he had yet to meet Sealand, so curiosity got the best of him). He then wandered away, meandering about the deck of the ship while still listening to the discussion.
“But I’m twelve years old. You were just fifteen when you became captain,” Sealand argued.
“That was an unusual situation, and in any case, I was far more qualified than you,” England retorted in exasperation.
“How do you know what I could do? I’ve never even had a chance!” Sealand crossed his arms and pouted.
England’s green eyes flashed, anger, regret, and something indiscernible. “I will not let you fight, Sealand. And especially not now, with the Kosmider in the skies. This is not a joke or even a simple robbery. Prussia almost died out there. Spain’s crew did.”
“I know, and it’s terrible b-but- “
“Do you think I only prohibit you from being on deck to annoy you? Because I think you’re incapable? Bollocks. It’s enough that I allow you and Liechtenstein on my ship. I won’t risk anything else.” England turned around and began walking away, effectively ending the conversation.
Sealand slid the small pirate hat he always wore off his head and kicked the deck in irritation, then ran back down the cabin stairs.
England stood at the bow of the ship, his arms by his side. The ship was a wreck and would need repairing, Prussia would be out of action for a while, and Spain and his first mate were below deck, suffering from both physical injuries and mental grief. And the Kosmider was on the loose, and surely they’d be back for the Victoria and what remained of the Nuberu Pirates. He cursed. They’d have to hide out for a while. They’d have to leave the sky.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and started, grabbing his rapier unthinkingly. I really am on edge, he thought as he took his hand off the hilt and turned around.
It was America. America, the military captain who’d come to their rescue today. The one who had risked his life and used his entire arsenal in his quest to save them. The one who had kept his promise, who had been honorable. He flushed.
America wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry or distressed either. He looked hesitant, unsure. England wondered if this situation was as strange for America as it was for him. He thought it may have been. In his hands he held out England’s hitherto missing hat. “I found it when I was walking around. Looks like there’s a little hole in the top, but I’m sure you can fix that.”
England reached out to take the hat, but his hands froze midway. “T-thank you.”
America shoved the hat forward the rest of the way and England snatched it, placing it back on his head.
“I don’t know how important a hat is to a pirate, and honestly I could care less, but it seemed strange to see you without it. I mean you even wear it with your pajamas,” America excused, looking down at his feet.
England crossed his arms and scowled, but struggled to come up with a witty retort. Instead he just let out a harrumph. America laughed lightly.
“I didn’t expect you to come,” England said.
America’s blue eyes widened. “We shook on it.”
“Keeping promises isn’t something I anticipate a military man to do,” he replied.
America gritted his teeth. “Well I did.”
Nighttime had settled upon the sky, enveloping it in velvet blues and purples. The cool breezes whipping across the ship were pleasant, and America and England both felt calmed by them. Perhaps it was the intensity of the previous hours putting things in perspective for them, but neither felt very spirited in their attempts at bickering with the other.
England just nodded. “So you did.”
An awkward silence; America broke it. “C-can you tell me what happened? I mean, what I don’t know already.”
England leaned against the edge of the ship. “The Kosmider used Captain Carriedo’s weakness against him.”
“Eh?”
“Have you ever heard the stories about the men who steal from the rich and give to the poor? Outlaws, but ones who are widely considered heroes,” England continued.
“Well yeah, of course.”
“That’s the Nuberu Pirates. They’re a different breed.” He glanced up at the sky, observing the blanket of stars. “There was a merchant ship he was attempting to help.”
“Aren’t merchants rich?” America queried. He was standing just a few feet from England, and he followed his gaze to the stars.
“That’s a myth. For every merchant that’s loaded with shillings and notes, there are ten that only just live comfortably.” He paused. “The ship was a trap. It was an empty, old ship and it was a false distress call. They’d booby-rigged the ship, and the moment Captain Carriedo docked his, he was stuck.”
America’s expression darkened. “So they used the fact that he wanted to help someone to trap him?”
