[Axis Powers Hetalia, America/England: Alfred Jones and the Lost City of Gold 2/?]
Title: Alfred Jones and the Lost City of Gold 2/? [FF.Net Link] [ Previous Chapters]
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance/FLUFF
Rating: PG-13 (language, thanks Tony)
Characters/Pairing: America/England, Poland/Lithuania, Tony
Word Count: 3,088
Summary: Sequel to Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh. America and England embark on a journey to seek out the Inca Lost City of Gold and are drawn into a web of mystery that spans three countries as well as into depths never before explored by another person. But they'll need more than just luck tackle this adventure, for the city is not just lost....it is hidden and well-protected.
Notes: So sorry for the delay on this. I was working on getting the final three chapters of my other chapter fic, The Adventure of the Famous Fiddler finished up along with having a bit of a writer's block. Hopefully this was worth the wait!
“Lieeeettt!”
The short grey blur barreled at the brown-haired nation opening the door, catching him around the middle and embracing him.
“Oh, Tony, hello there!” Lithuania replied with a smile, reaching down to pat the alien on the head.
Unseen by him, the alien flushed at the gesture, his three hearts swelling with emotion. If there was one entity on the planet that had endeared himself to the alien outside America, it was Lithuania, no question about it.
“This is like going to be the most totally amazing Christmas ever,” a bubbly voice said from behind them.
Poland blew a bubble and it popped, the sound echoing in the hallway as it did so. Tony felt a small wave of jealousy wash over him, but unlike England who caused a perpetual irritation to him, Poland was different.
“We’ve totally gotta shop in NYC and get all like all the fabulous stuff on Christmas sales, Liet! Oh hi Tony, you can like help me pick out lingerie for hotstuff over here, okay?”
As Lithuania sputtered at the implication that he would wear such a thing, Tony went over to take Poland’s egregious stack of pink luggage from him. With a point of his finger, the pile glowed blue and hovered into the air.
“That would be fucking awesome,” the alien said. “I’ll put your things in your guest room.” As he said this, the pile levitated itself up the stairs and around the corner. Soon after, Lithuania’s stack of luggage followed in the exact same manner.
Poland rummaged through his handbag a moment and drew out a long scarf. The majority of it was made in alternating kiwi and mint green stripes, but the tassels extending from each end were bubblegum pink. With a flourish, Poland looped it around Tony’s small shoulders.
“Here’s our early gift for you, Tony. Liet hand knitted most of it, but I like added the pom-poms on each end.”
Tony smiled, running a long grey finger appreciatively over the knitting. “Thank you.”
Pressing a quick kiss to his head, Poland left a pink lipgloss mark behind. “So, I heard America had an awesome like totally perfect for two bathtub installed recently…”
Shooting a bashful look at Lithuania, Tony replied, “Fucking tub is great.”
With a whoop, Poland had pulled Lithuania over next to him. “We like totally need to house/whale/alien-sit for America more often! Because I like don’t know about you, but that long flight totally made me feel all like grody and stuff. So… I was uh…”
He dropped his eyes to the floor, a sudden bout of his shyness surfacing. Lithuania just sighed, used to Poland’s whims. “A bath would be nice, Poland.”
Without a word, Tony pointed them in the direction of the bathtub they were seeking out and went back in the living room. On the television screen, there was a large green topographic map covered in longitude and latitude lines. Tony picked up the game controller and pressed the A key. Suddenly, a red dot started to move quickly down the screen.
Tony frowned.
“Tony, we’re like totally having a bubble bath if you wanna come enjoy the party!” Poland yelled out from upstairs.
Tony looked back to the screen then upstairs towards the bathroom. There was one very good reason why he got along so well with Lithuania’s boyfriend and not America’s. Namely the fact that Poland didn’t seem to mind Tony tagging along places at all and quite often encouraged it, if nothing else but the fact that he found the alien amusing.
At the sound of Poland’s giggles and Lithuania’s half-hearted “Poland, stop it!” amidst his own laughter, Tony put down the controller. Both America and England had sworn to him that they’d use the phone if they encountered something dangerous, but Tony didn’t quite trust the Brit to do so.
Hoping America’s boyfriend cared about him as much as America swore he did, Tony strongly thought to himself that a certain fucking limey had better save America from the fall his tracking device indicated.
Because if not, there would be hell to pay.
