[CHAPTERFIC] You Can't Take the Sky From Me Chapter Nine (Axis Powers Hetalia)
Title: You Can't Take the Sky From Me [FF.NET Chapter Nine] [ Writing Journal Previous Chapters ]
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland, Belarus--->Russia
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,398
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: England could be his friend. America’s mind flitted to the friends he’d gained and lost in the military, the small group of three that remained, his true friends (yes, even France). But friend didn’t seem an adequate word to describe the kind of relationship he had with England. Acquaintance? He thought back to the night before, the desperate dread he’d felt when England’s life had been at stake. No, that wasn’t right either.
Author's Note: I AM SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG IT TOOK TO UPDATE. I had finals (mostly this), a convention, and had to get a challenge fic started. I promise I will get back to my more consistent updates from now on. Also, mayurasan did some brilliant art of Poland and Lithuania from chapter four. Do check it out HERE!
America’s eyes slipped open, and he found himself momentarily confused by the darkness of the room. Usually, when he woke up, bright sunlight flooded his vision. But he wasn’t in his room back at the Aquila base. He was on a pirate ship, where only a small porthole allowed a bit of light to creep into the room.
He was on a pirate ship, and he’d slept well. Amazingly well, actually.
“It must have been just because I was so tired…” America reasoned, rubbing his eyes and sitting up in bed. He snatched his glasses from the bed side table and put them on, stepping onto the wooden floor with bare feet.
Once he reached the door, he paused, his ears picking up a rather loud selection of conversation going on in the hallway.
“Prussia, get back to bed!” snapped England. “Are you insane? You haven’t even redressed your bandages and you’re traipsing around the ship like an uninjured imbecile.”
“But England, I feel fine.”
“You’re bleeding on my bloody floor!”
“Well if it’s already bloody, what’s it matter?”
“SHUT UP!” came a new voice; Switzerland. America pressed his ear closer to the door. “Captain, request permission to take care of him?”
“Oh you want to take care of me, huh?” America could hear the wink-wink-nudge-nudge in Prussia’s voice. The sound of a gun cocking. “All right, all right.”
“Switzerland, don’t shoot Prussia.”
“All right, Captain. Fine.” He cocked the gun once more, as if in a warning. “I’ll wait until he’s feeling better.”
“Switzerland,” England warned. “You were going to take care of him, minus the gunshots?”
“Right,” Switzerland replied. “Come on Prussia.”
“But--- “
“Actually, you shouldn’t be walking.”
“Hey, hey! Wow, Switzerland!”
It was at this point that America decided to peek out the door. The sight that met him was… enough to put amusement into anyone’s morning. Small framed Switzerland was slinging Prussia up into his arms, bridal style. The taller man wasn’t even struggling, instead having decided to snicker and laugh over the situation.
“Perhaps you should take him up to the deck, Switzerland,” England suggested. “We haven’t yet been able to get a good look at his wound in the daylight yet.” No doubt this made sense, but America suspected that England had really just propositioned this in a quest to embarrass Prussia.
Switzerland nodded and carted Prussia off without a word. Once they were out of sight, America stepped into the hallway.
“Mornin’ England!” He clapped his hand onto England's shoulder.
England started. “Good God, America.” He flushed and shoved America’s hand off him. He stepped around, now in front of England.
“So is it like this every morning on your ship?” It struck America, as he said it, that this was in fact, the second morning he’d awoken on the Victoria.
England sighed. “It’s usually hectic, yes. I have acquired a bit of a permanent headache from dealing with them.” He dodged as Sealand and Liechtenstein came darting past, chasing after each other. “You do realize that it’s eleven a.m., don’t you?”
America’s eyes grew large. “I-I slept that much? Shit.”
“Considering your situation the past two days, I thought it best to let you sleep,” England said with a shrug.
“O-oh.” He scratched the back of his head. Is England being considerate? He pushed the thought away.
An awkward silence fell between the two. England cleared his throat. “You’ll find some leftover breakfast in the kitchen.”
He nodded. “How are Spain and Romano?”
“Asleep,” England said. “Switzerland went in early this morning and dressed and cleaned their burns and cuts. They fell back asleep immediately after breakfast.”
America scuffed his feet back and forth. “So is Switzerland like… your doctor?”
England pressed himself against the hallway wall. “You ask a lot of questions, America.” He smiled, unbidden. “Switzerland is the most proficient of all of us in medicine, so I suppose he would be our doctor, yes.”
