Past-Part Fills Part 7
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Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
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It pained England to see America so hurt. He loved the boy, and seeing him gasping in his sleep, sweating from a fever, broke his heart. Still, there was nothing to be done about it. It was America’s punishment. He had been a naughty child, trying to run away like that, and had to be taught better.
The failure of the revolution seemed to have made an imprint on the lad, and he was far more docile than he’d been in decades. In fact, England hadn’t seen him so eager for the empire’s affection since he was a small child. It warmed his heart to think that once again, America loved and wanted his big brother. He didn’t care that it took more time and effort to care for America, seeing as the boy appeared incapable of feeding, washing, or clothing himself. It brought him such joy to know that once again, he was needed by his little brother. And who knew? Perhaps if he was more careful, this time around he could raise the boy properly.
Unfortunately, the crown seemed determined to interrupt England’s happiness. There was letter upon letter of demands for him to tend to his other colonies, or to focus on re-seizing Canada while that blasted frog was occupied with the aftermath of his own revolution. This made the weeks more stressful than England cared for. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with America. He justified his continued presence in the colonies by citing the quashed revolution. After all, he wrote to his king, there were still conspirators and traitors to weed out and symbols of potential future rebellion too crush. If he wasn’t careful now, who knew what the treacherous colonists would try next?
But those excuses would only last for so long. He would have the colonies completely under British control soon, and that would use up his strongest excuse to stay there. The thought of that did not sit well with England. He was the most loyal subject of His Majesty, and if the king put his foot down and ordered England elsewhere, he would have no choice but to obey.
England loved being in the American colonies. He loved the look of wide-eyed adoration America constantly had for him. He loved the feeling of home, of belonging. He loved falling asleep every night with America in his arms. He did not want to give that up, not for all the profit of the Caribbean sugar plantations or Canadian pelts.
Fortunately, it looked as if his excuse would not run dry anytime soon. American's fever was subsiding and he was not screaming himself awake from nightmares anymore, however new ailments were beginning to manifest.
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When the nausea set in on America, England became concerned. He constantly monitored the colonies, and could see that the after-effects of the revolution were almost completely over. The traitors had been imprisoned or executed, and the citizens of the territories were accepting the new restrictions from the king while settling back into their everyday lives. America's health ought to have been improving, not getting worse!
This went on for so many weeks, and England had no idea what to think. One particularly trying afternoon, upon finally being roused, American promptly vomited. Having been unable to reach a receptacle to be sick in, he made a mess all over himself. England was forced to strip the boy down and bath him. As he ran the washcloth over America's stomach, he noticed the area seemed strangely...rounded. Or, at least, noticeably moreso than usual. Wondering if America had somehow been stealing food, he pressed his hand against the bulging middle. It was not soft, as he expected, but astonishingly firm. As he tried to think of why that could possibly be, he felt the skin beneath his fingertips quiver. It was as if something had struck at him from inside the stomach...
He glanced at America, who was staring at him with large, frightened eyes. "It's been doing that for weeks now," he whimpered. "I don't know what it is. I don't like it. Am I going to die? Please, England, find a way to make it stop!"
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He had been getting a little better. His fever didn’t burn as much, and fewer mysterious cuts split open across his body. He had been hoping that it was over!
But now, he was getting sick in other ways. His head was pounding and his back ached. He kept feeling sick all the time! Even when he didn't eat anything, he felt sick! And no matter how much he slept, he was tired!
He tried not to bother England with these problems. His big brother surely had other things to worry about. But England found out. Of course. England was that smart. And he was so happy, because England wasn't mad! Not at all! Instead of yelling at him, England hugged him and tried to give him foods to settle his stomach, and trying harder than ever every night to show how much England loved him. He was glad for all of this, especially the last one. For some reason, England's love was feeling better than it ever had before.
But then, something strange began happening with his stomach. At first, it was just a "full" feeling. As the weeks passed though, he began to gain weight there and only there.
He was terrified. No illness England ever warned him about had symptoms like this. When it began, he tried not to panic. He tried to convince himself that it was something ordinary, maybe somehow related to his throwing up so often, and it would go away quickly. But it just kept getting bigger and bigger. No matter how little he ate, it didn't stop. No matter what he tried to think of, it didn't get better.
He wanted to tell England, but he couldn't bring himself to. He didn't care if he might die from it, he was scared. He knew this wasn't normal, and he couldn't stand the thought of England thinking there was something wrong with him.
