[Axis Powers Hetalia, America/England: Alfred Jones and the Lost City of Gold 8/?]
Title: Alfred Jones and the Lost City of Gold 8/? [FF.Net Link] [ Previous Chapters]
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England
Word Count: 2,551
Summary: Sequel to Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh. America and England are back again on yet another adventure when they head to South America to search for the legendary Incan Lost City of Gold. But they're going to need more than luck, and perhaps a little help from some friends, to get through the strange magic that has hidden the mysterious city for centuries.
Chapter 8 Summary:
“Someone doesn’t want just anyone entering this passage.”
“Which of course means…”
“We’re going to enter it.”
Notes: So sorry for the delay on this! Hopefully it's worth the wait :)
Tony woke up in a rumpled pile of Poland’s arms and Lithuania’s hair. He dislodged himself from the pair, who were both still sound asleep after they’d marathoned all the High School Musical movies the night before.
But, looking at the clock on the mantle, Tony had more pressing matters to attend to than his own sleep-withdrawal.
Picking up his iPhone, the latest model America had gotten for him, he noticed a message back about the mysterious writing.
A frown crossed his lips as he saw that America thought that they might have seen something similar and Tony wished with all three of his hearts that it wasn’t the case. Scrolling to his contacts, he quickly dialed America and waited patiently as he could while it rang through.
“Tony? Hey, what’s up?”
Tony could hear England’s huff in the background and he quickly switched over to his native alien tongue. Thankfully, after many years of teaching it to America, the nation was now fluent in it.
“I’ve been fucking worried sick about you,” he admitted with a catch in his throat. He hadn’t intended in just blurting that out, but something about hearing America’s voice just…made him unable to hold back.
America’s smile was tangible over the phone. “I’m okay, I promise. Got a bit banged up but, I’ll be fine. I have two very diligent heroes looking after me. You’d like Mr. Bear, he’s super awesome.”
“Wish I could be there to help,” Tony sulked. “Fucking dangerous.”
“You worried about that thing you texted me about?”
“Do you have an image of what you saw? It’s fucking bad news, America.”
“No, Mr. Bear got pissed off at it and chucked it out of the cave. But if I see anything else like it, I’ll let you know right away. Okay?”
“That is acceptable. But you need to be safer, America. You’re…” the alien trailed off, looking over to Poland and Lithuania.
Sure, he had some friends here on this planet. But he’d remained on Earth for one reason and one reason alone after he’d crashed in Roswell. And the last thing he wanted was for that person to get seriously hurt or worse.
“You’re vitally important to my happiness, America. Fucking remember that.”
America chuckled, then in his own awkward rendition of Tony’s language, replied. “And I wouldn’t know how to live without you sometimes. I know not everyone gets to have an alien friend, but I’m just super lucky just to know you, you know? Plus hey, who else would get me through those zombie games?”
Tony laughed at that. “Certainly not England.”
“Hey, you used his name!”
Tony swore.
“Hey now, England’s been making sure I haven’t hurt myself further. That’s good right?” America replied, “So, trust England to keep me safe.” He switched back to English then, “And if anything gets really bad, one of us will call you right away. That’s a promise.”
Tony, following suit, spoke in English in return, “Fucking take care, America. I will trust him on behalf of you.”
“Thank you. Now go get some more sleep or brew up some coffee, you sound exhausted.”
And touched that America was worrying about him in return, Tony smiled. “Fucking will. Until we speak again, America.”
“Later Tony.”
------------------------------------
England was giving America a look as he stashed his phone back away in his bag, a pointed glare that was accompanied by large furrowed eyebrows.
“What did you say to him?” England groused.
America sighed. “Are you seriously getting jealous over me talking in alien to Tony?”
“N-No,” England replied, his face heating up. “That’s not it at all. Just, I caught bits and pieces and I was wondering why you’d switched over.”
With a smile, America leaned his forehead down against England’s.
“I was assuring my very worried alien friend that there is someone here who loves me loads who is personally making sure I am not getting hurt too badly.”
“G-Git,” he murmured, flushing a brighter red. “Why didn’t you say that aloud then?”
“I was embarrassed, okay?” America relented, pinking a bit in his cheeks as well. “Have to keep up my awesome heroic image.”
England chuckled at that. “Your heroic image, or whatever rubbish, is safe with me.”
“Good,” America replied, pressing a quick kiss to England’s lips. “Glad to know that no evil doer will be able to use my…er…mushy side against me.”
