[CHAPTERFIC] You Can't Take the Sky From Me Chapter Fifteen (Axis Powers Hetalia)
Title: You Can't Take the Sky From Me [FF.NET Chapter Fifteen] [ Writing Journal Previous Chapters ]
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano, Belarus---->Russia. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3.122
Summary: Ace Pilot America is on a mission for the World Military when a chance encounter with a group of Sky-Pirates leads him to team up with their captain, England, against a malevolent group that wants to fill the sky with zeppelins. [USxUK- Steampunk AU]
Chapter Summary: England sighed and rubbed his forehead, then cursed inwardly that Switzerland just had to knock Prussia out so early. If he hadn’t, perhaps he wouldn’t have interrupted him and America and…
His cheeks grew hot. Never mind, it was good that he did. America had said himself that his actions didn’t mean anything after all. And the idea of doing something that meant nothing with the aviator left him feeling hollow and just a little bit queasy.
Author's Note: Something big happens in this chapter. ;) And sorry for the slightly late update. I was going to update earlier, but I ended up writing To the Moon and Beyond and that needed to be done by a deadline.
The last thing England expected when he returned to the beachfront was to be nearly knocked over, breath momentarily leaving him, as a ball came out of nowhere to hit him soundly in the stomach.
Then again it was not every day that the crew of the Victoria played dodgeball either. And that was exactly what greeted America and England when they stepped back onto the beach. Well that and the unexpected smack in the abdomen. He could hear America stifling laughter, and he grumbled.
“Now who the hell threw that?” England clenched the ball between his hands and stomped toward his crew. Spain and Romano were on one side of a line drawn in the sand, and Switzerland and Liechtenstein were on the other. Sealand stood near the shore in a sulk, apparently having been knocked out of the game.
“I’m-I’m really sorry Captain!” Liechtenstein flushed and looked to her bare feet, twiddling her toes in the sand.
America laughed out loud now, and England shoved him in the arm. “Shut up. She’s Switzerland’s sister. Are you really surprised her arm is that good?”
“The mighty Captain Kirkland,” America quipped, mock dramatically, “taken out by a preteen girl.”
England hmmphed and rolled his eyes, then smiled softly at Liechtenstein. “Don’t worry about it. Just make sure to aim for America next time instead of me.”
“Ah well, I wasn’t aiming for either of you,” she replied, pulling at the fabric of her swimsuit, embarrassed.
“Then aim for Prussia.”
“Prussia’s out,” Switzerland finally spoke, and he was smirking. England averted his eyes over to further down the beach, where Prussia was assisting Australia in last minute meal preparations. “First one to get out, actually.”
“I imagine you made sure of that, Switzerland,” England said.
Switzerland just shrugged. “That’s why we sent him after you two, because he was already done with the game.”
“Switzerland cheated!” Prussia yelled from where he was standing next to Australia. “He totally had it out for me!”
“Aiming at my target and hitting it does not constitute cheating,” he snapped back, gritting his teeth.
“But did you have to hit me in the face?”
“You’re injured. I knew hitting you there wouldn’t affect your wounds.”
“Lame excuse, Switzerland.”
England sighed and rubbed his forehead, then cursed inwardly that Switzerland just had to knock Prussia out so early. If he hadn’t, perhaps he wouldn’t have interrupted him and America and…
His cheeks grew hot. Never mind, it was good that he did. America had said himself that his actions didn’t mean anything after all. And the idea of doing something that meant nothing with America left him feeling hollow and just a little bit queasy.
England shifted his eyes to America, who was still standing next to him, then quickly flitted them back away. He had been imagining the other man’s actions to be something they weren’t. America embracing him, America’s hand on his, America holding his shoulders.
America shifting his hold on England’s shoulders, his blue eyes flickering behind the frames of his glasses, and then leaning forward and…
He clenched his eyes shut, scarlet flush spreading across the rest of his face. That hadn’t happened. Where had that even come from?
Shaking his head, he glanced beside him again, but America wasn’t there. In the moments England had been caught up in his reverie, America had slipped away and was now chatting animatedly with Australia and Prussia.