America grinned. “Your gunner and your doctor all in one. Haha, you all are so weird.”
England bit back a retort. America wasn’t insulting him, he could tell by the tone of his voice (why could he read America so well? Why was he even paying enough attention to him to be able to do that?).
“We are a bit of a motley crew,” he agreed.
America slipped back into the cabin and sat on the bed to put his shoes and socks on. England followed, leaning against the door frame. “You’ll have to tell me,” he began as he tied his shoelaces, “how the hell you became captain of this crew of crazies. I’ve gotta admit, I really want to know.”
At this, England’s breath hitched. His green eyes narrowed and his lips formed into a tight line. “H-how dare you presume you can--- You helped us last night, and for that I give you thanks. But you are at best, our ally.” He gritted his teeth. “You have no right to ask me such things.”
His coat whipped around as he turned to leave, but America was faster than him. He snatched England by the shoulder and pulled him back. “What the hell, England?” he snapped. “I come and save your ass, and it seems like we just might be starting to get---- “ he cut himself off. Get along? What did it matter to him? England was a pirate, and if he wanted to only view America as ‘at best, our ally,’ wasn’t that for the best?
England could be his friend. America’s mind flitted to the friends he’d gained and lost in the military, the small group of three that remained, his true friends (yes, even France). But friend didn’t seem an adequate word to describe the kind of relationship he had with England. Acquaintance? He thought back to the night before, the desperate dread he’d felt when England’s life had been at stake. No, that wasn’t right either.
“Get along?” England finished. “Look, just because we’re comrades, doesn’t mean you get to ask me whatever you like.”
“I just asked you a question!” America blurted, and then paused. “Wait. We’re comrades?”
England’s eyes grew wide, and his cheeks reddened. “I-I- mean… oh never mind. I’m going up deck. I need to make sure Prussia hasn’t escaped Switzerland and died of blood loss or something…” He stormed away, and this time America wasn’t able to catch him.
“Comrades?” he whispered, trying the word out. Not ‘allies at best,’ but comrades.
America could not quite figure out why a grin spread cross his face at this, or why it caused his mood to brighten considerably.
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“Hey Switzerland, you gonna kiss it and make it better?” Prussia turned his head and winked as Switzerland surveyed the wound on the his back in the early afternoon sunlight.
“You are so damn lucky that you’re injured.” Switzerland clenched his fists. “It wouldn’t be my hand on your back; it would be the butt of my rifle.”
“Well I wouldn’t be telling you to kiss it and make it better if I weren’t injured,” Prussia reasoned.
“Ugh, you." He gritted his teeth and began to wipe down the wound with a wet cloth. “This is not going to heal if you keep aggravating it like you did this morning. I know you’re restless but…”
“I got it, Switzerland,” he interrupted. “Just sit me up on the deck every day and everyone can cater to my whims until I get better. Once we’re done here, I’d like a beer and some lunch not made by England…”
Switzerland twitched and had to stop himself from reaching for his gun. “Just shut up.”
Prussia laughed and was about to retort when England stepped up next to the pair. “’Ello. How is it, Switzerland?”
“Prussia’s back will be fine if he doesn’t do anything particularly idiotic,” he explained. “Which of course means that he’s screwed.”
Robust laughter echoed from the entrance to the below deck staircase. England whipped his head around, spotting America, who was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a grin on his face. England wished that his desire to smack that smirk off his face was stronger. Instead, he stared at America for several moments before turning away.
Comrade. Why had he said that? England shook his head to clear his mind. Speaking of comrades… “America!” he yelled. “Aren’t there people wondering where you are? Did you tell them that- “
“FUCK,” America shouted, running across the deck and nearly sliding into his plane.
England raised his eyebrows and walked over, standing next to the plane. “You forgot to radio your superiors, didn’t you?” America forgetting to do this was oddly unsurprising to him.
He scratched his head and grinned sheepishly. “Guess I was just a bit distracted.”
England slapped his forehead. “You’re going to get in trouble for that, aren’t you?”
America’s face dropped. “O-of course not. They’ll understand that I was being the hero, and won’t care that I didn’t do something as trivial as radioing them!” He was gripping the edge of his cockpit nervously as he attempted to assure himself of this.
England rolled his eyes. “Right. You arrive back there a day late with all your missiles missing, and you haven’t even so much as radioed them. I might not be in the military, God forbid, but I’m pretty sure that behavior is not up to snuff.”