England nodded. “Filthy bastards. All Spain could do was wait in dread. He radioed us and we flew to meet him as quickly as we could.” He sighed. “We arrived before the Kosmider, and managed to pry the merchant ship away. Did a botch job on it, because we wanted to get it off as soon as possible. It ended up falling in the ocean since we had to inflict so much damage on it to remove it. No matter though, it was empty. We thought we were off the hook, but they showed up in their zeppelins, just as we were about to depart.” England made direct eye contact with America. “That’s when I got in touch with you.”
“And the captain?” America asked, his voice solemn.
“Spain will be fine. He’s below deck with his first mate. He’s scuffed up, a bit burnt, but he’ll be better with rest.”
“And the other one?”
“Haven't the foggiest.” England shook his head. “I don't know whether he hit his head or passed out due to smoke inhalation, or even both.”
America nodded ruefully.
“He is now Spain’s reason for living, so for both of their sakes, he’d better be all right,” England muttered, more to himself than aloud.
The wind whipped America’s hair into his face, and his glasses momentarily fell askew. He adjusted them. “You---you’ve been a captain since you were fifteen?”
England stiffened. “You heard that then?” America gestured in the affirmative. “Yes, I have, in fact.”
“Woah.” America scratched the back of his head. “How old are you anyway?”
England bit his lip. “Twenty-two.”
“That’s so young! I mean for… you know.”
He shrugged. “I didn't suppose there was any use lying to you. I imagine you don’t care a bit about my reputation.”
“Huh?”
“I usually say I’m older, that I just appear young for my age.” He averted his eyes to the sails. “It’s hard to gain respect when half the sky thinks of you as a child.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” America murmured.
England’s lips quirked up in a smile. “You? You mean everyone doesn’t respect your supposed inherent brilliance?”
He laughed. “Yeah I am pretty great, aren’t I?”
“Sarcasm is not your strong point, is it?”
America rolled his eyes. “Shut up. A captain who has only been in the military for three years? I came straight out of high school and shot through the ranks.” He walked over and leaned against the edge of the ship next to England. Glancing up at the sky, he spotted a falling star and followed its progress. “Like a comet, is what the colonel said when he awarded me my captainship.”
There was a whir in the steam engine, and England vaguely wondered if the engine might need some repair work as well. A moment later, the gas lights came on and the deck glowed in their incandescent light. “I see Liechtenstein finally got around the turning the lamps on.”
“Liechtenstein?”
“Switzerland’s sister. She’s around Sealand’s age.”
“Anyone else I don’t know yet?” America queried.
“Yet?” England cocked an eyebrow. “No, that’s it. Prussia, Switzerland, Sealand, and Liechtenstein.”
England leaned further back against the edge of the ship and turned his arms around, his palms upward.
America’s blue eyes grew large and he cursed. “Oh fuck England, your hand is completely torn up!” He grabbed his hand and winced in sympathy. He recalled the battle and the frequent moments in which he’d noted England’s bleeding hand. He’d completely forgotten in the midst of Prussia’s near disaster.
“It’s fine.” England pulled away, blushing fiercely.
“It’s not even close to all right.” America snatched it again. There were deep grooves carved in his hand by the rope, and the flesh was raw and swelling. “I watched what you did with this hand, England. That was so stupidly heroic of you!”
Green eyes widened, and after a moment, England began to laugh. “So I’m heroic now?”
“Th-that’s not what I meant at all!” America remedied, his cheeks pinking. “I just meant that the action of… taking out that zeppelin could be considered heroic if you know, someone like me and not a pirate did it.”
England scoffed. “Oh of course, right. It’s completely different if a pirate did it.”
“It is!” he countered, but he knew deep down it was a weak retort. “Now stay where you are.”
He shrugged and did as he was told. America swiftly jogged to his plane and sifted around the cockpit, seizing a white box and running back over.
“Alcohol.” America snapped open the box and pulled out a bottle.
“Oh we have plenty of that below deck,” England said.
The aviator opened the bottle and dabbed a rather substantial amount of the alcohol on a small cloth. “Not that kind of alcohol.” He took England’s hand again and squeezed the liquid into the wound. He flinched. “It can’t sting anymore than it already does.”