“Yes, can’t have all those spandex-wearing, caped baddies blackmailing you.”
Putting on his most dashing grin, America replied, “Evil comes in many forms and I must be ready to face them at all times. It is the duty of a hero.”
England pecked a kiss to the tip of America’s nose. “You are utterly adorable, you know that?”
He pouted. “I was going for dramatic and valiant.”
Reaching down, England took America’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sure it will sound very much so when you write it in your memoir.”
“Of course, it’s an adventure journal after all! Speaking of that,” America’s eyes drifted to the corner of the cave where Mr. Bear had disappeared into, “I think, good sir, we have some adventuring to do.”
England stepped back and held out an arm to America. “Shall we go then, Mr. Jones?”
America looped his arm through England’s. “Certainly, my good man! Jolly good!”
He got an elbow in the side (a gentle one) from England at that. “I don’t talk like that anymore.”
“Anymore,” he stressed, sticking out his tongue.
“Oh hush. Let’s get on with this.”
“Pip pip, cheerio!”
“Oi, shut it!”
America beamed. “You’re the one who’s always telling me to speak your type of English.”
England, who had led America over to the corner of the cave, was starting to feel around the wall with his free hand. He paused to give America a look.
“What? Isn’t all that ‘good show, old sport!’ stuff English?”
“If you don’t want your heroic image tainted, I’d suggest you help me investigate this rather than prattling on, America.”
America, who could tell that England wasn’t actually mad at him, just his usually irritable grumpy state, quipped back.
“What poppycock is this buffoonery?”
“I ain’t got a clue there, pardner,” England shot back in a thick western drawl, “I sure as tootin’ haven’t seen the likes of critters wrassling ‘bout in these here parts before!”
America blinked. Then stared. Then burst into a peal of laughter, which England soon joined.
“I did sound really ridiculous back then, didn’t I?”
“We all have those…unfortunate language quirks sometime in our lives as nations,” England replied. “Thankfully, we’ve grown out of it, unlike that frog who still insists on speaking that abomination of a so-called language.”
America shook his head, used to England’s long-standing hatred of France, and he crouched down to inspect the rock wall around the opening.
“Something feels…off.”
England nodded. He reached into his bag and pulled out his pouch, opening to withdraw the spell book inside.
After a few flicks through the dog-earred pages, he paused and held out a hand towards the opening the bear had entered.
“Cyðan eower deogol,” he said forcefully.
A shimmering and crackling purple flame flickered over the entrance, as if it was covered in a large bubble. England frowned as the flame dissipated.
“So…what’s that then?” America asked, looking warily at where the flames had been.
“A veil of darkness has been cast upon this route,” England said, mumbling another spell under his breath. As a small handful of green flame emerged from his hand, he demonstrated by holding that towards the entrance.
Sure enough, as soon as the flame entered where the bubble had been, the light went black.
“It will still burn, but it will give no light,” he clarified, pulling his hand back until the flame turned green again. “Someone doesn’t want just anyone entering this passage.”
“Which of course means…”
“We’re going to enter it.”
---------------------------------------------
It is often said that part of the appeal of adventure is that you never quite know what you’re getting yourself into. England, on the other hand, thought that appeal might just end at the point where you literally cannot see what you are getting yourself into.
After having a lengthy discussion with America about why the magic, though old, would still apply to the flashlights and electric lanterns, England had finally convinced him (after sticking one said lantern into the entrance and demonstrating it’s inability to override the magic) to let England enter the passage first.
And so, armed with a few essentials in case this little excursion ended up being a bigger adventure than they anticipated, England crouched down and crawled into the opening.
It was, perhaps, only barely big enough for Pastuso to crawl through. Much like the door to a child’s playhouse, or (England though to himself ironically) the door Alice took to Wonderland.
Although, he supposed, at least he hadn’t been required to eat or drink anything strange in order to fit.
“Hey England…” America’s voice floated up from the echoes of the cavern behind him. Being in such a small crawl-space, in the pitch darkness, was a tad disorienting and it made America’s voice seem more distant than England knew it was.
“Yes?”
“So is old magic sorta like you? Still works just as well even though it’s freaking ancient?”
England spluttered at that, and forgetting his position, ended up bumping his head up into the rock as he tried (and failed) to turn around to berate America.
“Christ, that smarts,” he murmured, rubbing at the welt growing on his skull.