“What does it matter to you? Wouldn’t you be happy if I got in trouble with the military?” America queried. He’d tightened his hold on the cockpit, and he could feel sweat caking his palm. He really was going to get in trouble, wasn’t he?
England pressed himself against the plane next to America. “It’s not such a terrible idea to have someone like you in the military,” he spoke quietly.
“Huh?”
“I mean it’s a bloody waste, to tell the truth,” he backtracked. “You’ve got at least a fair amount of integrity and I’m sure there are more fitting avenues for someone like you but…”
“Like piracy?” America countered.
England huffed. “Never mind. Just… can you make me a promise once again?”
“A promise, huh?” America glanced up at the sky, the afternoon sun shining brightly. The sails of the Victoria wafted in the breeze.
“Again, no piracy involved,” England clarified.
America nodded. “All right then.”
He made direct eye contact with America, his green eyes intent and his expression resolute. “Promise me that you won’t let the military change you.”
“Wha--- “
“You are absolutely asinine, completely ridiculous,” England continued. “I’ve never met anyone as thick as you.” He paused. “Except perhaps Prussia.”
“Hey! At least I don’t--- “
“Shut up and let me finish,” he cut in. “But you’re not half bad.”
America felt a smile tug at his lips at that. “Neither are you, to be honest.” England flushed. “What exactly are you asking me to do?”
“You do realize that the whole world will soon be at war, don’t you America?” He averted his eyes to the ship’s torn sails. “I mean the Kosmider. They’re growing, and they won’t stop until they’re defeated.”
“I-I know,” America replied with a firm nod.
“And war can bring out the worst in people, so I just want you to promise me that it… won’t change you, that it won’t corrupt you,” England finished.
America ran his hand along the edge of the cockpit and shot England an unconvincing grin. “Heroes don’t let things like that affect them. I can make this promise with no problem at all!”
England shot America a skeptical look and considered his proclamation. After a few moments, he nodded. “Very well then. Do you have a gun with you?”
“Um, no. I didn’t bring one. Why?”
“Good.” England pulled his pistol out of his belt and raised it. Then, taking aim, he pulled the trigger.
“What the hell England!” Screamed America as the bullet whizzed past him. “Oh fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a pi--- “
“Shut up. I’m saving your arse.” England slipped the pistol back into his belt. He jerked his head toward the cockpit. America looked.
“You shot my plane,” he stated, flabbergasted.
“I destroyed the radio, you idiot,” England explained. “You were attacked on the way home by a Kosmider zeppelin, and you had to use your missiles to fight it off. They got a hit at your cockpit and it nailed your radio.”
America blinked. “Oh… Oh.”
“I imagine that lying is not your strong point,” England reasoned. “But a broken radio and cracked glass on your cockpit is a bit hard to debate against, especially since you aren’t carrying a gun yourself.”
England had just ruined part of his plane, in order to save him from getting in deep trouble with his superiors. America wasn’t even quite sure what to think. “Thank you…?” it was as much a question as a statement of gratitude.
“You’re quite welcome,” he replied, proud of his handiwork on America’s prized plane.
“I better leave,” America sighed. England wondered if he was imagining the disappointment in his voice. He must have been.
“Of course.” He nodded, and then whipped around. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. “Switzerland, go to the galley and nick some food, would you? Put it in a bag, please.”
“Yes, Captain.” Switzerland pushed himself up from his place next to Prussia and went below deck.
England turned back to face America. “There’s a couple of things I want you to know before you go.”
“What?”
He hesitated before speaking again. “We’ll be leaving the skies for some time. We need to repair our ship and with Prussia incapacitated, we’d be a fat lot of good in a battle. We can’t risk the Kosmider attacking right now.”
“Makes sense.”
“There’s an isolated island. I have a good reliable friend that lives there by himself. He’s brilliant in a pinch, can do just about anything you put him up to,” England explained. “We’ll be there making our repairs and recuperating. It will be good for Spain and Romano as well.”
“So you’re telling me about your tropical resort getaway, why?” America raised his eyebrows.
England crossed his arms. “I want you to be able to get a hold of me if…. you… have umm… information you need to tell us or something.” He flushed. “Blast it. I have a frequency, okay? It’s private. It’s something only a couple of other people know… and of course my crew.”
“I won’t tell anyone what it is, England,” America assured him. He was… curiously pleased that England trusted him enough to tell him the frequency.
