Archive of Our Own

It was a dark, yet beautiful night. The moon was full and alight, but that didn’t do much to light up the darkness. England was taking a nightly stroll through the big city of London. He did this almost every night, particularly after meetings with his politicians or other nations. He knew his way around town perfectly. It was his heart after all.

He walked through the dimly lit streets of his capital’s outskirts until he was suddenly grabbed by his coat and pulled into an alleyway. It was even darker there due to the absence of streetlights, but he could make out the silhouettes of at least 20 people. What he did see clearly however, was the face of the man who had pulled him into the dark alley. He looked like he had been in prison before with the many scars all over his face, or had at least been involved in many violent crimes. His clothes were ripped and dirty and he smelled even worse than France after having smoked one too many cigarettes.

“What do you want from me?” England asked the dangerous looking man with a frown.

The man grinned almost evilly, revealing yellow teeth that obviously hadn’t been brushed for quite some time. “You look like a rich guy.” He spoke up with a low voice. “Give us your money.”

“And why would I do that?” England responded bluntly, hoping to intimidate the thugs. He highly doubted it would truly be that easy to chase the gang off, however.

The scarface took a pistol with a silencer out of his ratty old coat and aimed it at the nation. “Because if you don’t, you’re gonna eat metal.”

“I am not afraid of you.” England spoke, glaring at the man.

“So you’re that kinda guy huh?” The scarfaced man said. He aimed and shot England’s leg. “I hate guys like you, always feelin’ all high and mighty, thinking they’re so bloody smart and so fuckin’ incredible.”

England clenched his teeth and tried not to scream out in pain. Blood oozed out of his leg, forming large red stains on his pantleg. The nation clutched his shot leg with gritted teeth. The pain was enormous, but bearable, just barely. The nation had been shot countless times before, but each time he would be caught by surprise by just how intense the pain could be. Even so, he didn’t want to give the thugs in front of him the pleasure of seeing him suffer.

“Trying to be brave huh?” The man spoke up again with another evil grin, the other punks in the dark alley laughing darkly. All of them seemed very proud of what they were doing, causing others harm. These people were at the very edge of society: poor, angry, and probably lonely too without realising it. What they were doing was very wrong, but England could not find it in his heart to hate them. Thugs like these, these outcasts were his people too and they had problems of their own they were trying to deal with, albeit in the completely wrong way.

“Ugh, you bloody bastard.” England uttered through his clenched teeth.

The scarface laughed. “Me? A bastard? You’re the damn bastard here for not handing over the goddamn money!”

“I don’t have any money on me you twat.” The Brit uttered, still holding onto his bleeding leg in the hopes of not losing too much blood. He was a nation, so he wouldn’t die from blood loss, but it could render him unconscious and thus defenceless.

“You liar!” The now angry scarface yelled.

“I’m not lying you git.”

“Yes you are you dirty bastard!” The man shouted and punched England in the face, sending an additional wave of pain through the nation. That man sure had a good punch for an underfed, poor criminal.

The Briton spat out some blood and looked the robber in the eyes. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Fire of anger burned in the man’s eyes as he hit him again. “Shut up!”

Provoking these thugs probably wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but England did not want to hit these people. No matter how crooked they were, they were still his people, so he did not want to hurt them. By provoking them, England hoped that they would get louder as their anger grew, and that somebody would then hear it and call the police. The nation was hopeful that these young men would then learn from their mistakes and realise that what they were doing was wrong, they still had a whole life ahead of them. These thoughts briefly made England wonder if he had gotten soft over the years.

England kept provoking the thugs, but unfortunately, nobody seemed to have heard the commotion. Either that, or they were too afraid to take action. The robbers continued beating England until he was black and blue, and covered in blood. After a while, one had pulled a knife and had stabbed the nation in his abdomen. This meant that England now had two blood gushing wounds to worry about, as well as a bloody nose. His two hands weren’t enough to stop the blood from pouring out and he could feel his consciousness starting to slowly fade. If he did faint, he certainly hoped the thugs wouldn’t take too much of what he had on him. He also didn’t feel like waking up covered in dried blood in a dark, cold alleyway.

Just as he was about to lose consciousness though, England could see a silhouette appearing in the corner of his eyes. Someone had finally noticed and decided to step in.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing!” the person shouted. Why did that voice sound so familiar?