At that, he felt America’s unsure hands reaching out in the blackness, feeling around his form awkwardly until he gently brushed England’s hand where it rested on his head.
“Sorry,” he said.
England, blindly reaching out as well, ran his fingers up the front of America’s outfit; the rough khaki fabric giving way to the soft flesh of America’s neck.
He trailed his fingers around, slowly rubbing circles at the nape, and smiled to himself as he felt America shudder at his innocent touch.
“It’s all right. Just forgot we’re in a tunnel that’s hardly fit for a bear, let alone something our size. Even a hobbit wouldn’t manage this without ducking.”
England could feel the muscles in America’s neck shift and he knew immediately, America was giving him one of those soft smiles.
“If you can direct me in your direction, I could…kiss and make it better,” he mumbled quietly.
And although it was downright silly, England did just that.
His worn, callused hands moving around to cup America’s face, which he slowly directed forward; and with a blush he knew would be quite scarlet if there were any light, England closed the space between them.
Their noses bumped a little, but with a little smidgen of laughter on both their parts, they finally managed to find each other’s lips and seal the kiss.
America, dork that he was, was smiling so obviously that England could bloody feel it on his lips.
“R-Right then, better carry on.”
“Can I finish my question then?”
England, expecting more mockery of his age, sighed and trudged onward. “I suppose…”
“Well, I was just honestly curious. Is old magic just consistent or is it like some really amazing things and gets better with age?”
And although he knew America was quite proud of his wines, England knew that wasn’t the aged subject he was talking about. Plus, he thought with a smile quirking at his lips, America was complimenting him and showing interest in his magic without being completely unbelieving of it all.
Perhaps America had hit his head harder than they’d first thought.
“It depends,” England explained, squeezing up and over a large stalagmite, “some casters will anticipate that magic will grow with time, so they put their spell on sort of a time-release method. Those will gain strength as time passes. Others are assured enough in their current skill, or have come to terms with the fact that magic in all societies is often a dying art, and will merely trust that what they cast will hold.”
“So when I recount Alfred Jones’s amazing adventures, which is more accurate a name for this? Tunnel of Eternal Night or Passage of Deadly Darkness?”
England almost had to pause at the sudden change in direction of their conversation, but he found he was oddly used to it. America seemed to have about twenty thought processes going at once and sometimes he would switch from one to the next without a moment’s hesitation.
“It’s probably from an old magic in which they use darkness powder. Personally, both of those sound a bit ridiculous.”
America seemed to consider that before, as he accidentally put his hand atop England’s ankle, he replied, “Okay, but which one sounds more dangerous and therefore more heroic for us to conquer?”
“The first,” England replied, shaking his head at where America’s priorities were.
“Awesome.”
England slid a bit down what felt like a short slide then, America following so close behind that he didn’t have a second to warn him.
They landed in a heap, both of them trying in the dark to right themselves and make sure the other wasn’t injured.
“You okay?”
“Nothing scraped or bruised?”
“I didn’t hit your head did I?”
“America, you’re the one that got knocked out by an exploding tree. It’s your head we should be worried about.”
They both groped about in each other’s hair, gently prodding at their respective welts.
“Ow.”
“Sorry. Does it hurt anymore than it did before?” England asked, moments before America’s fingers found his new injury. “O-Ouch!”
“You tell me, how’s your head feel?”
“All right, so they both hurt. We can’t do much else until we can see, agreed?”
“Yeah. Let’s keep moving.”
But the fall seemed to shake them a little, both of them pausing every so often just to feel the space ahead of them and America beginning to jump at every little noise.
“I sense no ghastly presence if that’s what you’re worrying about,” England assured him.
America laughed nervously. “Y-Yeah, of c-course not!”
England noticed that America began following him a little closer after that.
-----------------------------------------
After what seemed like at least half an hour, England saw what he hoped was a flicker of light up ahead. He was just about to point out this fact to America when America suddenly grabbed him from behind, clinging to him rather tightly.
“America, what in the blazes are you…”
“Listen,” he rasped, practically shivering. “England, listen!”
Straining his ears, he could hear it- a low and ominous rumbling in the distance. At first, England hoped it was a thunderstorm outside, but then he realized that the sound was edging ever closer and yet they hadn’t moved at all.
“England, what is it?” America asked, sounding thoroughly worried. “Is it a g-ghost?”
He blindly fumbled around until he found America’s hand, which he grasped. “I don’t know what it is, America. But…” He pulled America up snug against his side so they could crawl together, “we must reach that light before it reaches us. That’s…all we can do. Because whatever it is...it can’t be good.”