“After a while, I just stopped noticing the pain in my hand,” he explained. “Was a bit distracted, if you know what I mean.” He pulled away reflexively, but America pulled back. His wound was stinging, the alcohol attacking the infected tissue for all it was worth.
Satisfied, America wiped it off with a dry cloth and reached into the box for a roll of gauze. He began wrapping it around England’s hand. “Is it too tight?” He shook his head in the negative. America wrapped it around a few more times and then cut the gauze, tying it off in a knot. “You have to change it once a day.”
“All right, doctor,” quipped England.
“It’s not like I haven’t been trained in this crap, okay?” America huffed.
“Right. Now why am I letting you do this? I’m quite capable of doing it my--- “ He cut himself off when he felt America touching his face, or rather the sting of alcohol against his cheek.
“You sliced your cheek open when you were on that mast,” America explained, rubbing the cool cloth down England’s left cheek. His face burned.
“Wh-what… stop that!” England spluttered.
“I’m almost done!” America’s bare hand was on England’s cheek now, no cloth between the two of them. He’d reached down to grab a bandage, and was holding his fingers over the wound because the contact with the cloth had caused it to bleed again.
England cursed inwardly, realizing by the heat he felt that his face was likely to be as red as said blood. What the fuck is going on with this guy? Such an innocuous action and…
America wiped the cut one more time to remove the blood, then placed the bandage over it. “There we go!” He gave England a thumbs up. “That should do awesomely.”
England merely nodded, unable to manage a thank you. He felt unsteady, as if he would stutter like an idiot if he attempted to speak. He didn’t want to risk it.
America put the alcohol, bandages, gauze, and dirty cloths back and closed his first aid box. The pair sat in silence for a few moments before the steady clatter of boots pounding on the deck snapped them back to attention.
“Captain,” Switzerland began as he walked toward the two, “Spain wishes to see…” he paused, “he wishes to see America, actually.”
America blinked in surprise. “Huh?”
England shrugged. “Switzerland will take you down to see him.”
“All right but why--- “
“Just go with him,” England interrupted.
America blinked in confusion and shrugged, following Switzerland. England stayed behind, his eyes back on the night sky and his elbows on the edge of the ship. He paused in his reverie and rubbed his bandaged face, a blush spreading across his face as he did so. Shaking his head and willing it to stop, he instead just gave up and buried his face in his hands.
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The steps down into the cabin area were surprisingly well polished. America had expected a pirate ship to be more rustic. Then again, this was England’s pirate ship, and he was the one who offered up elaborate embroidered blankets to his uninvited guests (or at least, to him).
“It looks… nicer than I imagined,” America piped up, unthinkingly.
“What did you expect?” Switzerland glared at him.
“I don’t know…?”
He rolled his eyes. “This way.” The hallways were undecorated, but again, they were clean and well polished. America spotted some blood splatters that he assumed were from Prussia.
“How is Prussia?”
Switzerland’s teal eyes widened. “Oh… he’s going to be okay. He’s sleeping right now. Damn idiot.”
America grinned. “He’s good.”
“The best,” Switzerland agreed. “This is the room. Just knock.” He briskly walked away, leaving America in front of the wooden door.
He knocked. “Come in,” came a reply. America slipped inside the room.
The one who he assumed to be Spain (he was conscious after all), swiftly stood up and jogged to America’s side. He was quite banged up himself, burn marks covering much of his arms and his face covered in small cuts. “You’re Captain Jones?”
“Just… America." He scratched the back of his head.
Spain nodded and smiled. “America then. I wanted to thank you for coming. Captain Kirkland explained why you’re here when I asked. That was honorable of you.”
“I-uuh-thanks?”
He smiled, and his voice was a lilt. America wondered how he could smile at him so fondly when nearly his entire crew had just died. He could see the redness in his eyes and the puffiness around them. There had been a lot of tears. “There’s nothing to thank me for, sheesh. You were very helpful. If you hadn’t shown up and distracted the Kosmider, we may not have escaped the ship. Your help was invaluable.”