What in the blazes is wrong with me? He walked over to Australia, observing the recommenced dodgeball game on the way. Romano was out now, and it was just Spain versus Switzerland and Liechtenstein. Prussia had just left Australia’s side and was now cheering Spain on, although England knew it was only a matter of time before Switzerland gained his victory.
Australia gave him a wave and a greeting as he approached. England nodded in return. The other man was flipping patties of grilled meat onto a large plate. The fire pit he cooked over was scorching and the flames rose high, and England kept his distance, not liking the heat combined with the already substantial sweltering weather provided by the tropical climate. Around the fire pit were several logs, and that’s where they sat and ate every night on the island.
“This is cool,” America said, relaxing on one of the logs with a glass of juice in hand. “It’s kind of like camping.”
Australia grinned. “Glad you’re having fun, mate.”
America watched the crackling fire. “We should have s’mores.”
England scoffed. “For Christ’s sake America, we’re on a remote island in the--- “
“Actually, I’ve got a Dutch oven I can cook up some cobbler in, but no marshmallows, sorry,” Australia chuckled. He went back to his cooking.
America tentatively patted the log next to him and gestured toward England. “Sit down.”
England poured himself a glass of juice from atop the small table Australia had set up, and slid down onto the log next to America. “What?”
“S’nothing.” America shrugged, sipping his drink absently. “Just figured you’d stand over there by yourself until someone invited you to sit down with them.”
“Is that a problem?” England furrowed his eyebrows.
America glanced down to the glass in his hands. “No it just… it’s annoying to have to look over and see you all pissy and sulky over there.”
“I wasn’t pissy!”
“I also umm…” America’s voice lowered and he stirred his drink with his finger. “I kind of thought that you seem to spend a lot of time alone, don’t you?”
“Well yes, but…” England bit his lip. “But don’t misunderstand. It’s by choice that I do that.”
“I figured as much.”
“Well then what does it matter?”
America sighed. He averted his eyes to the sky and so did England. The sun was beginning to set on the island, golden yellows melting into deep orange and bright crimson, all reflected upon the surface of the almost unbelievably blue ocean. “I dunno. It just kind of… bugs me.”
“O-oh… I see.”
He felt a tap on his back and swiftly turned around to see Australia smiling down at him. “Food’s ready, England.”
“Right then.” England shook his head and pushed himself off the log, coaxing America to join him and serving himself a plate of food from the small table. America followed and did the same. Australia yelled at the rest of the crew to come over, and they flocked to the table behind America and England.
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Dinner was a rowdy affair, as usual with the crew of the Victoria. Prussia vociferously told stories, Switzerland snapped at him, Romano yelled any time Spain looked at him funny, Sealand was cheeky, Liechtenstein was giggly, Australia was boisterous, and America also laughed and contributed quite often.
England was quiet though, concentrating on the food on his plate as opposed to America sitting right next to him. He found that it was probably in his best interest to think of everything but America. But a thought did strike him, and he turned to ask him a question. “America?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you need to radio the base? You forgot last time so…”
“Nah,” America replied, waving the query away with his hand. “They know I won’t be back tonight.”
At this England’s eyes widened. “What?”
America flushed and scratched the back of his head. “I mean it’s a long journey, and I can’t exactly head back tonight so…”
“You planned on staying?” he dared to ask.
America let out a nervous laugh. “Don’t worry I have a duffel bag of stuff, so it’s no big deal. I had one with me from a umm… previous mission, yeah.”
“Of course,” England agreed, although he found America’s argument unconvincing. “Well there’s a cabin on the ship for you, as you know.”
America grinned, slightly lopsided, very adorable (England berated himself for that addition). He looked away with a blush, instead focusing his eyes on the ocean. By now the sun had set, although the moon and the fire provided plenty of light. The tide had risen, taking Switzerland and Liechtenstein’s sandcastle with it as the waters lapped gently against the beach. With the other man beside him, despite the ruckus provided by the rest of the crew, he felt… peaceful. It was strange.
“Awesome,” America finally replied.
England realized that everyone else had long since finished their meals, the plates piled high on the table. He was the only one who still idly picked at it. He took a few bites to finish it off, then walked over to place it on the table, rejoining America after he did so.
After everyone had enjoyed a plate of the cobbler Australia had promised, he motioned everyone to be quiet and moved his own log closer to the fire, prodding it with a large stick. “’Right mates, thought we might continue this party.”