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England
Word Count: 2,551
Summary: Sequel to Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh. America and England are back again on yet another adventure when they head to South America to search for the legendary Incan Lost City of Gold. But they're going to need more than luck, and perhaps a little help from some friends, to get through the strange magic that has hidden the mysterious city for centuries.
Chapter 8 Summary:
“Someone doesn’t want just anyone entering this passage.”
“Which of course means…”
“We’re going to enter it.”
Notes: So sorry for the delay on this! Hopefully it's worth the wait :)
Tony woke up in a rumpled pile of Poland’s arms and Lithuania’s hair. He dislodged himself from the pair, who were both still sound asleep after they’d marathoned all the High School Musical movies the night before.
But, looking at the clock on the mantle, Tony had more pressing matters to attend to than his own sleep-withdrawal.
Picking up his iPhone, the latest model America had gotten for him, he noticed a message back about the mysterious writing.
A frown crossed his lips as he saw that America thought that they might have seen something similar and Tony wished with all three of his hearts that it wasn’t the case. Scrolling to his contacts, he quickly dialed America and waited patiently as he could while it rang through.
“Tony? Hey, what’s up?”
Tony could hear England’s huff in the background and he quickly switched over to his native alien tongue. Thankfully, after many years of teaching it to America, the nation was now fluent in it.
“I’ve been fucking worried sick about you,” he admitted with a catch in his throat. He hadn’t intended in just blurting that out, but something about hearing America’s voice just…made him unable to hold back.
America’s smile was tangible over the phone. “I’m okay, I promise. Got a bit banged up but, I’ll be fine. I have two very diligent heroes looking after me. You’d like Mr. Bear, he’s super awesome.”
“Wish I could be there to help,” Tony sulked. “Fucking dangerous.”
“You worried about that thing you texted me about?”
“Do you have an image of what you saw? It’s fucking bad news, America.”
“No, Mr. Bear got pissed off at it and chucked it out of the cave. But if I see anything else like it, I’ll let you know right away. Okay?”
“That is acceptable. But you need to be safer, America. You’re…” the alien trailed off, looking over to Poland and Lithuania.
Sure, he had some friends here on this planet. But he’d remained on Earth for one reason and one reason alone after he’d crashed in Roswell. And the last thing he wanted was for that person to get seriously hurt or worse.
“You’re vitally important to my happiness, America. Fucking remember that.”
America chuckled, then in his own awkward rendition of Tony’s language, replied. “And I wouldn’t know how to live without you sometimes. I know not everyone gets to have an alien friend, but I’m just super lucky just to know you, you know? Plus hey, who else would get me through those zombie games?”
Tony laughed at that. “Certainly not England.”
“Hey, you used his name!”
Tony swore.
“Hey now, England’s been making sure I haven’t hurt myself further. That’s good right?” America replied, “So, trust England to keep me safe.” He switched back to English then, “And if anything gets really bad, one of us will call you right away. That’s a promise.”
Tony, following suit, spoke in English in return, “Fucking take care, America. I will trust him on behalf of you.”
“Thank you. Now go get some more sleep or brew up some coffee, you sound exhausted.”
And touched that America was worrying about him in return, Tony smiled. “Fucking will. Until we speak again, America.”
“Later Tony.”
------------------------------------
England was giving America a look as he stashed his phone back away in his bag, a pointed glare that was accompanied by large furrowed eyebrows.
“What did you say to him?” England groused.
America sighed. “Are you seriously getting jealous over me talking in alien to Tony?”
“N-No,” England replied, his face heating up. “That’s not it at all. Just, I caught bits and pieces and I was wondering why you’d switched over.”
With a smile, America leaned his forehead down against England’s.
“I was assuring my very worried alien friend that there is someone here who loves me loads who is personally making sure I am not getting hurt too badly.”
“G-Git,” he murmured, flushing a brighter red. “Why didn’t you say that aloud then?”
“I was embarrassed, okay?” America relented, pinking a bit in his cheeks as well. “Have to keep up my awesome heroic image.”
England chuckled at that. “Your heroic image, or whatever rubbish, is safe with me.”
“Good,” America replied, pressing a quick kiss to England’s lips. “Glad to know that no evil doer will be able to use my…er…mushy side against me.”
“Yes, can’t have all those spandex-wearing, caped baddies blackmailing you.”
