Hetalia - Your Hero
Title: Your Hero
Author: faeriesnook
Recipient: narwhal123
Genre: Romance/Generic? (not sure)
Rating: PG
Summary: Time changes, children, even colonies grow. For the longest time England was his hero, but that too changes. Now, America wants nothing more than to become England’s hero himself.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia in anyway shape or form.
-
The first time he had opened his eyes, he had been alone. Looking back, it really is hard to remember those first few years of life. All America could ever clearly remember was that feeling of utter fear. That everything that moved around him was a monster; that the darkness of night would eat him. The fear always remained, even when he was surrounded by the natives of his lands. By the animals that provided him shelter when he had nowhere else to turn too. America could never understand it.
The day the ships reached his shores, he could remember watching them from his hiding place. With wide eyes he watched them land, watched the men with funny voices unload boxes and such. When one of them had noticed him though, America had fled in terror instead of greeting them. Who were these strange men? Why were they here? Why did they look so drastically different from the men and women he had come to know?
Soon though he had become used to the men coming to his shores. He kept his distance from them, staying hidden as he watched them build strange shelters. As time passed by he drifted closer and closer, unable to help himself. Keeping hidden he watched them work, eyes often drifting to certain men.
One had been England.
At the time he had been so young he hadn’t understood just why he had been so drawn to the strange blond man with funny eyebrows. It was like a magnet, drawing him closer. Now though he knew it was simply because England was another nation. All of them were drawn to one another; it was how they found one another. At the time though, when he had barely reached England’s knee though, all America knew was that when he saw the funny man with the big eyebrows, he felt safe. It was one of the reasons why he had picked him over France. That and he really hated seeing England cry. Even at such a young age.
Time passed and things began to change. One thing remained constant for the young colony though. Something he though could never change.
England would always protect him…
-
A crack of thunder, a flash of lightening. It was punctuated by a terrified scream, and then a loud thump. Little America scrambled to his feet, racing to his door before the shadow claw on his floor could reach out and grab him. His heart was lodged in his throat as he ran down the hallway, screaming when he bumped into something. A monster! A monster! He scrambled back, curling up into a tight ball on the floor. Oh no, oh no, it was going to eat him! He was going to die! He was-
“’merica?” But monsters didn’t sound like England. Blinking tearfully he lifted his head. England was standing in front of him, holding a candle up. It looked like he was still half asleep. However, and sleepiness seemed to vanish when he realized that yes, it was America he had just bumped into. Upon realizing that it was also not a monster he had just bumped into, the little colony picked himself up before flinging his arms around England’s waist with a choked sob. Forgetting his own strength, he nearly knocked his older brother figure over, but the older Nation remained standing, wrapping his free arm around the trembling boy. “America, lad what’s wrong?”
“Mo-Monster!” He choked out, his tight hold never loosening. He heard the older man sigh, and then suddenly he was up in the air. Squeaking he wrapped his arms around England’s neck, sniffling as he lifted his head. England smiled at America, holding him in his arms with his free arm while the other held the candle ahead of them.
“A monster eh?” And like that they were walking back down the hallway. A small squeak escaped the young boy, clinging to his big brother like a burr almost. England continued down the hallway, ignoring the shakily voiced protests. No, he didn’t want to go back to his room. The monster would get him! “Honestly America! There are no monsters. It’s just the wind.”
“Bu-But I saw it!” America choked, burying his face in the crook of England’s neck. The other shushed him softly, a soothing hand rubbing circles on his back. He could hear the candle being set down, and then England was trying to set him down on his bed. But he continued clinging, shaking his head. “its go-gonna get me!”
“Nothing is going to get you. And do you know why?” America sniffled shaking his head. Then he was suddenly lying down, England resting beside him and pulling the quilt over them both. He smiled at America, wiping his tears away before kissing his forehead. “Because I’m not going to let any monster get you. Now rest America. I’ll protect you.”
With a small sniff he nodded hesitantly, burrowing against his big brother. The arms remained safely wrapped around him, a hand gently stroking his hair. The wind continued to howl against his window, the thunder cracking, and each time England kissed the top of his head. Whispering soothing words to calm his tears.
It didn’t take long before little America drifted off, safe in the other’s arms.