“With alcohol?” Prussia quipped.
“You know where I keep the beer,” Australia chortled. “Feel free to break it out.” Prussia and Spain returned, holding a large bucket of ice filled with beer bottles, less than a minute later. “Didn’t waste time, you two.”
Spain began passing them around, ignoring Sealand’s request for one and snatching him a bottle of soda instead.
“So what are we doing?” Spain inquired as he sat back down, all of the adults now provided with a drink.
“I’ve got a tale to tell. Thought the kids might enjoy a good scary story,” Australia began, and the firelight flickered over his face rather appropriately. Next to England, America stiffened noticeably.
“Aw-awesome idea!” America stuttered, which bewildered England. “I’m a hero, so bring it on.”
“Easy on, America,” Australia countered. “Anyway, this one is about the deathbirds and that live on this very island.”
“Deathbirds?” America bit his lip, fear flashing in his eyes. England gave him a reproachful look. Surely he was jesting, the story hadn’t even begun. But he did recall the first night he’d met America. “Oh good. I was so afraid you were a ghost!”
Well, that whole scene made a lot more sense to him now.
“You can hear them cryin’ right now, really.” Australia pointed to the forest, from which indeed, a rather mournful chorus of bird calls emitted. “And every night, they’re out. There’s hundreds of them on this island.”
England felt pressure on his arm, and looked down to see that America had grasped it. “Honestly,” he chided. America just looked at him, a sheepish smile on his face.
“Well they’re not just birds, they’re messengers,” Australia continued. “Those aren’t bird calls you’re hearing, they’re cries. And every time one of them cries it means someone has…”
“AHHHHH!” America jumped and clung unto England tighter, now burying his face in his shoulder.
The rest of the crew just blinked. “You’re joking, right?” Prussia snickered.
“S-shut up, it’s scary!” America argued feebly. England really tried his damndest to shove America off in frustration, but the truth was that the hitherto almost fearless man clinging to him as if it were the end of the world (over a silly ghost story no less), was almost… endearing. And he knew his face must have been red as a beet at America’s close contact. He looked pitiful, his eyes wide and his glasses askew from crashing into England. His mouth had formed into a perpetual pout.
“Going on then?” Australia chuckled. “Well yes, when one of them cries it means someone has died.” America made a noise again, which Australia ignored. “But here’s what makes it really frightening.” His eyes flickered in the firelight. “These birds don’t just go crying about because someone has died.” He paused. “They make that noise because the souls of the dead possess the birds before passing onto the next world. And for just a moment…” Australia held up his finger. “The dead suffer one more cry of pain, such pain, can you hear it now?” Another bird called. “Not something I’m looking forward to when I die, mind you.”
America was now holding onto England so tightly that he was concerned about the circulation in his arm. When another bird’s call came from the forest, his grip only strengthened.
“That’s lame,” Sealand said, and Liechtenstein shyly nodded in agreement.
“Ha! I bet you’ll all have nightmares tonight,” America argued, his voice shaking.
“Highly doubt it,” Romano snorted.
“Just you watch!” he protested. “If a hero is scared by this story, then you all must be terrified!”
“I can tell another one?” Australia cocked an eyebrow.
“Possibly not the best idea,” England replied. America was against his shoulder, shaking his head in the negative. He rolled his eyes, but unthinkingly, he stroked his hand through America’s hair.
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America required that England accompany him to his plane in order to retrieve his duffel bag, which he groused about, but did nonetheless. And with every step and every noise; a wave crashing against the shore, the breaking of a twig, the rustling of leaves, America would flinch, squeak, or jump. It was… absolutely ridiculous.
“How can a trained military captain be so scared of a meager ghost story?” England asked as they walked back to the ship for the night, America’s duffel bag slung over the his own back. He considered that perhaps the other man was faking it, but if he were, he was a damn good actor. And well, he had expressed fear of ghosts the first night they’d met. When they’d gone to retrieve the bag together, Prussia (who was downing beers with Spain), had quipped that he’d done it to get ‘closer to England.’ Embarrassing, but not surprising, coming from Prussia.
America frowned. “It was really scary!”