The Briton could make out the blurry shapes of the thugs turning towards the silhouette. “Get out of here punk! This is none of your bloody business!” the leader grumbled irritated. “Snot-nosed brats like you should be in bed right now, so stay out of real men’s fuckin’ matters!”

“Real men? Real men don’t beat up innocent people, grow some balls.” The silhouette said calmly. England couldn’t help but be impressed by the man’s guts, although it was still immensely stupid to challenge twenty aggressive thugs. The guy should just call the police, they could handle this just fine. This stranger shouldn’t risk his own safety and possibly his very life to help someone he does not know.

However, England still couldn’t get rid of the voice at the back of his mind that was telling him that he knew this person somehow. His head was very fuzzy from the blood loss and the hits to the head he had received, and that made it next to impossible for him to put his finger on it.

Despite the obvious idiocy of his supposed saviour, England could not help but feel oddly safe knowing somebody had gathered the courage and gone out of their way to save him, or at least try to. How that came about despite the seemingly obvious outcome, he truly couldn’t tell. He tried to hold on to his last sliver of consciousness, however, because he did not want to be any more of a burden to his rescuer than necessary and wanted to make sure that person would be alright. It surprised him how concerned he was for this stranger’s wellbeing. Maybe it was connected to the fact his voice sounded so familiar to him.

In his dazed state, England could make out the obvious sounds of a big fight going on to his left where the mysterious man’s voice had come from. The dull thuds of punches hitting their target echoed to his fuzzy head, as well as muffled shouting but the words had already grown incomprehensible to him. The scuffle seemed to go on for an eternity before everything quietened down and the gravely injured nation felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

On instinct, England tensed, thinking it was one of the thugs at first. It would have been the most realistic conclusion, with them having to fight off just one single man that had been stupid enough to try to take them all on for the sake of some total stranger.

“Woah dude, relax. Those shitheads have been taken care of.” That familiar voice echoed through the fog currently taking up England’s head. It sounded so warm and comforting, as if it could lull him to sleep. Sleeping right now probably wasn’t a great idea though. He most definitely had a concussion from all the punches he’d had to endure.

The familiar silhouette seemed to notice him relaxing because he could just barely make out a relieved smile, though it was blurry just like everything else. “They got you real good huh? I haven’t seen you this battered in ages dude.” The person next to him muttered.

England could then feel a hand gently feeling his face and moving his hair, probably to check on his injuries. “Well, you ain’t gonna look pretty in a few hours, that’s for sure. Your face is going to look like a bunch of grapes… That bullet wound and stab wound look really nasty too. Carrying you to a hospital myself would probably just make you bleed out more and I don’t even know where the nearest hospital is. Better call an ambulance and try to stop the bleeding while we wait. Hang on a sec, I’ll call one up.”

As his saviour called the ambulance, England tried to figure out just who this person was. Normally this should be very easy, but those punches and the blood loss had really done a number on him, making it very hard to think. The man did say he hadn’t seen him like this in ages, so it had to be a fellow nation… but who?

If this turned out to be France then England swore he was going to bleach his eyes out later before drowning in shame… The lack of snide comments, however, reassured him that this would be a highly unlikely scenario. France would probably laugh at him too, for actually allowing himself to be beaten up so badly by a group of thugs like this.

Not that he could blame him, he would probably laugh at France too.

The warm voice shook him from his line of thought. “Hey, the ambulance and the police are heading this way okay, so try to hold on ‘till then. I’m gonna see if I can stop the bleeding.” He spoke and seemed to rummage around for something. Shortly after, a strong sting of pain shot up his leg and he let out a pained hiss.

“Shit! Sorry man, I put too much pressure on it!” the voice uttered flusteredly, clearly feeling bad for hurting him. England could feel some kind of cloth being pushed against his bullet wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The British nation soon felt another piece of cloth being pressed to the stab wound in his abdomen. There was a surprisingly large amount of pressure on both wounds, considering the person was using one hand for each wound, so it had to be a nation with a lot of strength.

England felt determined to try and at least give some kind of reaction to this person’s heroism, and to assure him that he was trying to stay awake. “S…’S fine….” He just barely managed to blurt out, making him cringe by just how weak he was right now. He felt quite embarrassed that a powerful, former empire like him had let himself be completely pummelled by a bunch of thugs. He really had gotten soft, hadn’t he? He’d refused to hurt his people, even if it was to protect himself, and now he was paying dearly for it.

