[Fanfic100 Prompt][25 Fluffy Fics][Hetalia] "Afraid of the Dark"
Title: "Afraid of the Dark"
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character: America (aka Alfred F. Jones)
Prompt: #74 Dark @ fanfic100, 13. Nightmare @ 25FluffyFics
Word Count: 1,267
Rating: PG
Summary: America has never liked the dark.
A/N: Not sure how I feel about this one... I may rewrite it at a later date...
Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me.
Sometime in the late 17th Century...
America always felt that it got dark too soon in the winter. The days were never long enough for exploring and everyone always went to sleep not long after the sun went down. There was little for the young boy to do by try to do his studies by firelight and candlelight, and when he gave up on that enterprise to play with his toys. He loved to play with the soldiers his big brother had brought him once.
There was never any sound to disturb him on those long winter nights. The white, falling flakes would muffle all sounds, nature itself fully asleep in the winter cold. America never liked the silence of winter either, he wished others were there to keep him company. Silence caused the mind to wander. The fire and the candles’ light was tricky too. It would throw the shadows of his toy soldiers up onto the walls, huge phantoms that scared America sometimes. If he was too absorbed in his game, those specters on the wall would give him pause. He did not like ghosts, and the flickering shadows made winter seem full of them. Bad guys lived in the darkness. When America would catch one of the shadows out of the corner of his eye it would make him stay stock still, his runaway heartbeat his only companion on a lonely winter night.
The town that he lived in had a thief that was causing trouble for travelers and the town. As much as America loved his home on the edge of the frontier, he also knew how vulnerable it was. At night he felt the most vulnerable, that at any moment a bad guy would come out of the blackness.
One night as America sat playing he heard something out in the snow. Someone was walking, steady footsteps crunched in the snow. He froze, listening to the noise. No one had a reason for visiting him at this hour, in this much cold. It must be a bad guy or a ghost. He darted from the flickering light of the candle and the dim glow of the dying fire in the hearth to a dark space near one of the many bookshelves. America pulled himself as close to the shadows as he could get. He closed his eyes and wished that he was bigger. America wished to be able to protect himself, to be able to fight the ghosts and the bad guys.
The footsteps stopped and his door opened slowly throwing starlight across the floor. It was a clear night and whoever it was had not brought a lantern. The snowflakes drifted in with the invader, melting in the dying embers of the fire. America could hear the intruder knocking the snow off his boots on the door frame. The stranger stayed hunched against the cold as he went to the fire to try and will it back to life. The flaring light made the man seem huge, throwing a huge phantom shadow on the wall. America stayed in his hiding place, knowing he was too small still to fight. America did not like this feeling, the feeling of being alone in the dark with an enemy. One day he would be big enough, to protect himself and anyone else, he promised himself in silence. America closed his eyes and shrank as tightly as he could into his corner. He prayed that he would not be found, that the invader would warm himself and then leave.
America gasped as hands grabbed him pulling him out of his safe place. He lashed out at his attacker trying to break free.
“America! What is wrong with you! Settle down, lad!”
“England?” America opened his eyes and saw his big brother’s face. The fire had been stoked and had chased the shadows out, the room was now filled with light. Tears came to his eyes as he took in the familiar face of his guardian. He threw his arms around the older nation’s middle and cried silently in relief. Warm arms wrapped around him and a hand soothingly patted his head.
“There’s no need to be afraid of the dark America.”
“But, there are bad things in the dark. I don’t want them to get me.”
“You don’t have to be scared, I’m here. I’ll always bring a light for you.”
America buried his face into England’s shirt, and indeed, he wasn’t scared anymore.
Many, many years later...
The darkness was different now, the world was almost never dark. The darkness was no longer literal, it was metaphorical. America hadn’t bothered to turn on the light in his house as the sun went down. Too early, like it always did in winter. He had tried to be productive with work, but quickly abandoned it. He allowed himself to be distracted by his latest video game.
It was when he had grown bored that he realized the literal darkness had crept in around him. Age and experience had not dulled his fear, if anything it made it more acute. Bad guys still came from the darkness, real enemies, ones with knives or guns or bombs to try and destroy him. There was always that crippling fear that they would come for him in his own house, in fact they had come close. He had been caught off guard by the creeping darkness and it froze his heart, it paralyzed him. America could do nothing but stare at the specters that car headlights cast on the wall through the windows. He silently hoped that no ghost from the past would come to haunt him. He hoped the real ghosts would not come to drag him into darkness. Perhaps he even deserved such a fate, but he tried to hold back the darkness with light for himself and for others.
America sat on the sofa, knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. The same as he had done as a little kid afraid of the dark. He jumped when he heard his front door open. He wasn’t expecting anyone, maybe the intruder would go away. He froze when a hand touched his shoulder. In reflex he grabbed the appendage and yanked his attacker over the back of the sofa into a pile on the floor. The thud had switched on the old clap-on lamp he had never thought to get rid of in the corner. As the soft light filled the room, chasing away the ghosts, he got a good look at his attacker. There was a familiar mop of blonde hair and green eyes set under thick eyebrows. He had seen this person just hours ago at the meeting.
“England?”
“Christ, America! What is wrong with you?” America released him from the carpet he had been smashing the other nation into and took a shaky breath. England glared at him for a moment, before taking in the younger man’s pale face. He gathered America up in his arms and held him. America wrapped his own arms around England.
“It’s you England... the dark... I’m sorry...”
“Idiot, you could turn on a lamp or something. Still being afraid of the dark at your age.” America laughed quietly into the other nation’s shirt. England understood, America had never seen it when he was younger but England was haunted by his own phantoms. Sometimes this was all they could do to chase them away. Turn on the lights, and hold the other one until they forgot.