They boarded the ship. “I have to admit, I’m astonished,” England said. America cocked his head at him. “I mean, you act like you aren’t afraid of anything, to the point of being extremely stupid.”
America shuffled his feet back and forth on the deck. “I’m afraid of… things.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the big deal?”
England sighed. “It’s more that you’re actually showing it, and in such an… extravagant manner.”
America shrugged. “Scary stories are my weakness, I guess.” He grinned weakly. “Even someone as great as I am has one of those.”
England actually chuckled at this. “You’re preposterous, you know?”
America was still jumping at every sudden sound, and England could hear Prussia and Spain on the beach, loudly singing, their drunken songs having little to no lyrical or rhythmic coherency.
Silence lapsed, and England noticed that America had stopped walking.
“Hey England,” he finally spoke.
“Yes?”
“Can you umm…” And his cheeks were redder than England had ever seen them. “Would you mind staying in my bedroom until I fall asleep?”
“What?” England’s green eyes grew large and he flushed. “W-w-what are you implying?”
America blinked, oblivious. “I just know I won’t be able to get to sleep! Every time I get scared, I just sit in bed staring at shadows and…”
“All right,” England agreed. “If you’re pathetic enough to need that, there’s no real reason for me not to do it.”
He frowned. “Not pathetic…”
He’d started walking again, and now they were making their way down the stairs into the lower ship.
“How is that not pathetic?”
America gritted his teeth at that. “What’s worse, wanting someone by your side as you go to sleep, or isolating yourself from everyone all the time?”
England blinked, taken aback. “It’s…” He was surprised that America, in his panicked state, had managed something so sensical. He pushed open the door to the cabin the pilot would be staying in. “It’s not at all true that the two situations are alike.” America toed off his shoes and plopped down onto the bed, slipping the covers over him and nuzzling into the pillow. He threw his duffel bag onto the floor. “You must be tired.” He nodded and patted a free space on the edge of the bed. “Well I was going to sit in a chair but…”
America yawned. “You’re not allowed to leave until I’m definitely asleep.”
“All right.” This was insane, England thought. But America, who had just removed his glasses and placed them on the night table, who was now rubbing his eyes and then tucking the comforter up underneath his chin, was… difficult to resist. He’d already accepted that he thought America was attractive, but he now was having to come to terms, and had been for the entire evening, with how strangely endearing he was.
He glanced warmly at America, secretly hoping that the other man would see the gentle way in which he looked at him. But he was already asleep; England’s presence alone apparently was enough. Asleep he looked naïve, vulnerable, and young, the bravado that sustained him when he was conscious stripped away. It was like seeing inside him, seeing who he really was. Tenderly, with a feather light touch, he stroked America’s cheek. He watched him, not once moving to leave, ignoring the way his eyelids grew heavy with sleep.
He felt something surge up within him, bubbling to the surface, no matter how hard he tried to push it down.
And at that moment, America’s peaceful face contorted into something else, a frown and his eyes clenched shut and he made a noise, obviously one of fear. A nightmare? Then he reached up, grabbing for whatever was closest.
It was England, who was rather unceremoniously yanked down into the bed with America. He struggled to pull away, but the other man’s grip on him was firm. America’s arms were wrapped around his center and his face was nuzzling his back. “A-America, I can’t!” His cheeks bloomed scarlet.
“Stay,” America murmured against his back, and England wasn’t sure if the other man was asleep or awake. “Don’t leave. It’s dark… and I hate being alone.”
He must have been asleep, but England didn’t have the heart to try and pull out of his arms again. It was pitiful and all a bit tragic, the hero’s weak point, and he found that it… just made him grow fonder of him.
England relaxed, running his hands over America’s and speaking in a soothing voice. “I won’t leave you America. I’ll stay here tonight.”
He felt America nod, and England listened to the rhythm of his breathing, the soft puffs of air against his back being the only sound in the room outside his own breaths. It was a soothing noise, an unfamiliar noise, his own breathing in tandem with another person’s. Someone else’s arms encircling him, holding him because his, England’s presence, was what they needed.
“Thanks…” America loosened his grip, but still held the other man. “Thanks, England.”
And that something that was bubbling to the surface within England burst.