---------------------------------
For some odd reason, England felt a chill go down his spine. It was as if that blasted alien’s voice was echoing inside his mind, saying very intensely, “You’d better save him you fucking limey.”
He gritted his teeth and willed himself downward faster. As if he’d let that thing be right about needing a backup phone to protect America. The nation had a damned loving boyfriend to take care of him, thank you very much. And just like England was determined to make sure America was safely snatched from his fall, he was equally determined to prove he was all the protection America needed.
Coming within arm’s reach, England strained to the full length of his arm and thankfully snagged hold of the back of America’s flight suit.
“America!” He yelled out hoarsely, his fingers aching to have more than a small patch of cloth holding him safe, but knowing it was not possible to hold him with more than one hand while the hook knife (so important to saving America from his current dilemma) was still held aloft in his left hand.
“E-England,” he gasped out, “how did you…”
“No matter now, you git!” He had to practically yell in America’s ear, the rush of the wind being so loud and the ground coming ever closer. “Now hold still.”
He felt the fabric slipping through his fingers and felt his own heart stop at the thought that he could have America so close, yet could still so easily lose him again.
It was a sobering thought.
With a burst of adrenaline, he dared let go of America’s back; then quick as a flash, he swept his arm down and around to scoop America flush up against him with his right hand.
Holding America close and safe, so safe, and thanking the heavens that he could feel that strong heartbeat through his back, England knew he had just one chance to make this work.
Taking a deep breath, he drew his hook knife and blindly reached behind himself to feel around for the tangled parachute that was whipping around above them in the wind. He felt the cords brush the back of his hand and he quickly twisted his wrist around, severing one cord and just nicking the other with the knife.
The parachute shuddered away from them at that, but that single, damnable, thread of the cord held on resolutely. England glared at it defiantly, about to attack it with his all his might, when America’s sharp voice yelled out.
“England, the ground!”
Looking around, he saw how frighteningly near the ground now was, their bodies mere feet above the treetops now. His eyes went wide and his arm froze where it sought out the cord once more.
This was it. They’d fall together then.
But America had apparently realized what England had been trying to do, for he quickly twisted to the left, stretched out his arm and grabbed up the parachute’s cord.
“England, cut it now!”
He didn’t need to be told that twice and hastily finished the job, the brightly colored parachute fluttering away in the harsh winds. The cold air bit at his skin as he groped to deploy his own reserve chute, for there was no time to deploy America’s as well. It would be as if they’d jumped in tandem, but without the stronger parachute to support them.
Well, they’d just have to bloody well take it on the chin and deal, inevitable bruises and bumps and all.
“Hold on, love,” England called out, yanking the release cord for his reserve parachute and quickly flipping his hook knife inward so it would cut his palm rather than America’s chest.
Gripping him tightly now with both hands, they were both yanked upward as the wind caught their singular parachute. It wouldn’t last for long, England knew, with their combined weight, but it would allow for them to be a little more prepared for a rough landing.
“It won’t hold us both for long,” America called out, as if reading England’s very thoughts at that moment. “So we’d better get ready for a harsh impact.”
England pressed a kiss to the back of America’s neck and clutched him closer, already feeling the hook knife biting into his hand. “I’m quite ready for it so…”
America laughed sardonically and finished off England’s statement. “Bring it on!”
----------------------------------
They smashed through the treetops, toppling through the branches with the simple force of gravity pulling them downward. America’s arm smacked soundly into an extending branch and he swore loudly at the pain, the jolt of force flipping them sideways and catching their parachute and only lifeline at this point into the treetop next to them. As the thick leaves snagged and tore through the chute, they plummeted the rest of the way to the ground, America barely having the time and the piece of mind to shift around quickly so he could take the brunt of the impact on his back.
Slamming into the ground, they felt the thorn bush they landed in rip and tear through their flight suits, slicing into their skin. America let out a gasp of pain as he hit first, and England hissed a moment later as the hook knife cut a chunk of skin out of his palm from where his hand was trapped between America’s back and the ground.
Almost instantly, they both weakly scrambled up, yanked off their googles, and frantically looked to one another as they blurted out, “Are you all right?”
America let out a weak laugh before coughing, the wind being knocked from his lungs at the severe hit he’d taken in the back. England tugged his hands free from where they were pinned, quickly reaching forward to cup America’s face.
“Christ, America you bloody hero!”