-
England had always protected him. He had taken him in, given him shelter, food (albeit not the best) and clothing. He would wipe away his tears when he had a nightmare, rock him to sleep and protect him from the monsters that hid under his bed. Since the day he had met him England had been America’s hero. And for the longest time, he had never thought that would change.
But children, even colonies, grow.
-
It had been late when he had heard the odd bump, and then a crash. America had sat bolt upright when he heard it, the teenager not fully aware of what was going on. Another crash, and then he was on his feet rushing out his bedroom door. Gulping he followed the noises down the hallway, straight to the kitchen. He had anticipated seeing a burglar of sorts rummaging through his home. That wasn’t what he saw though.
England was seated at the wooden table, his red military coat thrown over one of the other chairs. America had been about to call out to him, a wide smile spreading across his lips. He hadn’t known England was coming to visit! The sneaky Empire! Was he here to surprise America? Because he had done an awfully good job at that!
The greeting died in his throat though, blue eyes widening as he heard a sharp hiss escape England. The man was murmuring curses beneath his breath, shrugging out of his white button down shirt. America felt his stomach clench as his eyes landed on the bandages that wrapped around his torso, blood seeping through the white linen. Before his eyes drifted to the old scars that he had only seen once or twice when he was small and insisted that they go swimming during the summer.
Who had hurt England? And why?
“En-England?” His voice came out barely above a whisper, but it was loud enough for the Brit to hear. Automatically he went rigid, head whipping around to the door way. Then a panic seemed to set over him, green eyes darting around, before he was frantically pulling his button down shirt on again to hide the bandages, his smile strained as was his laugh.
“America! You scared me! What’re you doing up so late? Did I wake you? Honestly, I wanted to surprise you!”
“You’re hurt…”
“It’s nothing, just a few scratches!” He was standing now, planting both hands on America’s shoulders, turning him around and steering him back to his room. “Now, back to bed with you!”
“Bu-But!”
“We can catch up in the morning America.” The authoritarian tone had crept into his voice. And America knew any further protests would only lead to a fight, or be ignored completely. Pouting at that he let himself be steered back to his room, flopping onto the bed and rolling onto his side. He heard England murmur a soft ‘good night’ and then a hiss that had to be from his injuries.
America could remember that night clearly, curling up into a tight ball in his bed. Remembering how much pain England seemed to be in for that brief moment in the kitchen. Of the red seeping through white.
England… He always tried so hard to protect America. Never complaining and putting up with the young colonies antics, even when he wasn’t feeling his best.
How many times did England allow America to drag him around while he was hurt?
That evening America made a decision. A quiet oath to himself.
He would protect England from now on. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt the Empire.
On that quiet evening, listening to England quietly move throughout the house with the occasional hiss, he made a promise.
He would become England’s hero.
-
Those thoughts were easier said than done though. Times continued to pass them by, and things between England and America became more and more tense. Try as he might anything he said was ignored. Taxes were imposed upon his people without any representation. America remembered watching as colonists pour boxes of tea into the Boston Harbor, he remembered helping them. The anger that England had shown as a result, and then the revolution that had occurred.
America could remember how he had felt when he had joined the so-called rebels; the look of betrayal that crossed England’s face when he first saw him on the battlefield.
But this was needed. He needed to break free from England’s hold. To become an equal. A Nation, not a colony.
If he never broke away, never became free, how was he to become England’s hero?
-
“Hey England! I will choose liberty after all! Acknowledge it!”
“You were always so naïve, you fool… Fool, th-there’s no point in firing is there…”
“England...”
“Why, why damn… Damn it!”
“You used to be… so big…”
-
For years they didn’t speak. America would lie in bed at night and stare at the ceiling. He would remember back to his childhood, to the days he spent with England. Laughing and playing, oblivious to the world around them. To the wars that England had fought to protect him. Never once though did he regret his decision. He would never regret the decision to fight for his freedom. Not once.
But he did wonder… Would it be possible for things to ever go back to the way they had been? Would they ever be able to spend time together like they use too?
America would then sigh when these feelings pervaded his thoughts. He would turn over, dragging fingers through his blond hair.