It was mad really, and he hadn’t the slightest idea if he even had a chance, but England realized that perhaps, he was rather in love with America.
He groaned. Prussia had been right all along.
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano, Belarus---->Russia. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3.122
Summary: Ace Pilot America is on a mission for the World Military when a chance encounter with a group of Sky-Pirates leads him to team up with their captain, England, against a malevolent group that wants to fill the sky with zeppelins. [USxUK- Steampunk AU]
Chapter Summary: England sighed and rubbed his forehead, then cursed inwardly that Switzerland just had to knock Prussia out so early. If he hadn’t, perhaps he wouldn’t have interrupted him and America and…
His cheeks grew hot. Never mind, it was good that he did. America had said himself that his actions didn’t mean anything after all. And the idea of doing something that meant nothing with the aviator left him feeling hollow and just a little bit queasy.
Author's Note: Something big happens in this chapter. ;) And sorry for the slightly late update. I was going to update earlier, but I ended up writing To the Moon and Beyond and that needed to be done by a deadline.
The last thing England expected when he returned to the beachfront was to be nearly knocked over, breath momentarily leaving him, as a ball came out of nowhere to hit him soundly in the stomach.
Then again it was not every day that the crew of the Victoria played dodgeball either. And that was exactly what greeted America and England when they stepped back onto the beach. Well that and the unexpected smack in the abdomen. He could hear America stifling laughter, and he grumbled.
“Now who the hell threw that?” England clenched the ball between his hands and stomped toward his crew. Spain and Romano were on one side of a line drawn in the sand, and Switzerland and Liechtenstein were on the other. Sealand stood near the shore in a sulk, apparently having been knocked out of the game.
“I’m-I’m really sorry Captain!” Liechtenstein flushed and looked to her bare feet, twiddling her toes in the sand.
America laughed out loud now, and England shoved him in the arm. “Shut up. She’s Switzerland’s sister. Are you really surprised her arm is that good?”
“The mighty Captain Kirkland,” America quipped, mock dramatically, “taken out by a preteen girl.”
England hmmphed and rolled his eyes, then smiled softly at Liechtenstein. “Don’t worry about it. Just make sure to aim for America next time instead of me.”
“Ah well, I wasn’t aiming for either of you,” she replied, pulling at the fabric of her swimsuit, embarrassed.
“Then aim for Prussia.”
“Prussia’s out,” Switzerland finally spoke, and he was smirking. England averted his eyes over to further down the beach, where Prussia was assisting Australia in last minute meal preparations. “First one to get out, actually.”
“I imagine you made sure of that, Switzerland,” England said.
Switzerland just shrugged. “That’s why we sent him after you two, because he was already done with the game.”
“Switzerland cheated!” Prussia yelled from where he was standing next to Australia. “He totally had it out for me!”
“Aiming at my target and hitting it does not constitute cheating,” he snapped back, gritting his teeth.
“But did you have to hit me in the face?”
“You’re injured. I knew hitting you there wouldn’t affect your wounds.”
“Lame excuse, Switzerland.”
England sighed and rubbed his forehead, then cursed inwardly that Switzerland just had to knock Prussia out so early. If he hadn’t, perhaps he wouldn’t have interrupted him and America and…
His cheeks grew hot. Never mind, it was good that he did. America had said himself that his actions didn’t mean anything after all. And the idea of doing something that meant nothing with America left him feeling hollow and just a little bit queasy.
England shifted his eyes to America, who was still standing next to him, then quickly flitted them back away. He had been imagining the other man’s actions to be something they weren’t. America embracing him, America’s hand on his, America holding his shoulders.
America shifting his hold on England’s shoulders, his blue eyes flickering behind the frames of his glasses, and then leaning forward and…
He clenched his eyes shut, scarlet flush spreading across the rest of his face. That hadn’t happened. Where had that even come from?
Shaking his head, he glanced beside him again, but America wasn’t there. In the moments England had been caught up in his reverie, America had slipped away and was now chatting animatedly with Australia and Prussia.
What in the blazes is wrong with me? He walked over to Australia, observing the recommenced dodgeball game on the way. Romano was out now, and it was just Spain versus Switzerland and Liechtenstein. Prussia had just left Australia’s side and was now cheering Spain on, although England knew it was only a matter of time before Switzerland gained his victory.