America gave him a feeble smile before his eyes went wide in shock at the feeling of a thick dampness on his cheek. “England, your…” He reached up his own hand and drew it back coated in blood. “Your hand…”
“It’s nothing,” England said, brushing it aside, but America insistently reached out to gently clasp it.
He winced at the sight of the gash in England’s hand.
“That isn’t…” he paused, another coughing fit over taking him, “nothing.”
“Yes, and neither is this,” England retorted, reaching his right hand over to the swollen elbow that had hit the tree.
Leaning up awkwardly, America pressed a quick kiss to England’s lips. “And thanks to your quick thinking it isn’t worse. Just imagine how bad we’d be if we didn’t have any chute to cushion our landing.”
Pulling his injured hand away from America’s gentle grip, England once more cupped America’s face, this time closing the distance between them and peppering light kisses down his face: first on his forehead, then on the tip of his nose, and last and deeper, he captured America’s lips with his own.
As he pulled back, he leaned his forehead down to rest against America’s. “I should be thanking you for taking the brunt of the fall on yourself, git. Your back is going to be one giant bruise in the morning, even with the chute pack there to take some of the damage.”
America tried to shrug, but merely hissed in pain as he did so. “Not our most heroic start to an adventure…”
England slowly sat back, assessing the personal injuries they’d incurred. America’s back was certainly bruised, his right elbow was heavily swollen, and his body was littered with small cuts from the bushes. England gently cradled his bleeding hand and knew he was probably covered in just as many cuts, if not more.
Slowly, as to not incur the wrath of any more thorns, England got to his feet. Tugging loose his chute pack, he tossed it down over the thornbush.
“Hand up yours, we’ll have to make a path to get out of this thicket of thorns.”
With lots of hisses in pain, partially from his elbow and partially from the cuts, America finally wiggled free from his pack, pulled his thankfully unbroken glasses from the side pocket, and handed the bag up to England. Standing with wobbly legs, America put his glasses back on, losing his balance as he did so and having to brace himself on the shorter nation’s shoulder.
“Heh. Think I hit the ground a bit harder than you’re supposed to.”
England reached up a hand and patted America’s. “You’re just bloody insane, that’s all. Now follow me. We’ll have to walk across our packs to get out of this mess.”
With only two small parachute packs as a safe place to step, they very carefully edged onto them, keeping as close as possible to each other and as far away from the brambles surrounding them as they could. It was a tedious process, inching forward step by step until their four feet were all crowded onto one pack, then reaching behind them to pick up the other pack and toss it once again in front of them. Up ahead, England’s reserve chute weakly fluttered in the winds from where it was tangled onto a tree and they made for that place, knowing that the bush probably didn’t reach that far.
Finally, after what seemed like several minutes but was probably only one or two, they managed to find themselves in a clearing near the base of a tree.
Together, they stumbled forward, arms around each other’s shoulders to support one another.
“Sit down now. I’ll contact Australia and arrange the drop of our goods. Got to get you bandaged up as soon as possible and perhaps get a cold pack on your back.”
A loud rip echoed in the clearing and a strip of the tattered cloth from America’s flight suit was thrust into England’s still-bleeding hand.
“I’ll sit down once I’ve got your hand fixed up, you goof.”
England huffed, but not about to make America stand any longer than he had to in his condition, he pulled his hand away and sat at the tree’s base. Shooting America a look, he patted the ground beside himself with his good hand. “Come on down, America, I was promised a doctoring after all.”
America’s grin, which had been not quite as brilliant and a little more apprehensive than England preferred up to this point during their whole landing adventure, surfaced at this and he slowly sat down beside England and began fussing over his hand.
“How in the hell did you do this, England?”
“Hook knife. Had it in my hand when we landed.”
America gently curled open England’s fingers all the way as he brought the palm to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “Luckily Dr. Jones is on the case, hmm?”
“Oh hush, you,” England snapped back, his cheeks dusting with pink at the sly look America shot him. But once he felt the temporary bandage snugly in place, he shot back a look all his own. “Right then, shirt off, Mr. Jones. Dr. Kirkland has a patient suffering from stupid heroics to attend to.”
America sighed, and began to tug at his flight suit. “The thanks I get for being an awesome hero…”
England helped him peel the suit off his back, the whole surface already dark with color from the bruised skin and covered in small thorn-cuts. “Your alien is going to murder me in my sleep with a laser gun if he sees you like this. He takes your health and well-being very seriously and if one hair of yours is out of place, then heaven forbid the person who let you befall it.”