Putting on his most dashing grin, America replied, “Evil comes in many forms and I must be ready to face them at all times. It is the duty of a hero.”
England pecked a kiss to the tip of America’s nose. “You are utterly adorable, you know that?”
He pouted. “I was going for dramatic and valiant.”
Reaching down, England took America’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sure it will sound very much so when you write it in your memoir.”
“Of course, it’s an adventure journal after all! Speaking of that,” America’s eyes drifted to the corner of the cave where Mr. Bear had disappeared into, “I think, good sir, we have some adventuring to do.”
England stepped back and held out an arm to America. “Shall we go then, Mr. Jones?”
America looped his arm through England’s. “Certainly, my good man! Jolly good!”
He got an elbow in the side (a gentle one) from England at that. “I don’t talk like that anymore.”
“Anymore,” he stressed, sticking out his tongue.
“Oh hush. Let’s get on with this.”
“Pip pip, cheerio!”
“Oi, shut it!”
America beamed. “You’re the one who’s always telling me to speak your type of English.”
England, who had led America over to the corner of the cave, was starting to feel around the wall with his free hand. He paused to give America a look.
“What? Isn’t all that ‘good show, old sport!’ stuff English?”
“If you don’t want your heroic image tainted, I’d suggest you help me investigate this rather than prattling on, America.”
America, who could tell that England wasn’t actually mad at him, just his usually irritable grumpy state, quipped back.
“What poppycock is this buffoonery?”
“I ain’t got a clue there, pardner,” England shot back in a thick western drawl, “I sure as tootin’ haven’t seen the likes of critters wrassling ‘bout in these here parts before!”
America blinked. Then stared. Then burst into a peal of laughter, which England soon joined.
“I did sound really ridiculous back then, didn’t I?”
“We all have those…unfortunate language quirks sometime in our lives as nations,” England replied. “Thankfully, we’ve grown out of it, unlike that frog who still insists on speaking that abomination of a so-called language.”
America shook his head, used to England’s long-standing hatred of France, and he crouched down to inspect the rock wall around the opening.
“Something feels…off.”
England nodded. He reached into his bag and pulled out his pouch, opening to withdraw the spell book inside.
After a few flicks through the dog-earred pages, he paused and held out a hand towards the opening the bear had entered.
“Cyðan eower deogol,” he said forcefully.
A shimmering and crackling purple flame flickered over the entrance, as if it was covered in a large bubble. England frowned as the flame dissipated.
“So…what’s that then?” America asked, looking warily at where the flames had been.
“A veil of darkness has been cast upon this route,” England said, mumbling another spell under his breath. As a small handful of green flame emerged from his hand, he demonstrated by holding that towards the entrance.
Sure enough, as soon as the flame entered where the bubble had been, the light went black.
“It will still burn, but it will give no light,” he clarified, pulling his hand back until the flame turned green again. “Someone doesn’t want just anyone entering this passage.”
“Which of course means…”
“We’re going to enter it.”
---------------------------------------------
It is often said that part of the appeal of adventure is that you never quite know what you’re getting yourself into. England, on the other hand, thought that appeal might just end at the point where you literally cannot see what you are getting yourself into.
After having a lengthy discussion with America about why the magic, though old, would still apply to the flashlights and electric lanterns, England had finally convinced him (after sticking one said lantern into the entrance and demonstrating it’s inability to override the magic) to let England enter the passage first.
And so, armed with a few essentials in case this little excursion ended up being a bigger adventure than they anticipated, England crouched down and crawled into the opening.
It was, perhaps, only barely big enough for Pastuso to crawl through. Much like the door to a child’s playhouse, or (England though to himself ironically) the door Alice took to Wonderland.
Although, he supposed, at least he hadn’t been required to eat or drink anything strange in order to fit.
“Hey England…” America’s voice floated up from the echoes of the cavern behind him. Being in such a small crawl-space, in the pitch darkness, was a tad disorienting and it made America’s voice seem more distant than England knew it was.
“Yes?”
“So is old magic sorta like you? Still works just as well even though it’s freaking ancient?”
England spluttered at that, and forgetting his position, ended up bumping his head up into the rock as he tried (and failed) to turn around to berate America.
“Christ, that smarts,” he murmured, rubbing at the welt growing on his skull.
At that, he felt America’s unsure hands reaching out in the blackness, feeling around his form awkwardly until he gently brushed England’s hand where it rested on his head.
“Sorry,” he said.