“Oddly, I know you won’t.” He felt a smile tug at his lips. “If you can’t get a hold of me at that frequency, there’s one other person who can usually find a manner in which to contact me.”
America reached in his cockpit and fished around, snatching a pencil and a small piece of paper. “Go ahead.”
“She’ll be the owner of the Világfa Inn and Pub. Look it up, it’s the only one in the world. Her name’s Héderváry. Hungary’s her first name, and that’s what she prefers to go by.” He took the pencil and paper and scribbled the information down. “I’m also writing the frequency. I’d prefer if you memorized it and threw this paper away.”
“So since this is all top secret, is there anything I need to tell Hungary so that she knows I’m trustworthy?” America shifted his eyes back and forth, mock stealthily.
At this, England’s cheeks turned bright red. “Um… tell her. Oh fuck, let me just write it down.” He penciled it down quickly and turned away, handing America the paper as he did so.
America promptly began to laugh as he read it. “Tell her ‘I’m looking for the unicorn.’” His laughter grew louder, and England’s blush deepened.
“Sh-shut up. I was probably drunk when I made up the code name, okay?” he argued feebly.
America wiped at his eyes. “Oh damn. Remind me to get you drunk sometime!”
“Trust me, you don’t want to see it,” came a new voice. Switzerland had returned with a bag of food in hand. “And this was made by Liechtenstein, so don’t worry about dying.” He gave America the sack.
England glared at him. “Go get the extra crank radio. Make it quick.” He glanced back to America. “Can’t have you flying home without a radio. You can return it to me later. Make sure your superiors don’t find it.”
“When I have information?” America repeated his earlier statement. “What if I don’t ever have information? D’you still want me to drop by?”
“T-that is up to you.” England’s green eyes widened. Was America suggesting he might just stop by for no reason? He didn’t exactly hate the idea.
Switzerland returned with the radio, and America placed it in his cockpit. “I’ll make sure to give you a call then.” He gestured to his broken radio. “I mean, once I have my radio fixed.”
England just nodded, and America stepped into his cockpit. He pulled on his aviator’s cap and shot him a winning smile.
“Hey England?”
“Yes, America?”
Reaching over the side of the cockpit, he held out his hand. He twitched his fingers, coaxing England to shake it. “Comrades?”
England frowned in hesitation for a moment, before giving him a light smile. He returned the gesture, shaking the America's hand. “Comrades.”
“Awesome! Now you better move out of my way or my plane is going to take you out!” America closed his cockpit and started his plane up, its steam engines whirring to life. England jogged across the deck, his hair sifting in the breeze as America's plane departed the Victoria. He watched it fly away, watched it become a dot on the horizon, as he tried to force the hope that America would contact him again soon out of his mind.
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America landed his plane smoothly, driving it into the hangar and patting it as he stepped out of the cockpit. He shoved the crank radio underneath his seat, figuring he’d hide it in his room as soon as he got a chance. The hangar was quiet. France and Japan were nowhere to be found, although their crafts were there. He recalled that their unit was to be given the day off, due to the long flight they’d taken the day before. France was probably out courting women at the popular bar right off base, and Japan was most likely at home reading or studying.
The sound of rapid footsteps, someone running, jarred him out of his thoughts. He turned around and nearly fell backwards when Canada catapulted into him, wrapping his arms around him in a tackle hug. “America-what the… where the heck were you?”
“Wha--- “
“I’m so relieved you’re okay! You didn’t contact us at all and when we radioed you no one had responded…” He shook his head, the anxiety he’d experienced clear on his face. “We really thought something had happened to you.” Canada gasped as he spotted the damage inflicted upon America’s plane. “You were attacked?”
America felt guilt pool in his stomach. In forgetting to contact the base, he’d worried his friends and his cousin unnecessarily. “I’m okay, Canada. Awesome, really. Give Japan and France a ring, okay? Oh and I’ll tell you what happened later-“
The hangar phone rang. America ran over to the wall and picked it up. “Hello, Captain Jones speaking. Yes Colonel. Yes, I understand. I can explain. I’ll be right there. Goodbye, sir.” He hung the phone up and cursed under his breath. He hadn’t even had time to formulate a detailed version of his story yet, and the colonel was already on top of what had occurred, demanding an immediate meeting.
“Was that the colonel wondering what happened?” Canada queried. America nodded. “Well he doesn’t like to talk much, so I’m sure you won’t be there that long.”
“Thanks Canada, that’s really encouraging,” America grumbled. “Meet me at Cuba’s bar in about an hour. I’ll tell you everything that happened.”