There it was again, that relieved smile on his protector’s face, and that made the painful and embarrassing effort to try and speak totally worth it. “You finally said something, thank God… I was starting to wonder if you’d lost consciousness after all.”

“M…’m n-not…that w-weak…” England was able to bring past his lips in protest. Even while on the brink of consciousness and bleeding out from his thigh and abdomen, his pride was still going strong. No way was he going to just let people dote on him and think he was weak.

A gorgeous chuckle came from the person next to him. “Seriously? You could have been dead right now if you weren’t a nation and you still have your sass? I’ll take that as a good sign.” He spoke with amusement coating his voice. “You’re always telling me how ridiculous and stupid I am, but now I just might have to reverse the roles and give you a solid scolding instead. You could have easily kicked those guys’ asses, but you didn’t. Even if they’re your people, you should at least try to protect yourself. A few good punches to the face won’t kill ‘em.”

Someone he was always calling out for being ridiculous and stupid? That narrowed down his list of potential suspects, but it was still a long list. He called so many people that, because they just are…

One particular person suddenly popped up in his mind, but it couldn’t possibly be… right?

Despite supposedly being an idiot, the person currently tending to his injuries appeared to be rather observant, or at least right now. “You don’t seem to recognise me right now, huh? Otherwise you’d never be calm and submissive like this. You’d be trying to get away or convince me you’re totally fine or something similar for sure. You’re just kinda staring into nothingness too, so ya probably can’t see much, let alone think straight.” The other nation commented. “Let me try something then. Follow my finger.” He added as a very blurry finger (or were there three?) came into England’s field of vision or what was left of it. As the blurry shape started to move, the Briton tried his best to follow them with his eyes as accurately as possible.

“Oh yeah dude, you’re definitely not fine, your reaction’s totally off.” The soothing voice reacted as the pressure returned to his bullet wound that seemed to be bleeding the least. Apparently his eye movements hadn’t been as convincing as he’d thought.

After a few minutes of waiting, and with his saviour talking to him with his soothing, warm voice, the sounds of several sirens appeared and grew increasingly louder. “They’re almost there, England, just a bit longer.” The man to his left spoke.

Soon enough, the other nation started talking to what England assumed were paramedics and the police. He was too out of it to understand any of what they were saying, however. Not like it mattered much to him in that moment.

His protector talked to him again, and England could thankfully still make out what he was telling him because of how close to him he was. “Okay England, the paramedics are gonna apply some first aid and then take you to the hospital, ‘kay? So don’t get startled when you feel people touching you.”

As he could feel gloved hands touching him and opening his jacket to examine his stab wound, England felt a rare feeling of fear wash over him as it occurred to him that the person who had saved him and had been watching over him until now would probably leave as he was taken to hospital. It would also mean the Briton would probably never find out who it was that had so selflessly stepped in to help. England wasn’t exactly well-liked, he knew that very well, so having someone go out of his way like this and be so kind and genuinely worried for him was a rare occurrence. It was more comforting and meaningful to the British nation than he would like to admit. He wanted someone to stay with him and wanted to find out who had helped him so he could thank him properly. Maybe it might lead to a new friendship, something he had very few of.

The battered and borderline conscious nation tried moving his head to search for the familiar silhouette with his blurry vision. Because of how many people were crouching by him, however, he was unsuccessful in locating him and resorted to grasping around him instead, trying to find that warm and strong hand that had touched his shoulder and felt his face with such gentleness. This search didn’t work out either, because the paramedics kept trying to grasp his wrist to prevent him from moving as they tended to his injuries.

But then, there it was… That warm comforting hand took a hold of his and gave it a reassuring squeeze, letting him know he was there. “No worries, I won’t leave.”

It was rather embarrassing just how relieved England felt when he heard those words.

One of the paramedics spoke to him shortly after, informing him that they were going to lift him onto the stretcher. They thankfully managed to lift him onto it and secure him with the straps without making his wounds hurt too much. He was wheeled into the ambulance and was relieved when his saviour was allowed to ride the ambulance with him.

The trip to the hospital was a short one, and he was swiftly brought to the operating room, where he sadly had to part from the nation who had helped him, or at least for now.