“Even though I’m military?” America queried.
Spain shook his head. “I understand where England’s coming from, but not all of us have the level of hatred he does for the World Military. But then again, he does like you.”
America flushed. “England? No, no, England can’t stand me.”
He just laughed. “I don’t think that’s the case! Captain Kirkland wouldn’t have let you back on board if he’d hated you.”
America averted his eyes from Spain, deciding to observe the room instead. It was well decorated, but sparse. “How is your first mate?” America changed the subject.
“Ah he’s…” Spain frowned and walked back over to the bed. America followed. “He’ll be okay, I’m sure. I pray…”
America’s eyes rested on the face of the first mate, peacefully sleeping with his back against the pillow. It was a familiar face, one he’d just seen several hours before, in fact. The short reddish brown hair, the youthful features, and he imagined, a pair of warm brown eyes had he been conscious. “Veneziano?!” he exclaimed and then shook his head. No, it can’t be. It must be… “Is this Veneziano’s brother?” He vaguely remembered Lieutenant Vargas mentioning his brother’s piracy.
“Oh you know Veneziano?” Spain glanced to America. “This is Romano,Veneziano’s brother. They’re twins.”
And America considered the lighthearted and good-natured lieutenant and was gutted at the idea of him finding out what had happened to his twin, was gutted by the mere notion that he could lose him. His eyes narrowed and he pounded his fist on the wall, fresh hate for the Kosmider swelling up within him.
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland, SpainxRomano, Belarus--->Russia
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,573
Summary: Ace Pilot America is on a mission for the World Military when a chance encounter with a group of Sky-Pirates leads him to team up with their captain, England, against a malevolent group that wants to fill the sky with zeppelins. [USxUK- Steampunk AU]
Chapter Summary: It was America. America, the military captain who’d come to their rescue today. The one who had risked his life and used his entire arsenal in his quest to save them. The one who had kept his promise, who had been honorable. He flushed.
America wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry or distressed either. He looked hesitant, unsure. England wondered if this situation was as strange for America as it was for him. He thought it may have been.
Author's Note: Nothing much. A very character intensive chapter, as this is of course, right after the storm of the Kosmider Battle. I was actually worried this chapter wouldn't be long enough, but then it turned out to be the longest chapter so far. Go figure.
The zeppelin’s path home was unsteady, as if it were limping through the sky on its last legs. Lithuania frowned from his place in the torn open cockpit, the cool air whipping his hair into his face.
Russia would be pleased to know that their mission had been mostly successful, but infuriated to find out that the captain had lived. He shuddered involuntarily and rubbed his arms, attempting to bring warmth to himself. Next to him, his comrade Estonia now piloted the zeppelin. He was a young man, close to his own age, with sandy blond hair and an air of assuredness. Lithuania liked him more than most members of the Kosmider he’d interacted with.
Behind him stood the most devoted member of the Kosmider, the blade master Belarus. Lithuania had watched in avowed amazement as she’d fought the swordsman aboard the Victoria. She was outstandingly good, and quite honestly a bit terrifying. While at times he’d sworn he’d seen doubt flicker in Estonia’s, Latvia’s, and even Ukraine’s eyes, Belarus was resolute. He often wondered why Russia wouldn’t allow her to be his right-hand man and instead relied on Lithuania. She would surely be better at the job.
“We didn’t manage the captains, but I do believe I was able to kill both first mates,” was what Belarus had told him when she’d arrived back on the zeppelin.
Lithuania had watched as the missiles were fired and the ship was blown up, falling to a watery death a thousand meters below. He hated it. He hated it every time he was onboard and he was given the role of commander and he took the blame inwardly for every single body that fell and every single ship that burned. His green eyes were misting and his shivering sigh was carried away by the biting wind.
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When America stepped out of the cockpit of his Aeronaut, both England and Switzerland were already crowded around Prussia’s fallen form. They muttered obscenities and their postures were panicked and distraught as America walked over behind them.
