false confidence (2/2)
anonymous
January 5 2009, 06:12:47 UTC
He almost fell back to the ground but was caught with strong arms. America looked up, his blue eyes wide, and saw the most familiar face: cool green eyes, thick brown eyebrows, and dusty blonde hair. "England!" he shouted, wrapping his arms around his big brother and breathing heavily.
"There, there," England hushed, weaving his fingers into the boy's golden hair. "Inside we go. Come on now, we'll fix you up a nice hot cup of tea." He grabbed the little hand and walked him the short distance to the house.
"Have a seat," he suggested when they got inside, and moved to put a kettle on.
America sat on the dark red sofa, taking deep breaths. He couldn't let Canada see him like this, all scared over... whatever it was. He puffed himself up and put on a strong face, but it all fell apart when England came back in the room with the tea.
"Now, what happened out there?"
"I was sitting in a tree and-- and--" It all sounded rather silly, when spoken inside a nice house with a warm cup of tea. "Ghosts," he whispered.
England's large eyebrows shot up. "I thought you didn't believe in ghosts."
"I don't!" America insisted. "But... It was... and the wind... after me... owl... Indians..." he stammered, incoherently, and then lost speech. He fought the tears welling in his eyes and tried to hold his lips stiff but it was no use. "G-g-g-ghosts," was all he could say.
The elder brother took the cup out of the boy's hands lest he drop and shatter the Chinese porcelain and spill their best Indian tea all over the fine Persian rug. The UK shuddered at the thought, and placed the cup delicately on an end-table before sitting next to America and wrapping a comforting arm around the boy. "Shhh, shh." He rubbed America's back and gave him time to get it out-- sometimes that was necessary, they said, to have a good cry, and England figured it was all right for one so young.
"You know," he started, brushing away the small stream of salty tears, "I know someone who might know these ghosts of yours."
"R-r-really?" America's reddened eyes looked up.
"Sure. A fairy could find out about something like that. Just a tick--" England looked toward the dark corner of the room, where he'd seen little spirits emerge before. "Could any spirits give us some help?"
One, who looked to be made purely of light, materialized and winked at the old nation. She? He? swept over toward the boy and pointed to his head before laughing in an appropriately fey manner and disappearing altogether.
England held America close in to him. He wasn't fond of fairies coming so close to his little brother. "The fairy says," he passes on half-truthfully, "that it was only the wind and it's quite time for you and Canada to have your supper."
America laughed a short, confident bark, just like the America England was so fond of. "Silly," the boy replies, in the calmest voice he'd used all evening, "there's no such thing as fairies. But what's for supper?"
"There, there," England hushed, weaving his fingers into the boy's golden hair. "Inside we go. Come on now, we'll fix you up a nice hot cup of tea." He grabbed the little hand and walked him the short distance to the house.
"Have a seat," he suggested when they got inside, and moved to put a kettle on.
America sat on the dark red sofa, taking deep breaths. He couldn't let Canada see him like this, all scared over... whatever it was. He puffed himself up and put on a strong face, but it all fell apart when England came back in the room with the tea.
"Now, what happened out there?"
"I was sitting in a tree and-- and--" It all sounded rather silly, when spoken inside a nice house with a warm cup of tea. "Ghosts," he whispered.
England's large eyebrows shot up. "I thought you didn't believe in ghosts."
"I don't!" America insisted. "But... It was... and the wind... after me... owl... Indians..." he stammered, incoherently, and then lost speech. He fought the tears welling in his eyes and tried to hold his lips stiff but it was no use. "G-g-g-ghosts," was all he could say.
The elder brother took the cup out of the boy's hands lest he drop and shatter the Chinese porcelain and spill their best Indian tea all over the fine Persian rug. The UK shuddered at the thought, and placed the cup delicately on an end-table before sitting next to America and wrapping a comforting arm around the boy. "Shhh, shh." He rubbed America's back and gave him time to get it out-- sometimes that was necessary, they said, to have a good cry, and England figured it was all right for one so young.
"You know," he started, brushing away the small stream of salty tears, "I know someone who might know these ghosts of yours."
"R-r-really?" America's reddened eyes looked up.
"Sure. A fairy could find out about something like that. Just a tick--" England looked toward the dark corner of the room, where he'd seen little spirits emerge before. "Could any spirits give us some help?"
One, who looked to be made purely of light, materialized and winked at the old nation. She? He? swept over toward the boy and pointed to his head before laughing in an appropriately fey manner and disappearing altogether.
England held America close in to him. He wasn't fond of fairies coming so close to his little brother. "The fairy says," he passes on half-truthfully, "that it was only the wind and it's quite time for you and Canada to have your supper."
America laughed a short, confident bark, just like the America England was so fond of. "Silly," the boy replies, in the calmest voice he'd used all evening, "there's no such thing as fairies. But what's for supper?"
Reply
Thank you so much for writing this ♥
Reply
I love little America~
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment