[Hetalia] "Rainstorms" Three USxUK stories
Written for the prompt Rain at the usxuk Summer Camp Challenge.
*******
Title: "Dwelling in the Past"
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: US/UK
Prompt: Table G6/1. Dwelling in the past @ 5_prompts
Words: 292
Rating: PG
Summary: England watches the rain and thinks about the past.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Sometime in the 1800s
England stared outside the window, watching the London rain hit the glass panes, each drop joining others to pool on the sill. Eventually the water would get so deep that a large droplet would slide off the sill and drip onto the flowers of the window box. England pushed open the window and felt the drops hit his face, disguising the path that the tears had made. He did not often cry, but it was that time of year. Sometimes a scent, or a scene, a phrase would remind him of the past and a bottle of the strongest stuff he could find would give him sanctuary. The alcohol would numb him, but in the day after that pain would return anew, intensifying his loneliness. The drink never had been the answer.
The past haunted him and he found himself dwelling in it more than he would like. Most had moved on to grander things turning their eyes forward so they wouldn’t have to remember the insanity or failure of their pasts. He wondered if it was perhaps because his greatness was there, other nations held the spotlight now. There was one in particular that he could not escape, and it was that very same nation that broke his heart when he was reminded of happier times.
“America...” he whispered into the rainstorm, the pain in his voice lost to the thunder. Today he had seen a family with a bright-eyed child that reminded him so much of the child that had grown into a man that he sometimes couldn’t recognize. He knew that the America he had known was somewhere in that nation that was growing in influence, a nation that stirred feelings in him that he did not understand.
*******
Title: "Path of Thorns"
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: US/UK
Prompt: Table G6/1. Driven down the thorn-filled path @ 5_prompts
Words: 255
Rating: PG
Summary: America sits alone and wishes someone was there to calm him during a storm.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Sometime in the 1800s
America sat with his knees drawn up in the lumpy straw bed of the small cabin. Rain pounded on the roof shingles and leaked through here and there. He had set up what buckets and bowls he could to catch the water before it soaked into the dirt floor turning it into mud. He could hear the pounding of the rain water and shook beneath his blanket every time a clash of thunder shook the building. He hated thunderstorms in the wilderness.
He kept himself calm trying to imagine England was there with him, as he had been when he was young, softly touching his hair and humming lullabies. England would place his hands over America’s ears every time the thunder boomed, muffling the sound of the weather. He tried humming one of the familiar songs to himself, it was to no effect. He jumped every time lightning flashed lighting up the single, sparsely furnished room followed by a crash that sounded as if the whole world was falling in around him.
He shook, trying not to let frightened tears flow, he knows he shouldn’t be wanting England there. Wanting him was a child’s desire and he had proven himself to be an adult when he broke free. These thoughts were a thorny path to travel down and yet he couldn’t stop them in the flickering candlelight and flashing lightning.
“England...” He wanted the older man to wrap his arms around him and tell him that the storm would be over before he knew it.
*******
Title: "Cold and Warm"
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: US/UK
Prompt: Table G6/3. Too cold to see through @ 5_prompts
Words: 851
Rating: PG
Summary: Trapped in a tent during a rainstorm, America and England think about each other.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
On a battlefield...
America sat near the tent flap, watching as the torrential downpour brought down the water in buckets. He sipped at his camp coffee, rescued from the fire right before the rain came. He smiled as some soldiers ran out of their tents to play in the rain as it slowed to a drizzle.
“America, could you close that! Your getting the inside wet!” America turned from the rain, staring at England who was sharing the tent with him. England huffed and looked away as soon as their eyes met. He looked uncomfortable as he paced back and forth.
“Relax, dude, we’re not going anywhere when the rain is like this.”
“It’s not the I don’t like the rain America, I don’t particularly care being in the rain with you.” he replied. America supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by the bluntness. England had certainly not been afraid to say what was on his mind lately. America was not sure whether he should be insulted by the honesty, or grateful that England was no longer treating him as a piece of furniture in the room. He continued to study the other nation as he walked back over to his cot and lay down, stretching out in his uniform. The jacket had been loosened revealing his undershirt. America couldn’t help but run his eyes along his body. He hadn’t had an opportunity to examine him in private in years and he took it now. England seemed thinner than he remembered, but he supposed they all usually thinned out during war, especially on their own lands. He dropped the tent flap and they were closed into the lantern lit darkness.
England cracked open an eye and stared at him, “Something interesting, America?”