“Damn it, Prussia!” England choked out a curse, his voice raw.
Switzerland had picked up one of the fallen man's hands, and England was inspecting the deep wound on his back.
America felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him, as he watched the silent vigil between the crewmembers. He felt like a voyeur, as if he were intruding upon something deeply personal.
Switzerland now pulled Prussia’s limp wrist up to his ear and muttered a prayer under his breath. He paused and then let out a sigh of relief. “He has a heartbeat.”
England exhaled, clenching his eyes shut and shaking his head. “Th-thank god.”
It was then that America stepped forward, standing next to England. Switzerland’s mouth formed into a thin line and he shot America a wary expression, but England suppressed a half smile.
“I believe he’ll be alright,” England said as he surveyed the sword wound. “I imagine the swordswoman managed to embed one of her daggers in his back and Prussia, being Prussia, ignored it. God's sake, he’s such an imbecile.”
“He’ll be okay…?” America reiterated, tentatively.
“The wound is deep and he lost a lot of blood,” England explained. “That’s why he passed out. Idiot has likely been letting himself bleed for quite some time, still fighting without even a second thought.” America recalled the point in which he’d glanced over to the ship and noticed Prussia’s movements growing sluggish. “He won’t be able to raise his sword until he’s laid up for a while, but it didn’t hit anything vital.”
Switzerland lowered Prussia’s hand and let go of it completely when the trio heard a moan from below them.
Prussia lifted his head dizzily and smirked. “Looks like that fight took a lot out of me, Captain.”
England rolled his eyes. “A lot of blood, you self-righteous git.”
Prussia attempted to turn himself around and sit up, but Switzerland pushed him back down. “Don’t you dare. I’ll carry him below deck and dress the wound, Captain.”
England nodded in approval. “You fought well Prussia.”
He laughed. “’Course I did,” he drawled out, head still swimming. He chanced a glance at Switzerland, then England, then America. “We were all pretty damn awesome.”
Switzerland turned Prussia over and picked him up, carrying him bridal style down to the cabins. A path of dripping blood followed them.
America watched as the pair stepped below deck and allowed himself a small smile. He was about to say something to England, when the patter of a small pair of feet resounded across the deck.
“England!”
He turned around and nodded, greeting the young cabin boy. “’Ello, Sealand.”
Sealand punched him in the arm. “Next time let me fight! I’m a pirate too.”
England gritted his teeth. “You’re the cabin boy. You’re on board to do chores. For Christ’s sake, how often have we had this argument?”
America watched the pair argue for a few moments (he had yet to meet Sealand, so curiosity got the best of him). He then wandered away, meandering about the deck of the ship while still listening to the discussion.
“But I’m twelve years old. You were just fifteen when you became captain,” Sealand argued.
“That was an unusual situation, and in any case, I was far more qualified than you,” England retorted in exasperation.
“How do you know what I could do? I’ve never even had a chance!” Sealand crossed his arms and pouted.
England’s green eyes flashed, anger, regret, and something indiscernible. “I will not let you fight, Sealand. And especially not now, with the Kosmider in the skies. This is not a joke or even a simple robbery. Prussia almost died out there. Spain’s crew did.”
“I know, and it’s terrible b-but- “
“Do you think I only prohibit you from being on deck to annoy you? Because I think you’re incapable? Bollocks. It’s enough that I allow you and Liechtenstein on my ship. I won’t risk anything else.” England turned around and began walking away, effectively ending the conversation.
Sealand slid the small pirate hat he always wore off his head and kicked the deck in irritation, then ran back down the cabin stairs.
England stood at the bow of the ship, his arms by his side. The ship was a wreck and would need repairing, Prussia would be out of action for a while, and Spain and his first mate were below deck, suffering from both physical injuries and mental grief. And the Kosmider was on the loose, and surely they’d be back for the Victoria and what remained of the Nuberu Pirates. He cursed. They’d have to hide out for a while. They’d have to leave the sky.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and started, grabbing his rapier unthinkingly. I really am on edge, he thought as he took his hand off the hilt and turned around.