Australia gave him a wave and a greeting as he approached. England nodded in return. The other man was flipping patties of grilled meat onto a large plate. The fire pit he cooked over was scorching and the flames rose high, and England kept his distance, not liking the heat combined with the already substantial sweltering weather provided by the tropical climate. Around the fire pit were several logs, and that’s where they sat and ate every night on the island.
“This is cool,” America said, relaxing on one of the logs with a glass of juice in hand. “It’s kind of like camping.”
Australia grinned. “Glad you’re having fun, mate.”
America watched the crackling fire. “We should have s’mores.”
England scoffed. “For Christ’s sake America, we’re on a remote island in the--- “
“Actually, I’ve got a Dutch oven I can cook up some cobbler in, but no marshmallows, sorry,” Australia chuckled. He went back to his cooking.
America tentatively patted the log next to him and gestured toward England. “Sit down.”
England poured himself a glass of juice from atop the small table Australia had set up, and slid down onto the log next to America. “What?”
“S’nothing.” America shrugged, sipping his drink absently. “Just figured you’d stand over there by yourself until someone invited you to sit down with them.”
“Is that a problem?” England furrowed his eyebrows.
America glanced down to the glass in his hands. “No it just… it’s annoying to have to look over and see you all pissy and sulky over there.”
“I wasn’t pissy!”
“I also umm…” America’s voice lowered and he stirred his drink with his finger. “I kind of thought that you seem to spend a lot of time alone, don’t you?”
“Well yes, but…” England bit his lip. “But don’t misunderstand. It’s by choice that I do that.”
“I figured as much.”
“Well then what does it matter?”
America sighed. He averted his eyes to the sky and so did England. The sun was beginning to set on the island, golden yellows melting into deep orange and bright crimson, all reflected upon the surface of the almost unbelievably blue ocean. “I dunno. It just kind of… bugs me.”
“O-oh… I see.”
He felt a tap on his back and swiftly turned around to see Australia smiling down at him. “Food’s ready, England.”
“Right then.” England shook his head and pushed himself off the log, coaxing America to join him and serving himself a plate of food from the small table. America followed and did the same. Australia yelled at the rest of the crew to come over, and they flocked to the table behind America and England.
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Dinner was a rowdy affair, as usual with the crew of the Victoria. Prussia vociferously told stories, Switzerland snapped at him, Romano yelled any time Spain looked at him funny, Sealand was cheeky, Liechtenstein was giggly, Australia was boisterous, and America also laughed and contributed quite often.
England was quiet though, concentrating on the food on his plate as opposed to America sitting right next to him. He found that it was probably in his best interest to think of everything but America. But a thought did strike him, and he turned to ask him a question. “America?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you need to radio the base? You forgot last time so…”
“Nah,” America replied, waving the query away with his hand. “They know I won’t be back tonight.”
At this England’s eyes widened. “What?”
America flushed and scratched the back of his head. “I mean it’s a long journey, and I can’t exactly head back tonight so…”
“You planned on staying?” he dared to ask.
America let out a nervous laugh. “Don’t worry I have a duffel bag of stuff, so it’s no big deal. I had one with me from a umm… previous mission, yeah.”
“Of course,” England agreed, although he found America’s argument unconvincing. “Well there’s a cabin on the ship for you, as you know.”
America grinned, slightly lopsided, very adorable (England berated himself for that addition). He looked away with a blush, instead focusing his eyes on the ocean. By now the sun had set, although the moon and the fire provided plenty of light. The tide had risen, taking Switzerland and Liechtenstein’s sandcastle with it as the waters lapped gently against the beach. With the other man beside him, despite the ruckus provided by the rest of the crew, he felt… peaceful. It was strange.
“Awesome,” America finally replied.
England realized that everyone else had long since finished their meals, the plates piled high on the table. He was the only one who still idly picked at it. He took a few bites to finish it off, then walked over to place it on the table, rejoining America after he did so.
After everyone had enjoyed a plate of the cobbler Australia had promised, he motioned everyone to be quiet and moved his own log closer to the fire, prodding it with a large stick. “’Right mates, thought we might continue this party.”
“With alcohol?” Prussia quipped.