America blushed and looked away, getting up and going to his own cot and stretching out, putting his hands behind his head. He crossed his ankles and closed his eyes, “Nothing interesting at all.”
England glanced across the room. America had grown again, he had filled out the lanky young body he had still possessed the last time America had shared quarters with him. The boy looked... good. America was looking healthy which made England feel better. Sometimes he had worried about him, as he was working so hard to build up his nation, growing larger than England had ever dreamed he could. He looked away and listened to the rain falling along the tent side, trying not to imagine another scenario where they had been together in the rain.
He could still remember it clearly, the rain coming down so hard he could barely see America at times. The water soaking through his uniform, chilling him to the bone. He became so lost in his thoughts that he jumped as the interior of the tent was lit up by lightning followed by the crash of thunder. His heart was pounding, briefly wondering if it was another attack. He realized he had jumped up off his bunk as another flash and thunder rolled across the sky. He heard a nervous sound from the other side of the tent. America had jumped up at the ready when he thought it was an attack, but was now turning white from the sound of the thunder.
England could feel old emotions stir, the ones that said he should protect America. However, they got mixed up with the ones that only got annoyed by him. “Honestly America!? You handle falling bombs and face live fire and you are still bothered by thunderstorms!”
America had now retreated to his bunk, the pillow over his head, trying to block out the sound. He didn’t reply, and England wasn’t sure whether it was because he was ignoring him or simply didn’t hear him from how tight he was clutching the pillow to his ear. He got up off his bunk and walked over as another thunder boom rolled overhead. He put a hand on America’s shoulder to get his attention. The pillow shifted and America’s face peaked out from under it.
“Did you hear my question, America?”
“Yeah, I don’t know... it just does...” Lightning flashed again and he quickly pulled the pillow back over his head. England sighed, unable to remove himself from the edge of the cot, not when America was looking like this and he was close enough to do something about it. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but he reached beneath the pillow to put his hand over America’s ear like he had when he was little. He began to hum an old lullaby, a flush of embarrassment spreading across his face.
He stayed there like that until America’s trembling stopped and his breathing evened out, signaling that he was now asleep. He pulled the pillow off the younger nation’s head and looked at him. America looked so much younger and more vulnerable in his sleep. Here was the person he knew. A small smile came to life on his face and he leaned over pressing a soft kiss to America’s forehead, before returning to his cot and going to sleep himself.
*******
Title: "Dwelling in the Past"
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: US/UK
Prompt: Table G6/1. Dwelling in the past @ 5_prompts
Words: 292
Rating: PG
Summary: England watches the rain and thinks about the past.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Sometime in the 1800s
England stared outside the window, watching the London rain hit the glass panes, each drop joining others to pool on the sill. Eventually the water would get so deep that a large droplet would slide off the sill and drip onto the flowers of the window box. England pushed open the window and felt the drops hit his face, disguising the path that the tears had made. He did not often cry, but it was that time of year. Sometimes a scent, or a scene, a phrase would remind him of the past and a bottle of the strongest stuff he could find would give him sanctuary. The alcohol would numb him, but in the day after that pain would return anew, intensifying his loneliness. The drink never had been the answer.
The past haunted him and he found himself dwelling in it more than he would like. Most had moved on to grander things turning their eyes forward so they wouldn’t have to remember the insanity or failure of their pasts. He wondered if it was perhaps because his greatness was there, other nations held the spotlight now. There was one in particular that he could not escape, and it was that very same nation that broke his heart when he was reminded of happier times.
“America...” he whispered into the rainstorm, the pain in his voice lost to the thunder. Today he had seen a family with a bright-eyed child that reminded him so much of the child that had grown into a man that he sometimes couldn’t recognize. He knew that the America he had known was somewhere in that nation that was growing in influence, a nation that stirred feelings in him that he did not understand.
*******
Title: "Path of Thorns"
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: US/UK
Prompt: Table G6/1. Driven down the thorn-filled path @ 5_prompts
Words: 255
Rating: PG
Summary: America sits alone and wishes someone was there to calm him during a storm.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Sometime in the 1800s
America sat with his knees drawn up in the lumpy straw bed of the small cabin. Rain pounded on the roof shingles and leaked through here and there. He had set up what buckets and bowls he could to catch the water before it soaked into the dirt floor turning it into mud. He could hear the pounding of the rain water and shook beneath his blanket every time a clash of thunder shook the building. He hated thunderstorms in the wilderness.