It was America. America, the military captain who’d come to their rescue today. The one who had risked his life and used his entire arsenal in his quest to save them. The one who had kept his promise, who had been honorable. He flushed.
America wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry or distressed either. He looked hesitant, unsure. England wondered if this situation was as strange for America as it was for him. He thought it may have been. In his hands he held out England’s hitherto missing hat. “I found it when I was walking around. Looks like there’s a little hole in the top, but I’m sure you can fix that.”
England reached out to take the hat, but his hands froze midway. “T-thank you.”
America shoved the hat forward the rest of the way and England snatched it, placing it back on his head.
“I don’t know how important a hat is to a pirate, and honestly I could care less, but it seemed strange to see you without it. I mean you even wear it with your pajamas,” America excused, looking down at his feet.
England crossed his arms and scowled, but struggled to come up with a witty retort. Instead he just let out a harrumph. America laughed lightly.
“I didn’t expect you to come,” England said.
America’s blue eyes widened. “We shook on it.”
“Keeping promises isn’t something I anticipate a military man to do,” he replied.
America gritted his teeth. “Well I did.”
Nighttime had settled upon the sky, enveloping it in velvet blues and purples. The cool breezes whipping across the ship were pleasant, and America and England both felt calmed by them. Perhaps it was the intensity of the previous hours putting things in perspective for them, but neither felt very spirited in their attempts at bickering with the other.
England just nodded. “So you did.”
An awkward silence; America broke it. “C-can you tell me what happened? I mean, what I don’t know already.”
England leaned against the edge of the ship. “The Kosmider used Captain Carriedo’s weakness against him.”
“Eh?”
“Have you ever heard the stories about the men who steal from the rich and give to the poor? Outlaws, but ones who are widely considered heroes,” England continued.
“Well yeah, of course.”
“That’s the Nuberu Pirates. They’re a different breed.” He glanced up at the sky, observing the blanket of stars. “There was a merchant ship he was attempting to help.”
“Aren’t merchants rich?” America queried. He was standing just a few feet from England, and he followed his gaze to the stars.
“That’s a myth. For every merchant that’s loaded with shillings and notes, there are ten that only just live comfortably.” He paused. “The ship was a trap. It was an empty, old ship and it was a false distress call. They’d booby-rigged the ship, and the moment Captain Carriedo docked his, he was stuck.”
America’s expression darkened. “So they used the fact that he wanted to help someone to trap him?”
England nodded. “Filthy bastards. All Spain could do was wait in dread. He radioed us and we flew to meet him as quickly as we could.” He sighed. “We arrived before the Kosmider, and managed to pry the merchant ship away. Did a botch job on it, because we wanted to get it off as soon as possible. It ended up falling in the ocean since we had to inflict so much damage on it to remove it. No matter though, it was empty. We thought we were off the hook, but they showed up in their zeppelins, just as we were about to depart.” England made direct eye contact with America. “That’s when I got in touch with you.”
“And the captain?” America asked, his voice solemn.
“Spain will be fine. He’s below deck with his first mate. He’s scuffed up, a bit burnt, but he’ll be better with rest.”
“And the other one?”
“Haven't the foggiest.” England shook his head. “I don't know whether he hit his head or passed out due to smoke inhalation, or even both.”
America nodded ruefully.
“He is now Spain’s reason for living, so for both of their sakes, he’d better be all right,” England muttered, more to himself than aloud.
The wind whipped America’s hair into his face, and his glasses momentarily fell askew. He adjusted them. “You---you’ve been a captain since you were fifteen?”
England stiffened. “You heard that then?” America gestured in the affirmative. “Yes, I have, in fact.”
“Woah.” America scratched the back of his head. “How old are you anyway?”
England bit his lip. “Twenty-two.”
“That’s so young! I mean for… you know.”
He shrugged. “I didn't suppose there was any use lying to you. I imagine you don’t care a bit about my reputation.”
“Huh?”
“I usually say I’m older, that I just appear young for my age.” He averted his eyes to the sails. “It’s hard to gain respect when half the sky thinks of you as a child.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” America murmured.