With a sentimental smile, America reached out and gently patted England’s cheek. “Sounds like someone else I know, huh?”
At first, England was affronted at being compared to the very thing he was ranting about. But between America’s dopey smile and his own racing heart, he knew it was nothing short of true. He was just as bad, if not worse, when it came to making sure America was safe and visiting his wrath upon those who caused him any ill harm.
“Well, I…” England frowned, starting to rip the damaged flight suit into strips of fabric for bandages. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I want to see you harmed. But honestly America, it’s not like I’d get out a laser gun over it or some such bollocks.”
America’s smile didn’t waver and England knew that he’d seen past his bluff. Oh blast it all, the boy knew him far too well.
With a sigh, he relented. “Right. So we both care about you very much.”
At that, America reached over a hand and hooked his index finger around England’s, being very careful not to jostle his injured palm.
“I’ll just tell Tony that it was my choice so you wouldn’t get hurt.”
England snorted, “Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear that.”
America gave his one-finger hold with England a light squeeze. “It’s just the truth.”
“Oh, you…” England huffed. “Just hush and turn around so I can bandage your back.”
America obliged, and the two sat in a comfortable silence for awhile as England did what he could with their limited supplies for America’s back. Reaching for the radio off their parachute pack, he tried to patch through to Australia’s radio.
But all he got in return was static.
Cursing at it, and knowing that America’s back desperately needed better ointment and an icepack, England tried once more to get a response.
This time, there was a strange hum under the static, but no amount of yelling and swearing at it could garner a response from their fellow nation.
England was just about to try once more when a chill ran down his spine, a distinct feeling in the air that made the whole situation even worse than it already was. He had a hunch America couldn’t feel its presence, but the air was thick with magic; so much so that the hairs on England’s arms prickled. It was seeping out from some nearby locale and trying to feel out the new intruders on the land protected by its boundaries and the mere feeling of made England’s blood run cold. It was a warning. A very nasty one.
With a silent mantra in his head, he quietly cast a protective enchantment on both of them- okay, perhaps the one on America was a bit stronger, and inwardly he wondered what had they gotten themselves into this time.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance/FLUFF
Rating: PG-13 (language, thanks Tony)
Characters/Pairing: America/England, Poland/Lithuania, Tony
Word Count: 3,088
Summary: Sequel to Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh. America and England embark on a journey to seek out the Inca Lost City of Gold and are drawn into a web of mystery that spans three countries as well as into depths never before explored by another person. But they'll need more than just luck tackle this adventure, for the city is not just lost....it is hidden and well-protected.
Notes: So sorry for the delay on this. I was working on getting the final three chapters of my other chapter fic, The Adventure of the Famous Fiddler finished up along with having a bit of a writer's block. Hopefully this was worth the wait!
“Lieeeettt!”
The short grey blur barreled at the brown-haired nation opening the door, catching him around the middle and embracing him.
“Oh, Tony, hello there!” Lithuania replied with a smile, reaching down to pat the alien on the head.
Unseen by him, the alien flushed at the gesture, his three hearts swelling with emotion. If there was one entity on the planet that had endeared himself to the alien outside America, it was Lithuania, no question about it.
“This is like going to be the most totally amazing Christmas ever,” a bubbly voice said from behind them.
Poland blew a bubble and it popped, the sound echoing in the hallway as it did so. Tony felt a small wave of jealousy wash over him, but unlike England who caused a perpetual irritation to him, Poland was different.
“We’ve totally gotta shop in NYC and get all like all the fabulous stuff on Christmas sales, Liet! Oh hi Tony, you can like help me pick out lingerie for hotstuff over here, okay?”
As Lithuania sputtered at the implication that he would wear such a thing, Tony went over to take Poland’s egregious stack of pink luggage from him. With a point of his finger, the pile glowed blue and hovered into the air.
“That would be fucking awesome,” the alien said. “I’ll put your things in your guest room.” As he said this, the pile levitated itself up the stairs and around the corner. Soon after, Lithuania’s stack of luggage followed in the exact same manner.
Poland rummaged through his handbag a moment and drew out a long scarf. The majority of it was made in alternating kiwi and mint green stripes, but the tassels extending from each end were bubblegum pink. With a flourish, Poland looped it around Tony’s small shoulders.