He kept himself calm trying to imagine England was there with him, as he had been when he was young, softly touching his hair and humming lullabies. England would place his hands over America’s ears every time the thunder boomed, muffling the sound of the weather. He tried humming one of the familiar songs to himself, it was to no effect. He jumped every time lightning flashed lighting up the single, sparsely furnished room followed by a crash that sounded as if the whole world was falling in around him.
He shook, trying not to let frightened tears flow, he knows he shouldn’t be wanting England there. Wanting him was a child’s desire and he had proven himself to be an adult when he broke free. These thoughts were a thorny path to travel down and yet he couldn’t stop them in the flickering candlelight and flashing lightning.
“England...” He wanted the older man to wrap his arms around him and tell him that the storm would be over before he knew it.
*******
Title: "Cold and Warm"
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: US/UK
Prompt: Table G6/3. Too cold to see through @ 5_prompts
Words: 851
Rating: PG
Summary: Trapped in a tent during a rainstorm, America and England think about each other.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
On a battlefield...
America sat near the tent flap, watching as the torrential downpour brought down the water in buckets. He sipped at his camp coffee, rescued from the fire right before the rain came. He smiled as some soldiers ran out of their tents to play in the rain as it slowed to a drizzle.
“America, could you close that! Your getting the inside wet!” America turned from the rain, staring at England who was sharing the tent with him. England huffed and looked away as soon as their eyes met. He looked uncomfortable as he paced back and forth.
“Relax, dude, we’re not going anywhere when the rain is like this.”
“It’s not the I don’t like the rain America, I don’t particularly care being in the rain with you.” he replied. America supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by the bluntness. England had certainly not been afraid to say what was on his mind lately. America was not sure whether he should be insulted by the honesty, or grateful that England was no longer treating him as a piece of furniture in the room. He continued to study the other nation as he walked back over to his cot and lay down, stretching out in his uniform. The jacket had been loosened revealing his undershirt. America couldn’t help but run his eyes along his body. He hadn’t had an opportunity to examine him in private in years and he took it now. England seemed thinner than he remembered, but he supposed they all usually thinned out during war, especially on their own lands. He dropped the tent flap and they were closed into the lantern lit darkness.
England cracked open an eye and stared at him, “Something interesting, America?”
America blushed and looked away, getting up and going to his own cot and stretching out, putting his hands behind his head. He crossed his ankles and closed his eyes, “Nothing interesting at all.”
England glanced across the room. America had grown again, he had filled out the lanky young body he had still possessed the last time America had shared quarters with him. The boy looked... good. America was looking healthy which made England feel better. Sometimes he had worried about him, as he was working so hard to build up his nation, growing larger than England had ever dreamed he could. He looked away and listened to the rain falling along the tent side, trying not to imagine another scenario where they had been together in the rain.
He could still remember it clearly, the rain coming down so hard he could barely see America at times. The water soaking through his uniform, chilling him to the bone. He became so lost in his thoughts that he jumped as the interior of the tent was lit up by lightning followed by the crash of thunder. His heart was pounding, briefly wondering if it was another attack. He realized he had jumped up off his bunk as another flash and thunder rolled across the sky. He heard a nervous sound from the other side of the tent. America had jumped up at the ready when he thought it was an attack, but was now turning white from the sound of the thunder.
England could feel old emotions stir, the ones that said he should protect America. However, they got mixed up with the ones that only got annoyed by him. “Honestly America!? You handle falling bombs and face live fire and you are still bothered by thunderstorms!”
America had now retreated to his bunk, the pillow over his head, trying to block out the sound. He didn’t reply, and England wasn’t sure whether it was because he was ignoring him or simply didn’t hear him from how tight he was clutching the pillow to his ear. He got up off his bunk and walked over as another thunder boom rolled overhead. He put a hand on America’s shoulder to get his attention. The pillow shifted and America’s face peaked out from under it.
“Did you hear my question, America?”
“Yeah, I don’t know... it just does...” Lightning flashed again and he quickly pulled the pillow back over his head. England sighed, unable to remove himself from the edge of the cot, not when America was looking like this and he was close enough to do something about it. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but he reached beneath the pillow to put his hand over America’s ear like he had when he was little. He began to hum an old lullaby, a flush of embarrassment spreading across his face.
He stayed there like that until America’s trembling stopped and his breathing evened out, signaling that he was now asleep. He pulled the pillow off the younger nation’s head and looked at him. America looked so much younger and more vulnerable in his sleep. Here was the person he knew. A small smile came to life on his face and he leaned over pressing a soft kiss to America’s forehead, before returning to his cot and going to sleep himself.