Canada nodded and placed his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Good luck, America.”
“I’ll need it.”
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland, Belarus--->Russia
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,398
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: England could be his friend. America’s mind flitted to the friends he’d gained and lost in the military, the small group of three that remained, his true friends (yes, even France). But friend didn’t seem an adequate word to describe the kind of relationship he had with England. Acquaintance? He thought back to the night before, the desperate dread he’d felt when England’s life had been at stake. No, that wasn’t right either.
Author's Note: I AM SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG IT TOOK TO UPDATE. I had finals (mostly this), a convention, and had to get a challenge fic started. I promise I will get back to my more consistent updates from now on. Also, mayurasan did some brilliant art of Poland and Lithuania from chapter four. Do check it out HERE!
America’s eyes slipped open, and he found himself momentarily confused by the darkness of the room. Usually, when he woke up, bright sunlight flooded his vision. But he wasn’t in his room back at the Aquila base. He was on a pirate ship, where only a small porthole allowed a bit of light to creep into the room.
He was on a pirate ship, and he’d slept well. Amazingly well, actually.
“It must have been just because I was so tired…” America reasoned, rubbing his eyes and sitting up in bed. He snatched his glasses from the bed side table and put them on, stepping onto the wooden floor with bare feet.
Once he reached the door, he paused, his ears picking up a rather loud selection of conversation going on in the hallway.
“Prussia, get back to bed!” snapped England. “Are you insane? You haven’t even redressed your bandages and you’re traipsing around the ship like an uninjured imbecile.”
“But England, I feel fine.”
“You’re bleeding on my bloody floor!”
“Well if it’s already bloody, what’s it matter?”
“SHUT UP!” came a new voice; Switzerland. America pressed his ear closer to the door. “Captain, request permission to take care of him?”
“Oh you want to take care of me, huh?” America could hear the wink-wink-nudge-nudge in Prussia’s voice. The sound of a gun cocking. “All right, all right.”
“Switzerland, don’t shoot Prussia.”
“All right, Captain. Fine.” He cocked the gun once more, as if in a warning. “I’ll wait until he’s feeling better.”
“Switzerland,” England warned. “You were going to take care of him, minus the gunshots?”
“Right,” Switzerland replied. “Come on Prussia.”
“But--- “
“Actually, you shouldn’t be walking.”
“Hey, hey! Wow, Switzerland!”
It was at this point that America decided to peek out the door. The sight that met him was… enough to put amusement into anyone’s morning. Small framed Switzerland was slinging Prussia up into his arms, bridal style. The taller man wasn’t even struggling, instead having decided to snicker and laugh over the situation.
“Perhaps you should take him up to the deck, Switzerland,” England suggested. “We haven’t yet been able to get a good look at his wound in the daylight yet.” No doubt this made sense, but America suspected that England had really just propositioned this in a quest to embarrass Prussia.
Switzerland nodded and carted Prussia off without a word. Once they were out of sight, America stepped into the hallway.
“Mornin’ England!” He clapped his hand onto England's shoulder.
England started. “Good God, America.” He flushed and shoved America’s hand off him. He stepped around, now in front of England.
“So is it like this every morning on your ship?” It struck America, as he said it, that this was in fact, the second morning he’d awoken on the Victoria.
England sighed. “It’s usually hectic, yes. I have acquired a bit of a permanent headache from dealing with them.” He dodged as Sealand and Liechtenstein came darting past, chasing after each other. “You do realize that it’s eleven a.m., don’t you?”
America’s eyes grew large. “I-I slept that much? Shit.”
“Considering your situation the past two days, I thought it best to let you sleep,” England said with a shrug.
“O-oh.” He scratched the back of his head. Is England being considerate? He pushed the thought away.
An awkward silence fell between the two. England cleared his throat. “You’ll find some leftover breakfast in the kitchen.”
He nodded. “How are Spain and Romano?”
“Asleep,” England said. “Switzerland went in early this morning and dressed and cleaned their burns and cuts. They fell back asleep immediately after breakfast.”
America scuffed his feet back and forth. “So is Switzerland like… your doctor?”
England pressed himself against the hallway wall. “You ask a lot of questions, America.” He smiled, unbidden. “Switzerland is the most proficient of all of us in medicine, so I suppose he would be our doctor, yes.”
America grinned. “Your gunner and your doctor all in one. Haha, you all are so weird.”