“Here’s our early gift for you, Tony. Liet hand knitted most of it, but I like added the pom-poms on each end.”
Tony smiled, running a long grey finger appreciatively over the knitting. “Thank you.”
Pressing a quick kiss to his head, Poland left a pink lipgloss mark behind. “So, I heard America had an awesome like totally perfect for two bathtub installed recently…”
Shooting a bashful look at Lithuania, Tony replied, “Fucking tub is great.”
With a whoop, Poland had pulled Lithuania over next to him. “We like totally need to house/whale/alien-sit for America more often! Because I like don’t know about you, but that long flight totally made me feel all like grody and stuff. So… I was uh…”
He dropped his eyes to the floor, a sudden bout of his shyness surfacing. Lithuania just sighed, used to Poland’s whims. “A bath would be nice, Poland.”
Without a word, Tony pointed them in the direction of the bathtub they were seeking out and went back in the living room. On the television screen, there was a large green topographic map covered in longitude and latitude lines. Tony picked up the game controller and pressed the A key. Suddenly, a red dot started to move quickly down the screen.
Tony frowned.
“Tony, we’re like totally having a bubble bath if you wanna come enjoy the party!” Poland yelled out from upstairs.
Tony looked back to the screen then upstairs towards the bathroom. There was one very good reason why he got along so well with Lithuania’s boyfriend and not America’s. Namely the fact that Poland didn’t seem to mind Tony tagging along places at all and quite often encouraged it, if nothing else but the fact that he found the alien amusing.
At the sound of Poland’s giggles and Lithuania’s half-hearted “Poland, stop it!” amidst his own laughter, Tony put down the controller. Both America and England had sworn to him that they’d use the phone if they encountered something dangerous, but Tony didn’t quite trust the Brit to do so.
Hoping America’s boyfriend cared about him as much as America swore he did, Tony strongly thought to himself that a certain fucking limey had better save America from the fall his tracking device indicated.
Because if not, there would be hell to pay.
---------------------------------
For some odd reason, England felt a chill go down his spine. It was as if that blasted alien’s voice was echoing inside his mind, saying very intensely, “You’d better save him you fucking limey.”
He gritted his teeth and willed himself downward faster. As if he’d let that thing be right about needing a backup phone to protect America. The nation had a damned loving boyfriend to take care of him, thank you very much. And just like England was determined to make sure America was safely snatched from his fall, he was equally determined to prove he was all the protection America needed.
Coming within arm’s reach, England strained to the full length of his arm and thankfully snagged hold of the back of America’s flight suit.
“America!” He yelled out hoarsely, his fingers aching to have more than a small patch of cloth holding him safe, but knowing it was not possible to hold him with more than one hand while the hook knife (so important to saving America from his current dilemma) was still held aloft in his left hand.
“E-England,” he gasped out, “how did you…”
“No matter now, you git!” He had to practically yell in America’s ear, the rush of the wind being so loud and the ground coming ever closer. “Now hold still.”
He felt the fabric slipping through his fingers and felt his own heart stop at the thought that he could have America so close, yet could still so easily lose him again.
It was a sobering thought.
With a burst of adrenaline, he dared let go of America’s back; then quick as a flash, he swept his arm down and around to scoop America flush up against him with his right hand.
Holding America close and safe, so safe, and thanking the heavens that he could feel that strong heartbeat through his back, England knew he had just one chance to make this work.
Taking a deep breath, he drew his hook knife and blindly reached behind himself to feel around for the tangled parachute that was whipping around above them in the wind. He felt the cords brush the back of his hand and he quickly twisted his wrist around, severing one cord and just nicking the other with the knife.
The parachute shuddered away from them at that, but that single, damnable, thread of the cord held on resolutely. England glared at it defiantly, about to attack it with his all his might, when America’s sharp voice yelled out.
“England, the ground!”
Looking around, he saw how frighteningly near the ground now was, their bodies mere feet above the treetops now. His eyes went wide and his arm froze where it sought out the cord once more.
This was it. They’d fall together then.
But America had apparently realized what England had been trying to do, for he quickly twisted to the left, stretched out his arm and grabbed up the parachute’s cord.
“England, cut it now!”