And so he hid it. It was very easy to do, at first. For a month or so, as long as he kept his shirt on, England couldn't see what was happening. If he felt anything when they were together at night, he didn't say anything. But it began to get harder and harder to hide his stomach by ordinary means. Eventually, wearing his shirt neatly tucked in did nothing but emphasize his growing stomach, as it gently pressed against the fabric. He managed to avoid suspicion by wearing his shirts untucked and as loose as possible. This left the bulge almost entirely hidden, but he could still feel it gently pressing against the cloth whenever he moved. He had no clue how England didn't seem to notice how large his stomach was becoming, when they lay together every night. Perhaps England was distracted by their love. It kept him very busy in those times.
When he thought he had this strange ailment figured out, something new happened to scare him. He began to feel things moving inside. The first time it happened, he nearly screamed and only the thought that he'd have to explain himself to England kept him quiet. The movement stopped quickly enough, but it still left him terrified. It then happened again and again and again, until he knew it wasn't going to stop anytime soon. He learned that rubbing his stomach could cause this...whatever to quiet down faster, but it did little for his peace of mind.
Something was inside of his stomach. He was certain of this.
And whatever it was, he knew it eventually would need to come out.
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Apparently there had been more truth to those stories than he’d suspected. Now he wished he’d asked more questions, or at least paid more attention.
Still, that was neither here nor there. America was certainly having a baby. The midwife had been quite certain. She also told him, looking quite horrified, that America had somehow changed in his vital regions to the way a woman's would be.
He thanked her for her services and paid her well, with the promise of even more money if she spoke of this to no one, and agreed to assist with the pregnancy. Between that and the assurances that it was normal for Their Kind to experience that sort of thing, she was calmed enough to agree.
After seeing the midwife to the door, he went to find America. The poor boy had been scared out of his mind when England noticed the swelling in his stomach. He seemed to think there was something terribly wrong with him, or that England would be angry with him. No matter. They’d get this sorted.
America was sitting on his bed, curled awkwardly around his stomach, where he’d stayed after the midwife had examined him. England had spoken with the woman in another room, so the colon hadn’t heard the actual diagnosis. Upon noticing England entering the room, America looked questioningly at him.
“She says that you’re just a bit ill,” said England, keeping his voice light and cheerful as he sat on the bed next to his colony.
America still looked frightened. “I’ll get better, won’t I?”
“Oh yes, I promise you that.”
“Right now?”
The abruptness of the question took England aback. “I beg your pardon?”
“Can I get better right away? This…I don’t like it.” He poked his stomach anxiously. “I feel really heavy all of the time and I ache and want to eat weird things and…I’m scared.” His voice dropped to a whisper for those last two words. England could hardly hear him.
England looked at how much the colony was fretting and thought. To end it immediately, he could do that. He knew of what potions to brew, and it would be easy to feed America one. If necessary, he could see if the fairies could do something…
America leaned against England and gave him a pleading look. He was so beautiful, England’s heart ached. His beloved colony, never leaving him again. America shifted slightly, leaning closer against him, and his stomach pressed into England. England sighed happily, thinking of how large America was, his stomach growing full with their child. Their child, who would be born in a few month’s time.
No.
He couldn’t stop this now. He wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry America, there’s nothing that can be done right away. It will be like a cold. You’ll just have to wait it out, I’m afraid.”
“How long?”
England gently rubbed America’s back. “Four months. That’s what the woman who looked at you said.”
America looked stricken. “Four months? But that - that’s so long! Isn’t there any way to fix this sooner?”
“Come now, America,” said England. “You will be brave, do you hear me? You’re a colony of the British Empire, and you can weather this. It won’t be that long, you’ll see.”
America did not look entirely convinced, but he did seem slightly less upset. “I suppose…” he said hesitantly, running his fingers along his stomach.
“And I will be here the entire time, looking after you.”
That did much better at cheering the boy up. “Really? You’ll stay?”
“The entire time.” England wrapped his arms around America in a hug. “I won’t leave you alone for a moment, my boy. I promise, I’ll always look after you.”
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I did get a giggle at "King Louie," though. Was that on purpose? (Normally one would see it spelled "Louis.")
Thanks for sharing, anon.
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Um, that was not on purpose, actually. ^^; A!Anon screwed it up. Thanks for letting me know, though. I'll have that corrected in the event I de-anon.
You are most welcome! Hope you continue to enjoy!
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It was like a fever, England told him. It would seem to be getting worse and worse, but then it would get better in one go. It was just an effect of his connection to his land, England swore. Don't tell anyone about this illness, but don't worry about it. It will be fine.