England’s lips quirked up in a smile. “You? You mean everyone doesn’t respect your supposed inherent brilliance?”
He laughed. “Yeah I am pretty great, aren’t I?”
“Sarcasm is not your strong point, is it?”
America rolled his eyes. “Shut up. A captain who has only been in the military for three years? I came straight out of high school and shot through the ranks.” He walked over and leaned against the edge of the ship next to England. Glancing up at the sky, he spotted a falling star and followed its progress. “Like a comet, is what the colonel said when he awarded me my captainship.”
There was a whir in the steam engine, and England vaguely wondered if the engine might need some repair work as well. A moment later, the gas lights came on and the deck glowed in their incandescent light. “I see Liechtenstein finally got around the turning the lamps on.”
“Liechtenstein?”
“Switzerland’s sister. She’s around Sealand’s age.”
“Anyone else I don’t know yet?” America queried.
“Yet?” England cocked an eyebrow. “No, that’s it. Prussia, Switzerland, Sealand, and Liechtenstein.”
England leaned further back against the edge of the ship and turned his arms around, his palms upward.
America’s blue eyes grew large and he cursed. “Oh fuck England, your hand is completely torn up!” He grabbed his hand and winced in sympathy. He recalled the battle and the frequent moments in which he’d noted England’s bleeding hand. He’d completely forgotten in the midst of Prussia’s near disaster.
“It’s fine.” England pulled away, blushing fiercely.
“It’s not even close to all right.” America snatched it again. There were deep grooves carved in his hand by the rope, and the flesh was raw and swelling. “I watched what you did with this hand, England. That was so stupidly heroic of you!”
Green eyes widened, and after a moment, England began to laugh. “So I’m heroic now?”
“Th-that’s not what I meant at all!” America remedied, his cheeks pinking. “I just meant that the action of… taking out that zeppelin could be considered heroic if you know, someone like me and not a pirate did it.”
England scoffed. “Oh of course, right. It’s completely different if a pirate did it.”
“It is!” he countered, but he knew deep down it was a weak retort. “Now stay where you are.”
He shrugged and did as he was told. America swiftly jogged to his plane and sifted around the cockpit, seizing a white box and running back over.
“Alcohol.” America snapped open the box and pulled out a bottle.
“Oh we have plenty of that below deck,” England said.
The aviator opened the bottle and dabbed a rather substantial amount of the alcohol on a small cloth. “Not that kind of alcohol.” He took England’s hand again and squeezed the liquid into the wound. He flinched. “It can’t sting anymore than it already does.”
“After a while, I just stopped noticing the pain in my hand,” he explained. “Was a bit distracted, if you know what I mean.” He pulled away reflexively, but America pulled back. His wound was stinging, the alcohol attacking the infected tissue for all it was worth.
Satisfied, America wiped it off with a dry cloth and reached into the box for a roll of gauze. He began wrapping it around England’s hand. “Is it too tight?” He shook his head in the negative. America wrapped it around a few more times and then cut the gauze, tying it off in a knot. “You have to change it once a day.”
“All right, doctor,” quipped England.
“It’s not like I haven’t been trained in this crap, okay?” America huffed.
“Right. Now why am I letting you do this? I’m quite capable of doing it my--- “ He cut himself off when he felt America touching his face, or rather the sting of alcohol against his cheek.
“You sliced your cheek open when you were on that mast,” America explained, rubbing the cool cloth down England’s left cheek. His face burned.
“Wh-what… stop that!” England spluttered.
“I’m almost done!” America’s bare hand was on England’s cheek now, no cloth between the two of them. He’d reached down to grab a bandage, and was holding his fingers over the wound because the contact with the cloth had caused it to bleed again.
England cursed inwardly, realizing by the heat he felt that his face was likely to be as red as said blood. What the fuck is going on with this guy? Such an innocuous action and…
America wiped the cut one more time to remove the blood, then placed the bandage over it. “There we go!” He gave England a thumbs up. “That should do awesomely.”