“You know where I keep the beer,” Australia chortled. “Feel free to break it out.” Prussia and Spain returned, holding a large bucket of ice filled with beer bottles, less than a minute later. “Didn’t waste time, you two.”
Spain began passing them around, ignoring Sealand’s request for one and snatching him a bottle of soda instead.
“So what are we doing?” Spain inquired as he sat back down, all of the adults now provided with a drink.
“I’ve got a tale to tell. Thought the kids might enjoy a good scary story,” Australia began, and the firelight flickered over his face rather appropriately. Next to England, America stiffened noticeably.
“Aw-awesome idea!” America stuttered, which bewildered England. “I’m a hero, so bring it on.”
“Easy on, America,” Australia countered. “Anyway, this one is about the deathbirds and that live on this very island.”
“Deathbirds?” America bit his lip, fear flashing in his eyes. England gave him a reproachful look. Surely he was jesting, the story hadn’t even begun. But he did recall the first night he’d met America. “Oh good. I was so afraid you were a ghost!”
Well, that whole scene made a lot more sense to him now.
“You can hear them cryin’ right now, really.” Australia pointed to the forest, from which indeed, a rather mournful chorus of bird calls emitted. “And every night, they’re out. There’s hundreds of them on this island.”
England felt pressure on his arm, and looked down to see that America had grasped it. “Honestly,” he chided. America just looked at him, a sheepish smile on his face.
“Well they’re not just birds, they’re messengers,” Australia continued. “Those aren’t bird calls you’re hearing, they’re cries. And every time one of them cries it means someone has…”
“AHHHHH!” America jumped and clung unto England tighter, now burying his face in his shoulder.
The rest of the crew just blinked. “You’re joking, right?” Prussia snickered.
“S-shut up, it’s scary!” America argued feebly. England really tried his damndest to shove America off in frustration, but the truth was that the hitherto almost fearless man clinging to him as if it were the end of the world (over a silly ghost story no less), was almost… endearing. And he knew his face must have been red as a beet at America’s close contact. He looked pitiful, his eyes wide and his glasses askew from crashing into England. His mouth had formed into a perpetual pout.
“Going on then?” Australia chuckled. “Well yes, when one of them cries it means someone has died.” America made a noise again, which Australia ignored. “But here’s what makes it really frightening.” His eyes flickered in the firelight. “These birds don’t just go crying about because someone has died.” He paused. “They make that noise because the souls of the dead possess the birds before passing onto the next world. And for just a moment…” Australia held up his finger. “The dead suffer one more cry of pain, such pain, can you hear it now?” Another bird called. “Not something I’m looking forward to when I die, mind you.”
America was now holding onto England so tightly that he was concerned about the circulation in his arm. When another bird’s call came from the forest, his grip only strengthened.
“That’s lame,” Sealand said, and Liechtenstein shyly nodded in agreement.
“Ha! I bet you’ll all have nightmares tonight,” America argued, his voice shaking.
“Highly doubt it,” Romano snorted.
“Just you watch!” he protested. “If a hero is scared by this story, then you all must be terrified!”
“I can tell another one?” Australia cocked an eyebrow.
“Possibly not the best idea,” England replied. America was against his shoulder, shaking his head in the negative. He rolled his eyes, but unthinkingly, he stroked his hand through America’s hair.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
America required that England accompany him to his plane in order to retrieve his duffel bag, which he groused about, but did nonetheless. And with every step and every noise; a wave crashing against the shore, the breaking of a twig, the rustling of leaves, America would flinch, squeak, or jump. It was… absolutely ridiculous.
“How can a trained military captain be so scared of a meager ghost story?” England asked as they walked back to the ship for the night, America’s duffel bag slung over the his own back. He considered that perhaps the other man was faking it, but if he were, he was a damn good actor. And well, he had expressed fear of ghosts the first night they’d met. When they’d gone to retrieve the bag together, Prussia (who was downing beers with Spain), had quipped that he’d done it to get ‘closer to England.’ Embarrassing, but not surprising, coming from Prussia.
America frowned. “It was really scary!”
They boarded the ship. “I have to admit, I’m astonished,” England said. America cocked his head at him. “I mean, you act like you aren’t afraid of anything, to the point of being extremely stupid.”