England bit back a retort. America wasn’t insulting him, he could tell by the tone of his voice (why could he read America so well? Why was he even paying enough attention to him to be able to do that?).
“We are a bit of a motley crew,” he agreed.
America slipped back into the cabin and sat on the bed to put his shoes and socks on. England followed, leaning against the door frame. “You’ll have to tell me,” he began as he tied his shoelaces, “how the hell you became captain of this crew of crazies. I’ve gotta admit, I really want to know.”
At this, England’s breath hitched. His green eyes narrowed and his lips formed into a tight line. “H-how dare you presume you can--- You helped us last night, and for that I give you thanks. But you are at best, our ally.” He gritted his teeth. “You have no right to ask me such things.”
His coat whipped around as he turned to leave, but America was faster than him. He snatched England by the shoulder and pulled him back. “What the hell, England?” he snapped. “I come and save your ass, and it seems like we just might be starting to get---- “ he cut himself off. Get along? What did it matter to him? England was a pirate, and if he wanted to only view America as ‘at best, our ally,’ wasn’t that for the best?
England could be his friend. America’s mind flitted to the friends he’d gained and lost in the military, the small group of three that remained, his true friends (yes, even France). But friend didn’t seem an adequate word to describe the kind of relationship he had with England. Acquaintance? He thought back to the night before, the desperate dread he’d felt when England’s life had been at stake. No, that wasn’t right either.
“Get along?” England finished. “Look, just because we’re comrades, doesn’t mean you get to ask me whatever you like.”
“I just asked you a question!” America blurted, and then paused. “Wait. We’re comrades?”
England’s eyes grew wide, and his cheeks reddened. “I-I- mean… oh never mind. I’m going up deck. I need to make sure Prussia hasn’t escaped Switzerland and died of blood loss or something…” He stormed away, and this time America wasn’t able to catch him.
“Comrades?” he whispered, trying the word out. Not ‘allies at best,’ but comrades.
America could not quite figure out why a grin spread cross his face at this, or why it caused his mood to brighten considerably.
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“Hey Switzerland, you gonna kiss it and make it better?” Prussia turned his head and winked as Switzerland surveyed the wound on the his back in the early afternoon sunlight.
“You are so damn lucky that you’re injured.” Switzerland clenched his fists. “It wouldn’t be my hand on your back; it would be the butt of my rifle.”
“Well I wouldn’t be telling you to kiss it and make it better if I weren’t injured,” Prussia reasoned.
“Ugh, you." He gritted his teeth and began to wipe down the wound with a wet cloth. “This is not going to heal if you keep aggravating it like you did this morning. I know you’re restless but…”
“I got it, Switzerland,” he interrupted. “Just sit me up on the deck every day and everyone can cater to my whims until I get better. Once we’re done here, I’d like a beer and some lunch not made by England…”
Switzerland twitched and had to stop himself from reaching for his gun. “Just shut up.”
Prussia laughed and was about to retort when England stepped up next to the pair. “’Ello. How is it, Switzerland?”
“Prussia’s back will be fine if he doesn’t do anything particularly idiotic,” he explained. “Which of course means that he’s screwed.”
Robust laughter echoed from the entrance to the below deck staircase. England whipped his head around, spotting America, who was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a grin on his face. England wished that his desire to smack that smirk off his face was stronger. Instead, he stared at America for several moments before turning away.
Comrade. Why had he said that? England shook his head to clear his mind. Speaking of comrades… “America!” he yelled. “Aren’t there people wondering where you are? Did you tell them that- “
“FUCK,” America shouted, running across the deck and nearly sliding into his plane.
England raised his eyebrows and walked over, standing next to the plane. “You forgot to radio your superiors, didn’t you?” America forgetting to do this was oddly unsurprising to him.
He scratched his head and grinned sheepishly. “Guess I was just a bit distracted.”
England slapped his forehead. “You’re going to get in trouble for that, aren’t you?”
America’s face dropped. “O-of course not. They’ll understand that I was being the hero, and won’t care that I didn’t do something as trivial as radioing them!” He was gripping the edge of his cockpit nervously as he attempted to assure himself of this.
England rolled his eyes. “Right. You arrive back there a day late with all your missiles missing, and you haven’t even so much as radioed them. I might not be in the military, God forbid, but I’m pretty sure that behavior is not up to snuff.”
“What does it matter to you? Wouldn’t you be happy if I got in trouble with the military?” America queried. He’d tightened his hold on the cockpit, and he could feel sweat caking his palm. He really was going to get in trouble, wasn’t he?