He didn’t need to be told that twice and hastily finished the job, the brightly colored parachute fluttering away in the harsh winds. The cold air bit at his skin as he groped to deploy his own reserve chute, for there was no time to deploy America’s as well. It would be as if they’d jumped in tandem, but without the stronger parachute to support them.
Well, they’d just have to bloody well take it on the chin and deal, inevitable bruises and bumps and all.
“Hold on, love,” England called out, yanking the release cord for his reserve parachute and quickly flipping his hook knife inward so it would cut his palm rather than America’s chest.
Gripping him tightly now with both hands, they were both yanked upward as the wind caught their singular parachute. It wouldn’t last for long, England knew, with their combined weight, but it would allow for them to be a little more prepared for a rough landing.
“It won’t hold us both for long,” America called out, as if reading England’s very thoughts at that moment. “So we’d better get ready for a harsh impact.”
England pressed a kiss to the back of America’s neck and clutched him closer, already feeling the hook knife biting into his hand. “I’m quite ready for it so…”
America laughed sardonically and finished off England’s statement. “Bring it on!”
----------------------------------
They smashed through the treetops, toppling through the branches with the simple force of gravity pulling them downward. America’s arm smacked soundly into an extending branch and he swore loudly at the pain, the jolt of force flipping them sideways and catching their parachute and only lifeline at this point into the treetop next to them. As the thick leaves snagged and tore through the chute, they plummeted the rest of the way to the ground, America barely having the time and the piece of mind to shift around quickly so he could take the brunt of the impact on his back.
Slamming into the ground, they felt the thorn bush they landed in rip and tear through their flight suits, slicing into their skin. America let out a gasp of pain as he hit first, and England hissed a moment later as the hook knife cut a chunk of skin out of his palm from where his hand was trapped between America’s back and the ground.
Almost instantly, they both weakly scrambled up, yanked off their googles, and frantically looked to one another as they blurted out, “Are you all right?”
America let out a weak laugh before coughing, the wind being knocked from his lungs at the severe hit he’d taken in the back. England tugged his hands free from where they were pinned, quickly reaching forward to cup America’s face.
“Christ, America you bloody hero!”
America gave him a feeble smile before his eyes went wide in shock at the feeling of a thick dampness on his cheek. “England, your…” He reached up his own hand and drew it back coated in blood. “Your hand…”
“It’s nothing,” England said, brushing it aside, but America insistently reached out to gently clasp it.
He winced at the sight of the gash in England’s hand.
“That isn’t…” he paused, another coughing fit over taking him, “nothing.”
“Yes, and neither is this,” England retorted, reaching his right hand over to the swollen elbow that had hit the tree.
Leaning up awkwardly, America pressed a quick kiss to England’s lips. “And thanks to your quick thinking it isn’t worse. Just imagine how bad we’d be if we didn’t have any chute to cushion our landing.”
Pulling his injured hand away from America’s gentle grip, England once more cupped America’s face, this time closing the distance between them and peppering light kisses down his face: first on his forehead, then on the tip of his nose, and last and deeper, he captured America’s lips with his own.
As he pulled back, he leaned his forehead down to rest against America’s. “I should be thanking you for taking the brunt of the fall on yourself, git. Your back is going to be one giant bruise in the morning, even with the chute pack there to take some of the damage.”
America tried to shrug, but merely hissed in pain as he did so. “Not our most heroic start to an adventure…”
England slowly sat back, assessing the personal injuries they’d incurred. America’s back was certainly bruised, his right elbow was heavily swollen, and his body was littered with small cuts from the bushes. England gently cradled his bleeding hand and knew he was probably covered in just as many cuts, if not more.
Slowly, as to not incur the wrath of any more thorns, England got to his feet. Tugging loose his chute pack, he tossed it down over the thornbush.
“Hand up yours, we’ll have to make a path to get out of this thicket of thorns.”
With lots of hisses in pain, partially from his elbow and partially from the cuts, America finally wiggled free from his pack, pulled his thankfully unbroken glasses from the side pocket, and handed the bag up to England. Standing with wobbly legs, America put his glasses back on, losing his balance as he did so and having to brace himself on the shorter nation’s shoulder.
“Heh. Think I hit the ground a bit harder than you’re supposed to.”
England reached up a hand and patted America’s. “You’re just bloody insane, that’s all. Now follow me. We’ll have to walk across our packs to get out of this mess.”