America shuffled his feet back and forth on the deck. “I’m afraid of… things.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the big deal?”
England sighed. “It’s more that you’re actually showing it, and in such an… extravagant manner.”
America shrugged. “Scary stories are my weakness, I guess.” He grinned weakly. “Even someone as great as I am has one of those.”
England actually chuckled at this. “You’re preposterous, you know?”
America was still jumping at every sudden sound, and England could hear Prussia and Spain on the beach, loudly singing, their drunken songs having little to no lyrical or rhythmic coherency.
Silence lapsed, and England noticed that America had stopped walking.
“Hey England,” he finally spoke.
“Yes?”
“Can you umm…” And his cheeks were redder than England had ever seen them. “Would you mind staying in my bedroom until I fall asleep?”
“What?” England’s green eyes grew large and he flushed. “W-w-what are you implying?”
America blinked, oblivious. “I just know I won’t be able to get to sleep! Every time I get scared, I just sit in bed staring at shadows and…”
“All right,” England agreed. “If you’re pathetic enough to need that, there’s no real reason for me not to do it.”
He frowned. “Not pathetic…”
He’d started walking again, and now they were making their way down the stairs into the lower ship.
“How is that not pathetic?”
America gritted his teeth at that. “What’s worse, wanting someone by your side as you go to sleep, or isolating yourself from everyone all the time?”
England blinked, taken aback. “It’s…” He was surprised that America, in his panicked state, had managed something so sensical. He pushed open the door to the cabin the pilot would be staying in. “It’s not at all true that the two situations are alike.” America toed off his shoes and plopped down onto the bed, slipping the covers over him and nuzzling into the pillow. He threw his duffel bag onto the floor. “You must be tired.” He nodded and patted a free space on the edge of the bed. “Well I was going to sit in a chair but…”
America yawned. “You’re not allowed to leave until I’m definitely asleep.”
“All right.” This was insane, England thought. But America, who had just removed his glasses and placed them on the night table, who was now rubbing his eyes and then tucking the comforter up underneath his chin, was… difficult to resist. He’d already accepted that he thought America was attractive, but he now was having to come to terms, and had been for the entire evening, with how strangely endearing he was.
He glanced warmly at America, secretly hoping that the other man would see the gentle way in which he looked at him. But he was already asleep; England’s presence alone apparently was enough. Asleep he looked naïve, vulnerable, and young, the bravado that sustained him when he was conscious stripped away. It was like seeing inside him, seeing who he really was. Tenderly, with a feather light touch, he stroked America’s cheek. He watched him, not once moving to leave, ignoring the way his eyelids grew heavy with sleep.
He felt something surge up within him, bubbling to the surface, no matter how hard he tried to push it down.
And at that moment, America’s peaceful face contorted into something else, a frown and his eyes clenched shut and he made a noise, obviously one of fear. A nightmare? Then he reached up, grabbing for whatever was closest.
It was England, who was rather unceremoniously yanked down into the bed with America. He struggled to pull away, but the other man’s grip on him was firm. America’s arms were wrapped around his center and his face was nuzzling his back. “A-America, I can’t!” His cheeks bloomed scarlet.
“Stay,” America murmured against his back, and England wasn’t sure if the other man was asleep or awake. “Don’t leave. It’s dark… and I hate being alone.”
He must have been asleep, but England didn’t have the heart to try and pull out of his arms again. It was pitiful and all a bit tragic, the hero’s weak point, and he found that it… just made him grow fonder of him.
England relaxed, running his hands over America’s and speaking in a soothing voice. “I won’t leave you America. I’ll stay here tonight.”
He felt America nod, and England listened to the rhythm of his breathing, the soft puffs of air against his back being the only sound in the room outside his own breaths. It was a soothing noise, an unfamiliar noise, his own breathing in tandem with another person’s. Someone else’s arms encircling him, holding him because his, England’s presence, was what they needed.
“Thanks…” America loosened his grip, but still held the other man. “Thanks, England.”
And that something that was bubbling to the surface within England burst.
It was mad really, and he hadn’t the slightest idea if he even had a chance, but England realized that perhaps, he was rather in love with America.
He groaned. Prussia had been right all along.