The Battle (for) Britain [4c/6]
anonymous
July 2 2010, 02:14:20 UTC
“Let me have it, then,” America said, opening his arms to their assault. For a moment, the siblings stood frozen. “Because I’m not leaving him alone, and I have done nothing to deserve being kicked out of this house.”
“Really!” Northern Ireland nearly shrieked. “You’re funny! I seem to recall something very big you did, about two hundred years ago, that broke my brother badly enough for you to deserve to never even be allowed to see him again!”
Scotland held her back from where she struggled to get at America, a dark glare coming from under his brow, and suddenly the glare was coming from all of them-even little Sealand, behind Scotland’s legs-and America realized what the root of all this was.
England, behind him, was silent.
“That… that was a long time ago,” America began, but then Scotland was in his face.
“And so was the bloody day you were born, but don’t think I won’t ever forget that Godforsaken day!”
“Hey,” America said, the long-repressed anger finally bubbling up to the surface. “That’s uncalled for.”
“So is your bratty little assumption that you should just be welcomed back into our brother’s house with open arms!” Ireland shouted, behind Scotland and bearing down on America as well.
“I didn’t want it to come to this,” America said, his voice raising with theirs. “You’re England’s siblings, and I didn’t want to have to fight you, but if you’re gonna keep being unreasonable-”
“We’re being unreasonable?” Northern Ireland shouted, getting across Scotland’s arm to land a square punch to America’s shoulder. Not as hard as Scotland’s, but still painful enough to make America flinch. “Forgive us for wanting to protect our little bràthair from the conniving Yank that broke his heart!”
“Hey!” Sealand suddenly shouted, and in the din it was an unnoticeable addition to the shouting match, until the boy again raised his voice to yell “England?”
For a moment, silence reigned, until America looked over his shoulder to see England, slumped and unconscious against the wall behind him.
This time, Northern Ireland was the first to explode. “What did you do to him, you tit?!”
“Nothing!” America countered, crouching hastily beside England to lift him off the floor.
“If he passed out from shock, it’s your bloody fault-”
“Did you knock into him with your fat lummox body-?”
“You don’t think the fae did that-”
“Will all of you shut up?”
For the second time, silence followed America’s shout, and all of the siblings stood shocked, but grudgingly silent as America pressed his ear to England’s chest, felt over his mouth for breath, felt his forehead with the back of his hand.
“When was the last time he ate?” America asked.
“What-?”
“I said when did he last eat?”
It was clear that this was the end of America’s rope, and though the siblings would have loved to provoke him, having their brother passed out on the floor seemed to calm them somewhat.
“Not since before we arrived,” Northern Ireland said, anger still clear in the grating of her voice. “He refused breakfast and supper yesterday, and breakfast again today.”
America cursed quietly under his breath, and leaned over to gingerly scoop England up into his arms, daring the others, with a dark look, to try to stop him. None of them moved.
“When he’s stressed, he forgets to eat. You have to make him, or he’ll pass out.”
A silent, almost undetectable shame swam among the siblings, shame for not knowing this fact about their brother and shame at being lectured from the very person they had tried to have evicted from their brother’s life.
America shouldered past them and went silently up the stairs, England held close against his chest. As he retreated, the siblings passed looks between them, analyzing each other silently for any hint at what to do next, now that their plan had gone awry.
“Really!” Northern Ireland nearly shrieked. “You’re funny! I seem to recall something very big you did, about two hundred years ago, that broke my brother badly enough for you to deserve to never even be allowed to see him again!”
Scotland held her back from where she struggled to get at America, a dark glare coming from under his brow, and suddenly the glare was coming from all of them-even little Sealand, behind Scotland’s legs-and America realized what the root of all this was.
England, behind him, was silent.
“That… that was a long time ago,” America began, but then Scotland was in his face.
“And so was the bloody day you were born, but don’t think I won’t ever forget that Godforsaken day!”
“Hey,” America said, the long-repressed anger finally bubbling up to the surface. “That’s uncalled for.”
“So is your bratty little assumption that you should just be welcomed back into our brother’s house with open arms!” Ireland shouted, behind Scotland and bearing down on America as well.
“I didn’t want it to come to this,” America said, his voice raising with theirs. “You’re England’s siblings, and I didn’t want to have to fight you, but if you’re gonna keep being unreasonable-”
“We’re being unreasonable?” Northern Ireland shouted, getting across Scotland’s arm to land a square punch to America’s shoulder. Not as hard as Scotland’s, but still painful enough to make America flinch. “Forgive us for wanting to protect our little bràthair from the conniving Yank that broke his heart!”
“Hey!” Sealand suddenly shouted, and in the din it was an unnoticeable addition to the shouting match, until the boy again raised his voice to yell “England?”
For a moment, silence reigned, until America looked over his shoulder to see England, slumped and unconscious against the wall behind him.
This time, Northern Ireland was the first to explode. “What did you do to him, you tit?!”
“Nothing!” America countered, crouching hastily beside England to lift him off the floor.
“If he passed out from shock, it’s your bloody fault-”
“Did you knock into him with your fat lummox body-?”
“You don’t think the fae did that-”
“Will all of you shut up?”
For the second time, silence followed America’s shout, and all of the siblings stood shocked, but grudgingly silent as America pressed his ear to England’s chest, felt over his mouth for breath, felt his forehead with the back of his hand.
“When was the last time he ate?” America asked.
“What-?”
“I said when did he last eat?”
It was clear that this was the end of America’s rope, and though the siblings would have loved to provoke him, having their brother passed out on the floor seemed to calm them somewhat.
“Not since before we arrived,” Northern Ireland said, anger still clear in the grating of her voice. “He refused breakfast and supper yesterday, and breakfast again today.”
America cursed quietly under his breath, and leaned over to gingerly scoop England up into his arms, daring the others, with a dark look, to try to stop him. None of them moved.
“When he’s stressed, he forgets to eat. You have to make him, or he’ll pass out.”
A silent, almost undetectable shame swam among the siblings, shame for not knowing this fact about their brother and shame at being lectured from the very person they had tried to have evicted from their brother’s life.
America shouldered past them and went silently up the stairs, England held close against his chest. As he retreated, the siblings passed looks between them, analyzing each other silently for any hint at what to do next, now that their plan had gone awry.
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