England pressed himself against the plane next to America. “It’s not such a terrible idea to have someone like you in the military,” he spoke quietly.
“Huh?”
“I mean it’s a bloody waste, to tell the truth,” he backtracked. “You’ve got at least a fair amount of integrity and I’m sure there are more fitting avenues for someone like you but…”
“Like piracy?” America countered.
England huffed. “Never mind. Just… can you make me a promise once again?”
“A promise, huh?” America glanced up at the sky, the afternoon sun shining brightly. The sails of the Victoria wafted in the breeze.
“Again, no piracy involved,” England clarified.
America nodded. “All right then.”
He made direct eye contact with America, his green eyes intent and his expression resolute. “Promise me that you won’t let the military change you.”
“Wha--- “
“You are absolutely asinine, completely ridiculous,” England continued. “I’ve never met anyone as thick as you.” He paused. “Except perhaps Prussia.”
“Hey! At least I don’t--- “
“Shut up and let me finish,” he cut in. “But you’re not half bad.”
America felt a smile tug at his lips at that. “Neither are you, to be honest.” England flushed. “What exactly are you asking me to do?”
“You do realize that the whole world will soon be at war, don’t you America?” He averted his eyes to the ship’s torn sails. “I mean the Kosmider. They’re growing, and they won’t stop until they’re defeated.”
“I-I know,” America replied with a firm nod.
“And war can bring out the worst in people, so I just want you to promise me that it… won’t change you, that it won’t corrupt you,” England finished.
America ran his hand along the edge of the cockpit and shot England an unconvincing grin. “Heroes don’t let things like that affect them. I can make this promise with no problem at all!”
England shot America a skeptical look and considered his proclamation. After a few moments, he nodded. “Very well then. Do you have a gun with you?”
“Um, no. I didn’t bring one. Why?”
“Good.” England pulled his pistol out of his belt and raised it. Then, taking aim, he pulled the trigger.
“What the hell England!” Screamed America as the bullet whizzed past him. “Oh fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a pi--- “
“Shut up. I’m saving your arse.” England slipped the pistol back into his belt. He jerked his head toward the cockpit. America looked.
“You shot my plane,” he stated, flabbergasted.
“I destroyed the radio, you idiot,” England explained. “You were attacked on the way home by a Kosmider zeppelin, and you had to use your missiles to fight it off. They got a hit at your cockpit and it nailed your radio.”
America blinked. “Oh… Oh.”
“I imagine that lying is not your strong point,” England reasoned. “But a broken radio and cracked glass on your cockpit is a bit hard to debate against, especially since you aren’t carrying a gun yourself.”
England had just ruined part of his plane, in order to save him from getting in deep trouble with his superiors. America wasn’t even quite sure what to think. “Thank you…?” it was as much a question as a statement of gratitude.
“You’re quite welcome,” he replied, proud of his handiwork on America’s prized plane.
“I better leave,” America sighed. England wondered if he was imagining the disappointment in his voice. He must have been.
“Of course.” He nodded, and then whipped around. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. “Switzerland, go to the galley and nick some food, would you? Put it in a bag, please.”
“Yes, Captain.” Switzerland pushed himself up from his place next to Prussia and went below deck.
England turned back to face America. “There’s a couple of things I want you to know before you go.”
“What?”
He hesitated before speaking again. “We’ll be leaving the skies for some time. We need to repair our ship and with Prussia incapacitated, we’d be a fat lot of good in a battle. We can’t risk the Kosmider attacking right now.”
“Makes sense.”
“There’s an isolated island. I have a good reliable friend that lives there by himself. He’s brilliant in a pinch, can do just about anything you put him up to,” England explained. “We’ll be there making our repairs and recuperating. It will be good for Spain and Romano as well.”
“So you’re telling me about your tropical resort getaway, why?” America raised his eyebrows.
England crossed his arms. “I want you to be able to get a hold of me if…. you… have umm… information you need to tell us or something.” He flushed. “Blast it. I have a frequency, okay? It’s private. It’s something only a couple of other people know… and of course my crew.”
“I won’t tell anyone what it is, England,” America assured him. He was… curiously pleased that England trusted him enough to tell him the frequency.
“Oddly, I know you won’t.” He felt a smile tug at his lips. “If you can’t get a hold of me at that frequency, there’s one other person who can usually find a manner in which to contact me.”