They could always be the light in the other’s darkness.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character: America (aka Alfred F. Jones)
Prompt: #74 Dark @ fanfic100, 13. Nightmare @ 25FluffyFics
Word Count: 1,267
Rating: PG
Summary: America has never liked the dark.
A/N: Not sure how I feel about this one... I may rewrite it at a later date...
Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me.
Sometime in the late 17th Century...
America always felt that it got dark too soon in the winter. The days were never long enough for exploring and everyone always went to sleep not long after the sun went down. There was little for the young boy to do by try to do his studies by firelight and candlelight, and when he gave up on that enterprise to play with his toys. He loved to play with the soldiers his big brother had brought him once.
There was never any sound to disturb him on those long winter nights. The white, falling flakes would muffle all sounds, nature itself fully asleep in the winter cold. America never liked the silence of winter either, he wished others were there to keep him company. Silence caused the mind to wander. The fire and the candles’ light was tricky too. It would throw the shadows of his toy soldiers up onto the walls, huge phantoms that scared America sometimes. If he was too absorbed in his game, those specters on the wall would give him pause. He did not like ghosts, and the flickering shadows made winter seem full of them. Bad guys lived in the darkness. When America would catch one of the shadows out of the corner of his eye it would make him stay stock still, his runaway heartbeat his only companion on a lonely winter night.
The town that he lived in had a thief that was causing trouble for travelers and the town. As much as America loved his home on the edge of the frontier, he also knew how vulnerable it was. At night he felt the most vulnerable, that at any moment a bad guy would come out of the blackness.
One night as America sat playing he heard something out in the snow. Someone was walking, steady footsteps crunched in the snow. He froze, listening to the noise. No one had a reason for visiting him at this hour, in this much cold. It must be a bad guy or a ghost. He darted from the flickering light of the candle and the dim glow of the dying fire in the hearth to a dark space near one of the many bookshelves. America pulled himself as close to the shadows as he could get. He closed his eyes and wished that he was bigger. America wished to be able to protect himself, to be able to fight the ghosts and the bad guys.
The footsteps stopped and his door opened slowly throwing starlight across the floor. It was a clear night and whoever it was had not brought a lantern. The snowflakes drifted in with the invader, melting in the dying embers of the fire. America could hear the intruder knocking the snow off his boots on the door frame. The stranger stayed hunched against the cold as he went to the fire to try and will it back to life. The flaring light made the man seem huge, throwing a huge phantom shadow on the wall. America stayed in his hiding place, knowing he was too small still to fight. America did not like this feeling, the feeling of being alone in the dark with an enemy. One day he would be big enough, to protect himself and anyone else, he promised himself in silence. America closed his eyes and shrank as tightly as he could into his corner. He prayed that he would not be found, that the invader would warm himself and then leave.
America gasped as hands grabbed him pulling him out of his safe place. He lashed out at his attacker trying to break free.
“America! What is wrong with you! Settle down, lad!”
“England?” America opened his eyes and saw his big brother’s face. The fire had been stoked and had chased the shadows out, the room was now filled with light. Tears came to his eyes as he took in the familiar face of his guardian. He threw his arms around the older nation’s middle and cried silently in relief. Warm arms wrapped around him and a hand soothingly patted his head.
“There’s no need to be afraid of the dark America.”
“But, there are bad things in the dark. I don’t want them to get me.”
“You don’t have to be scared, I’m here. I’ll always bring a light for you.”
America buried his face into England’s shirt, and indeed, he wasn’t scared anymore.
Many, many years later...
The darkness was different now, the world was almost never dark. The darkness was no longer literal, it was metaphorical. America hadn’t bothered to turn on the light in his house as the sun went down. Too early, like it always did in winter. He had tried to be productive with work, but quickly abandoned it. He allowed himself to be distracted by his latest video game.
It was when he had grown bored that he realized the literal darkness had crept in around him. Age and experience had not dulled his fear, if anything it made it more acute. Bad guys still came from the darkness, real enemies, ones with knives or guns or bombs to try and destroy him. There was always that crippling fear that they would come for him in his own house, in fact they had come close. He had been caught off guard by the creeping darkness and it froze his heart, it paralyzed him. America could do nothing but stare at the specters that car headlights cast on the wall through the windows. He silently hoped that no ghost from the past would come to haunt him. He hoped the real ghosts would not come to drag him into darkness. Perhaps he even deserved such a fate, but he tried to hold back the darkness with light for himself and for others.
America sat on the sofa, knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. The same as he had done as a little kid afraid of the dark. He jumped when he heard his front door open. He wasn’t expecting anyone, maybe the intruder would go away. He froze when a hand touched his shoulder. In reflex he grabbed the appendage and yanked his attacker over the back of the sofa into a pile on the floor. The thud had switched on the old clap-on lamp he had never thought to get rid of in the corner. As the soft light filled the room, chasing away the ghosts, he got a good look at his attacker. There was a familiar mop of blonde hair and green eyes set under thick eyebrows. He had seen this person just hours ago at the meeting.
“England?”
“Christ, America! What is wrong with you?” America released him from the carpet he had been smashing the other nation into and took a shaky breath. England glared at him for a moment, before taking in the younger man’s pale face. He gathered America up in his arms and held him. America wrapped his own arms around England.
“It’s you England... the dark... I’m sorry...”
“Idiot, you could turn on a lamp or something. Still being afraid of the dark at your age.” America laughed quietly into the other nation’s shirt. England understood, America had never seen it when he was younger but England was haunted by his own phantoms. Sometimes this was all they could do to chase them away. Turn on the lights, and hold the other one until they forgot.
They could always be the light in the other’s darkness.