With only two small parachute packs as a safe place to step, they very carefully edged onto them, keeping as close as possible to each other and as far away from the brambles surrounding them as they could. It was a tedious process, inching forward step by step until their four feet were all crowded onto one pack, then reaching behind them to pick up the other pack and toss it once again in front of them. Up ahead, England’s reserve chute weakly fluttered in the winds from where it was tangled onto a tree and they made for that place, knowing that the bush probably didn’t reach that far.
Finally, after what seemed like several minutes but was probably only one or two, they managed to find themselves in a clearing near the base of a tree.
Together, they stumbled forward, arms around each other’s shoulders to support one another.
“Sit down now. I’ll contact Australia and arrange the drop of our goods. Got to get you bandaged up as soon as possible and perhaps get a cold pack on your back.”
A loud rip echoed in the clearing and a strip of the tattered cloth from America’s flight suit was thrust into England’s still-bleeding hand.
“I’ll sit down once I’ve got your hand fixed up, you goof.”
England huffed, but not about to make America stand any longer than he had to in his condition, he pulled his hand away and sat at the tree’s base. Shooting America a look, he patted the ground beside himself with his good hand. “Come on down, America, I was promised a doctoring after all.”
America’s grin, which had been not quite as brilliant and a little more apprehensive than England preferred up to this point during their whole landing adventure, surfaced at this and he slowly sat down beside England and began fussing over his hand.
“How in the hell did you do this, England?”
“Hook knife. Had it in my hand when we landed.”
America gently curled open England’s fingers all the way as he brought the palm to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “Luckily Dr. Jones is on the case, hmm?”
“Oh hush, you,” England snapped back, his cheeks dusting with pink at the sly look America shot him. But once he felt the temporary bandage snugly in place, he shot back a look all his own. “Right then, shirt off, Mr. Jones. Dr. Kirkland has a patient suffering from stupid heroics to attend to.”
America sighed, and began to tug at his flight suit. “The thanks I get for being an awesome hero…”
England helped him peel the suit off his back, the whole surface already dark with color from the bruised skin and covered in small thorn-cuts. “Your alien is going to murder me in my sleep with a laser gun if he sees you like this. He takes your health and well-being very seriously and if one hair of yours is out of place, then heaven forbid the person who let you befall it.”
With a sentimental smile, America reached out and gently patted England’s cheek. “Sounds like someone else I know, huh?”
At first, England was affronted at being compared to the very thing he was ranting about. But between America’s dopey smile and his own racing heart, he knew it was nothing short of true. He was just as bad, if not worse, when it came to making sure America was safe and visiting his wrath upon those who caused him any ill harm.
“Well, I…” England frowned, starting to rip the damaged flight suit into strips of fabric for bandages. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I want to see you harmed. But honestly America, it’s not like I’d get out a laser gun over it or some such bollocks.”
America’s smile didn’t waver and England knew that he’d seen past his bluff. Oh blast it all, the boy knew him far too well.
With a sigh, he relented. “Right. So we both care about you very much.”
At that, America reached over a hand and hooked his index finger around England’s, being very careful not to jostle his injured palm.
“I’ll just tell Tony that it was my choice so you wouldn’t get hurt.”
England snorted, “Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear that.”
America gave his one-finger hold with England a light squeeze. “It’s just the truth.”
“Oh, you…” England huffed. “Just hush and turn around so I can bandage your back.”
America obliged, and the two sat in a comfortable silence for awhile as England did what he could with their limited supplies for America’s back. Reaching for the radio off their parachute pack, he tried to patch through to Australia’s radio.
But all he got in return was static.
Cursing at it, and knowing that America’s back desperately needed better ointment and an icepack, England tried once more to get a response.
This time, there was a strange hum under the static, but no amount of yelling and swearing at it could garner a response from their fellow nation.
England was just about to try once more when a chill ran down his spine, a distinct feeling in the air that made the whole situation even worse than it already was. He had a hunch America couldn’t feel its presence, but the air was thick with magic; so much so that the hairs on England’s arms prickled. It was seeping out from some nearby locale and trying to feel out the new intruders on the land protected by its boundaries and the mere feeling of made England’s blood run cold. It was a warning. A very nasty one.
With a silent mantra in his head, he quietly cast a protective enchantment on both of them- okay, perhaps the one on America was a bit stronger, and inwardly he wondered what had they gotten themselves into this time.