America reached in his cockpit and fished around, snatching a pencil and a small piece of paper. “Go ahead.”
“She’ll be the owner of the Világfa Inn and Pub. Look it up, it’s the only one in the world. Her name’s Héderváry. Hungary’s her first name, and that’s what she prefers to go by.” He took the pencil and paper and scribbled the information down. “I’m also writing the frequency. I’d prefer if you memorized it and threw this paper away.”
“So since this is all top secret, is there anything I need to tell Hungary so that she knows I’m trustworthy?” America shifted his eyes back and forth, mock stealthily.
At this, England’s cheeks turned bright red. “Um… tell her. Oh fuck, let me just write it down.” He penciled it down quickly and turned away, handing America the paper as he did so.
America promptly began to laugh as he read it. “Tell her ‘I’m looking for the unicorn.’” His laughter grew louder, and England’s blush deepened.
“Sh-shut up. I was probably drunk when I made up the code name, okay?” he argued feebly.
America wiped at his eyes. “Oh damn. Remind me to get you drunk sometime!”
“Trust me, you don’t want to see it,” came a new voice. Switzerland had returned with a bag of food in hand. “And this was made by Liechtenstein, so don’t worry about dying.” He gave America the sack.
England glared at him. “Go get the extra crank radio. Make it quick.” He glanced back to America. “Can’t have you flying home without a radio. You can return it to me later. Make sure your superiors don’t find it.”
“When I have information?” America repeated his earlier statement. “What if I don’t ever have information? D’you still want me to drop by?”
“T-that is up to you.” England’s green eyes widened. Was America suggesting he might just stop by for no reason? He didn’t exactly hate the idea.
Switzerland returned with the radio, and America placed it in his cockpit. “I’ll make sure to give you a call then.” He gestured to his broken radio. “I mean, once I have my radio fixed.”
England just nodded, and America stepped into his cockpit. He pulled on his aviator’s cap and shot him a winning smile.
“Hey England?”
“Yes, America?”
Reaching over the side of the cockpit, he held out his hand. He twitched his fingers, coaxing England to shake it. “Comrades?”
England frowned in hesitation for a moment, before giving him a light smile. He returned the gesture, shaking the America's hand. “Comrades.”
“Awesome! Now you better move out of my way or my plane is going to take you out!” America closed his cockpit and started his plane up, its steam engines whirring to life. England jogged across the deck, his hair sifting in the breeze as America's plane departed the Victoria. He watched it fly away, watched it become a dot on the horizon, as he tried to force the hope that America would contact him again soon out of his mind.
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America landed his plane smoothly, driving it into the hangar and patting it as he stepped out of the cockpit. He shoved the crank radio underneath his seat, figuring he’d hide it in his room as soon as he got a chance. The hangar was quiet. France and Japan were nowhere to be found, although their crafts were there. He recalled that their unit was to be given the day off, due to the long flight they’d taken the day before. France was probably out courting women at the popular bar right off base, and Japan was most likely at home reading or studying.
The sound of rapid footsteps, someone running, jarred him out of his thoughts. He turned around and nearly fell backwards when Canada catapulted into him, wrapping his arms around him in a tackle hug. “America-what the… where the heck were you?”
“Wha--- “
“I’m so relieved you’re okay! You didn’t contact us at all and when we radioed you no one had responded…” He shook his head, the anxiety he’d experienced clear on his face. “We really thought something had happened to you.” Canada gasped as he spotted the damage inflicted upon America’s plane. “You were attacked?”
America felt guilt pool in his stomach. In forgetting to contact the base, he’d worried his friends and his cousin unnecessarily. “I’m okay, Canada. Awesome, really. Give Japan and France a ring, okay? Oh and I’ll tell you what happened later-“
The hangar phone rang. America ran over to the wall and picked it up. “Hello, Captain Jones speaking. Yes Colonel. Yes, I understand. I can explain. I’ll be right there. Goodbye, sir.” He hung the phone up and cursed under his breath. He hadn’t even had time to formulate a detailed version of his story yet, and the colonel was already on top of what had occurred, demanding an immediate meeting.
“Was that the colonel wondering what happened?” Canada queried. America nodded. “Well he doesn’t like to talk much, so I’m sure you won’t be there that long.”
“Thanks Canada, that’s really encouraging,” America grumbled. “Meet me at Cuba’s bar in about an hour. I’ll tell you everything that happened.”
Canada nodded and placed his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Good luck, America.”
“I’ll need it.”