England merely nodded, unable to manage a thank you. He felt unsteady, as if he would stutter like an idiot if he attempted to speak. He didn’t want to risk it.
America put the alcohol, bandages, gauze, and dirty cloths back and closed his first aid box. The pair sat in silence for a few moments before the steady clatter of boots pounding on the deck snapped them back to attention.
“Captain,” Switzerland began as he walked toward the two, “Spain wishes to see…” he paused, “he wishes to see America, actually.”
America blinked in surprise. “Huh?”
England shrugged. “Switzerland will take you down to see him.”
“All right but why--- “
“Just go with him,” England interrupted.
America blinked in confusion and shrugged, following Switzerland. England stayed behind, his eyes back on the night sky and his elbows on the edge of the ship. He paused in his reverie and rubbed his bandaged face, a blush spreading across his face as he did so. Shaking his head and willing it to stop, he instead just gave up and buried his face in his hands.
------------------------------------------------------------
The steps down into the cabin area were surprisingly well polished. America had expected a pirate ship to be more rustic. Then again, this was England’s pirate ship, and he was the one who offered up elaborate embroidered blankets to his uninvited guests (or at least, to him).
“It looks… nicer than I imagined,” America piped up, unthinkingly.
“What did you expect?” Switzerland glared at him.
“I don’t know…?”
He rolled his eyes. “This way.” The hallways were undecorated, but again, they were clean and well polished. America spotted some blood splatters that he assumed were from Prussia.
“How is Prussia?”
Switzerland’s teal eyes widened. “Oh… he’s going to be okay. He’s sleeping right now. Damn idiot.”
America grinned. “He’s good.”
“The best,” Switzerland agreed. “This is the room. Just knock.” He briskly walked away, leaving America in front of the wooden door.
He knocked. “Come in,” came a reply. America slipped inside the room.
The one who he assumed to be Spain (he was conscious after all), swiftly stood up and jogged to America’s side. He was quite banged up himself, burn marks covering much of his arms and his face covered in small cuts. “You’re Captain Jones?”
“Just… America." He scratched the back of his head.
Spain nodded and smiled. “America then. I wanted to thank you for coming. Captain Kirkland explained why you’re here when I asked. That was honorable of you.”
“I-uuh-thanks?”
He smiled, and his voice was a lilt. America wondered how he could smile at him so fondly when nearly his entire crew had just died. He could see the redness in his eyes and the puffiness around them. There had been a lot of tears. “There’s nothing to thank me for, sheesh. You were very helpful. If you hadn’t shown up and distracted the Kosmider, we may not have escaped the ship. Your help was invaluable.”
“Even though I’m military?” America queried.
Spain shook his head. “I understand where England’s coming from, but not all of us have the level of hatred he does for the World Military. But then again, he does like you.”
America flushed. “England? No, no, England can’t stand me.”
He just laughed. “I don’t think that’s the case! Captain Kirkland wouldn’t have let you back on board if he’d hated you.”
America averted his eyes from Spain, deciding to observe the room instead. It was well decorated, but sparse. “How is your first mate?” America changed the subject.
“Ah he’s…” Spain frowned and walked back over to the bed. America followed. “He’ll be okay, I’m sure. I pray…”
America’s eyes rested on the face of the first mate, peacefully sleeping with his back against the pillow. It was a familiar face, one he’d just seen several hours before, in fact. The short reddish brown hair, the youthful features, and he imagined, a pair of warm brown eyes had he been conscious. “Veneziano?!” he exclaimed and then shook his head. No, it can’t be. It must be… “Is this Veneziano’s brother?” He vaguely remembered Lieutenant Vargas mentioning his brother’s piracy.
“Oh you know Veneziano?” Spain glanced to America. “This is Romano,Veneziano’s brother. They’re twins.”
And America considered the lighthearted and good-natured lieutenant and was gutted at the idea of him finding out what had happened to his twin, was gutted by the mere notion that he could lose him. His eyes narrowed and he pounded his fist on the wall, fresh hate for the Kosmider swelling up within him.