England, blindly reaching out as well, ran his fingers up the front of America’s outfit; the rough khaki fabric giving way to the soft flesh of America’s neck.
He trailed his fingers around, slowly rubbing circles at the nape, and smiled to himself as he felt America shudder at his innocent touch.
“It’s all right. Just forgot we’re in a tunnel that’s hardly fit for a bear, let alone something our size. Even a hobbit wouldn’t manage this without ducking.”
England could feel the muscles in America’s neck shift and he knew immediately, America was giving him one of those soft smiles.
“If you can direct me in your direction, I could…kiss and make it better,” he mumbled quietly.
And although it was downright silly, England did just that.
His worn, callused hands moving around to cup America’s face, which he slowly directed forward; and with a blush he knew would be quite scarlet if there were any light, England closed the space between them.
Their noses bumped a little, but with a little smidgen of laughter on both their parts, they finally managed to find each other’s lips and seal the kiss.
America, dork that he was, was smiling so obviously that England could bloody feel it on his lips.
“R-Right then, better carry on.”
“Can I finish my question then?”
England, expecting more mockery of his age, sighed and trudged onward. “I suppose…”
“Well, I was just honestly curious. Is old magic just consistent or is it like some really amazing things and gets better with age?”
And although he knew America was quite proud of his wines, England knew that wasn’t the aged subject he was talking about. Plus, he thought with a smile quirking at his lips, America was complimenting him and showing interest in his magic without being completely unbelieving of it all.
Perhaps America had hit his head harder than they’d first thought.
“It depends,” England explained, squeezing up and over a large stalagmite, “some casters will anticipate that magic will grow with time, so they put their spell on sort of a time-release method. Those will gain strength as time passes. Others are assured enough in their current skill, or have come to terms with the fact that magic in all societies is often a dying art, and will merely trust that what they cast will hold.”
“So when I recount Alfred Jones’s amazing adventures, which is more accurate a name for this? Tunnel of Eternal Night or Passage of Deadly Darkness?”
England almost had to pause at the sudden change in direction of their conversation, but he found he was oddly used to it. America seemed to have about twenty thought processes going at once and sometimes he would switch from one to the next without a moment’s hesitation.
“It’s probably from an old magic in which they use darkness powder. Personally, both of those sound a bit ridiculous.”
America seemed to consider that before, as he accidentally put his hand atop England’s ankle, he replied, “Okay, but which one sounds more dangerous and therefore more heroic for us to conquer?”
“The first,” England replied, shaking his head at where America’s priorities were.
“Awesome.”
England slid a bit down what felt like a short slide then, America following so close behind that he didn’t have a second to warn him.
They landed in a heap, both of them trying in the dark to right themselves and make sure the other wasn’t injured.
“You okay?”
“Nothing scraped or bruised?”
“I didn’t hit your head did I?”
“America, you’re the one that got knocked out by an exploding tree. It’s your head we should be worried about.”
They both groped about in each other’s hair, gently prodding at their respective welts.
“Ow.”
“Sorry. Does it hurt anymore than it did before?” England asked, moments before America’s fingers found his new injury. “O-Ouch!”
“You tell me, how’s your head feel?”
“All right, so they both hurt. We can’t do much else until we can see, agreed?”
“Yeah. Let’s keep moving.”
But the fall seemed to shake them a little, both of them pausing every so often just to feel the space ahead of them and America beginning to jump at every little noise.
“I sense no ghastly presence if that’s what you’re worrying about,” England assured him.
America laughed nervously. “Y-Yeah, of c-course not!”
England noticed that America began following him a little closer after that.
-----------------------------------------
After what seemed like at least half an hour, England saw what he hoped was a flicker of light up ahead. He was just about to point out this fact to America when America suddenly grabbed him from behind, clinging to him rather tightly.
“America, what in the blazes are you…”
“Listen,” he rasped, practically shivering. “England, listen!”
Straining his ears, he could hear it- a low and ominous rumbling in the distance. At first, England hoped it was a thunderstorm outside, but then he realized that the sound was edging ever closer and yet they hadn’t moved at all.
“England, what is it?” America asked, sounding thoroughly worried. “Is it a g-ghost?”
He blindly fumbled around until he found America’s hand, which he grasped. “I don’t know what it is, America. But…” He pulled America up snug against his side so they could crawl together, “we must reach that light before it reaches us. That’s…all we can do. Because whatever it is...it can’t be good.”