Years passed by in a blink of an eye. America grew, just as his lands spread. He tried to keep out of the business in Europe; but when the first World War hit he was dragged into it. It was odd to spend time so much time with England again. And when the war came to a close and he returned to his own lands, he wondered if maybe he had shown his former guardian that he had grown. That they were equals.
Then the second World War hit. America had planned to stay out of it. He wanted nothing to do with it.
But then reports of what was happening reached his ears. Of England being bombed night after night and he wanted nothing more than to rush to his side. But he couldn’t, could he?
-
He had snuck over, pretending to be his brother Canada. It worked; some of his boys had been pretending to be Canadians to help the RAF during the Blitz for ages now. As long as his boss never found out, or England, he would be fine. And he was sure Canada wouldn’t mind.
Landing his plane once the battle had ended; America couldn’t help but pause and stare at the destruction that was London. It looked nothing like the London he would visit prior to the war. The London he would force England to show him around. It was nothing like what he remembered. A frown tugged at his lips, eyes scanning across the other pilots who had landed. It didn’t take long for him to spot England.
He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, bandages wrapped around his head; and America was sure there were more bandages beneath his flight suit. A knot of worry formed as he couldn’t help but remember that night when he had made that promise. The promise to protect England, to be his hero…
Some hero he had been so far.
He had stayed for as long as he could. Fighting the Germans during the nightly raids, trying his best to protect England’s skies; and as a direct result, England himself. All without ever letting the Brit know he was there.
It was easier said than done. But he couldn’t help but smile during his last night in London, pulling a blanket over England after he’d come across the blond sound asleep at his desk.
He hoped he had helped, even if it was only a little.
-
Soon Pearl Harbor occurred, and America found himself pulled back into another world war. Secretly though he couldn’t help but be grateful. He could properly help England now, not hide whenever the Brit passed by. He could help bandage the others injuries (even though those times were few and far between. England was too prideful). It felt good to fight besides him. And as this second war passed by the two became closer.
The war passed by, and before America knew it, it was almost like old times. Almost, but not exactly. Not a week went by when the two didn’t have some sort of communication. The tension he generally felt when he was with England slowly faded away. The bickered often, and sometimes the fights were harsh. But in the end the two always made up.
Time continued to pass them by. America kept an eye on England, trying to help him when he could without it being too obvious. Sometimes he would sneak over for unexpected visits when it seemed like England was stressing himself out too much; always with a cup of tea. Other times he would call, annoying (and hopefully distracting) England with idle conversations.
It wasn’t until decades later that their “Special Relationship” seemed to become just that. A very special, and loving, relationship indeed.
-
America couldn’t help but stifle a small laugh when he came into his living room with two cups of hot coco to find England balanced precariously on a ladder.
“Babe, you were supposed to wait for me to put the star on top of the tree!” A poisonous glare was his reply, and America smiled innocently, setting the mugs down.
“First, do not call me ‘babe’. You know I hate it.” Which was exactly why America loved calling him that. With that same amusement he watched England shift on his perch, the ladder swaying. “Secondly, you were taking so long I merely deci-”
The rest of the sentence was cut off, punctuated by an undignified squawk (that England would deny). The ladder tipped, England losing his balance and falling. America rushed forward, catching him just in the nick of time. Of course, he soon lost his own balance, toppling backwards and landing with a soft ‘oof!’ on his back. Blinking in a dazed almost way he looked down at the mop of sandy blond hair that rested on top of his chest. “Ba-“
“America.” Came the warning; and he laughed despite himself, pushing himself up into a sitting position, forcing England to stay in his lap. There were a few moments of half-hearted protests and struggling before he gave up, allowing America to wrap his arms around his waist.
“You alright?”
“Of course I am, you daft fool.” Green eyes rolled in amusement, England turning his head and kissing America’s cheek. “Honestly, must you always be such a bloody hero.”
A grin stretched across his face. “Only for you.”
-
OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER! Holy cow, did not mean to cut it so close to the deadline ;; I seriously miscalculated how much time I would have after getting done with finals OTL;
I’m sorry this probably isn’t what you were looking for narwhal123. I tried my hardest to fill the prompt, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t meet the goal OTL; And the ending… Aaah! I’ll write you something else if you want?
HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!