And so he tried his hardest not to worry. He had no idea what this illness was that made his back and ankles ache and his stomach grow more and more distended, growling as if something were beating him from the inside. He swore he would wait out the four months without complaint, and prove to England that he was a good colony, worthy of being a part of England's great empire. And while he was constantly in pain and confused by this strange disease, things were not as bad as he knew they could have been. Throughout the four months, England looked after him so well, promising to always come to him if he noticed anything different happening because of the sickness. The empire was almost always with him, and he was so grateful.
He was more grateful than ever as the months passed and the illness became even stranger than ever. His stomach seemed to stop growing, which he was happy to learn. When the heavy feeling inside began to sink though, he nearly died of fright. He was just as terrified when his stomach started doing some bizarre sort of squeezing. Both times he screamed for England, and both times England came running.
When each of these symptoms had been described, England calmed him and promised him that there was nothing to be frightened of. Those things just meant that the sickness would be over soon. He asked England how he would know for sure when it would be over, but all England said was that he’d know it when it happened.
Several days later, he finally understood what England meant.
He had gone to bed early, as he'd been in the habit of doing for some time. His dreams had been strange. In them, he was healthy once more, his body in its regular shape. He was dressed in a uniform of red, white, and blue, standing on a muddy battlefield. There were many men in similar uniforms, and they were shooting at soldiers dressed in red. England was in the middle of this all, screaming orders at the red soldiers. He struggled to reach England, because he somehow knew that it was the most important thing in the world to capture the empire. He stood before his colonizer, when the dream ended abruptly.
When he woke up, he had no idea what shocked him awake in the middle of the night. There was a split second for him to realize that the sheets were soaking wet - England would be so angry, so angry, England had worked so hard to teach him not to wet the bed - and then he felt as if he were being stabbed in the stomach. As the pain shot through his legs and back, causing him to cry out, he felt an sense of relief that at least this would all be over.
England was right. He knew that the time had come.
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It was finally time.
Even if the midwife had not given warning of how much time was left after each visit, even without knowing the bed sheets were soaked with blood and who knew what else, it was obvious.
America had held up as well as he could, for the last few months. The midwife had warned that changes would happen as it came closer to the time for the baby to come. America had been told that strange things would happen as he came to the end of this "illness" (though England did not say what those things would be, as he saw no reason to complicate matters). He made certain that America knew to tell him if any of those things began to happen. The last thing England wanted was to be caught off-guard if America began to have the baby and didn't realize it.
England shouldn't have worried. When America cried out for him, the empire knew right away what was happening. When America had called before, he had been scared, yes, but little more. Now, though, the boy was screaming in pain, clawing at the sheets and sobbing in confusion.
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In all her years, the midwife had never helped with such a strange pregnancy. She thought she would die of shock when she first examined America and saw that yes, he really was expecting. She had thought the idea preposterous, and only agreed to check because it was England who asked, and she felt it rude to outright refuse the representation of her homeland.
Now, she found herself in a small cabin in the woods, delivering the baby.
She had known it would be coming, of course. England had told her that he trusted her and her alone to take care of it. She was the only one he wanted to know about the matter. That she could deal with. It was not in her nature to talk about other people's business. What had worried her was how the birth would go. She had seen, four months ago, that America had somehow...changed to have the parts necessary, parts that only women usually possessed. Still! She had no idea what to expect, and so she answered England's panicked summons trying to hide her own fears and concerns.
In the end, all her worries were for nothing. The most surprising thing about the birth was how quickly and easily it went. She had no idea if it was because America was one of England's Kind or if the boy was simply lucky. Either way, she found herself with little to be concerned over.
America still screamed the entire time. He gasped with each contraction and clawed at the blankets so much that it was a wonder they weren't shredded. As he writhed in pain, he stared at her with impossibly innocent eyes, as if to ask What is this, what am I feeling, what is going on?
The midwife was no stranger to confusion during childbirth. Countless women, first child or not, were terrified by the pain and fear over every little thing that could possibly be going wrong with their baby. It was just as much her job to allay those fears as to deliver the baby. But in even the most disturbing of those cases, the mothers at least knew they were going through.
The way America looked at her, he seemed truly lost as to what was happening. As strange as it seemed, it was as if he did not even recognize that he was giving birth.
When that thought first occurred to her, her immediate instinct was to talk to him and explain what he was going through. It often helped the mothers, knowing what was happening. The instant she opened her mouth, though, England was at her side.
"What is it?" he asked. "Is something wrong with his illness?"
Illness? "No, sir. Nothing is wrong. I simply thought I could explain to him -"
"He knows enough," said England. "Please, do not speak to him. I do not want to cause him unnecessary stress."
That order did not sit well with the midwife, but it was not her place to question England. In any case, he remained seated in the corner for the entirety of the delivery. She could feel his eyes boring into her as she worked, and knew she had no choice but to obey.
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