“I’ll be waiting for you when you wake back up, okay?” the person spoke to him whilst giving his shoulder a soft pat. After giving him a weak nod, his silhouette left his blurry vision as he slowly lost consciousness from the anaesthesia. All that went through his mind as he slipped into complete darkness was the warm voice of the one who had kept him safe.

‘My hero…’
__________________________________________________________________________________

The next thing England could remember was growing aware of a dull pain in his abdomen and thigh. He was on painkillers for sure, but it seemed the dose could’ve been a bit higher. He always had been less responsive to painkillers than most.

His eyes slowly fluttered open, having to shut them again several times before getting used to the sunlight shining into the room. It seemed he had been out for a while.

Once he finally managed to open his eyes fully, or as much as he was able to with the big blueish bruises on his face, the former empire wasted no time examining his surroundings. Definitely a hospital room, he was in an individual room and was attached to both an IV with painkillers and a blood transfusion.

But one thing struck him almost straight away.

…

Where was the other nation that had protected him?

…

England felt weak for being so bothered by the fact that he woke up in his room by himself, but he really needed to know who had come to his aid. Was he never going to find out now? Did this person not care that much after all and had just stepped in out of obligation or pity?

But he had promised to be there when he woke up…

“I guess I am alone once again…” England muttered dejectedly, still a little drowsy from the anaesthesia.

“For someone known for his stiff upper lip you sure are a drama queen sometimes.” A voice broke the silence.

England’s heart fluttered at the familiar sound. It was the voice! The one who had selflessly stepped in and saved him, who had helped to treat his wounds and had made him feel safe and appreciated was still here after all!

The Briton swiftly looked up in the direction of the door, but words died in his throat when he saw who had entered, the nation who had protected him. He froze as he saw the sandy blonde hair, the bright blue eyes behind black-framed glasses, the stubborn strand of hair that never wanted to stay down.

“A-America?” England managed to bring out in his shocked stupor. America had saved him from those thugs?

As he remembered the attack and the moments that followed it, it all started to make sense. The gutsy attitude, the speech patterns, how easily the thugs were beaten up, the strength he’d felt when pressure was applied to his bleeding wounds…

America had actually come and saved him.

The younger nation raised an eyebrow at the shocked look England was giving him as he walked closer to the bed carrying two hot drinks in his hands. “Well yeah? What’s with that face dude? I mean, your face already looks as if an animal tried to suck it off of your skull but the expression you’re giving me right now isn’t makin’ it look any better.”

Under normal circumstances England would have erupted into a rant about proper manners but he was still too busy trying to process the fact that America had been his saviour.

“Dude?” America tried again as he set down the drinks on the bedside table. He waved his hand in front of England’s face in an attempt to get a reaction out of him. “Did that concussion and the blood loss mess you up that bad? Want me to get a doctor for you? Would the tea I got you help anything?”

England looked America up and down as if that would provide him with all the answers. It was then that he noticed America was wearing a blue T-shirt and was sporting white bandages around one of his elbows. He then spotted his signature bomber jacket draped over one of the chairs in the room, something he had not seen when he first woke up.

“You donated blood to me?” England asked astonished, now finally looking America in the eye properly. America had an oddly concerned glint in his eyes.

“Of course I did. I’ve got O negative remember?” The younger nation responded as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, making sure not to jostle England too much. “Why do you look so shocked?”

“I just… I didn’t think you would go to such lengths to protect me like that.” England eventually brought out. Normally he would just hide his honest feelings, but it felt wrong to do so after what America had done for him. Craving the tea America had apparently gotten for him, he tried to sit up a little more and reach for it, but winced as his abdomen stung despite the painkillers.

America briefly stood up and handed the tea to him before sitting down on the edge of the bed again. “Aren’t the painkillers working?”

“Not entirely. I am less receptive to them.” England explained before slowly taking a sip. It was hospital tea so it wasn’t marvellous, but it got a pass from him. Besides, it was Earl Grey which was actually his favourite. Did America remember what his favourite tea was?

“As for what you said…” The North American nation started, looking at his hands folded in his lap. “I never stopped caring, you know?” he added unusually softly. Was that a blush on America’s cheeks?

Must be the concussion and the meds…

“I wasn’t just going to stand by and let those guys beat you to a pulp and let you bleed out.” America continued as he wrung his hands together more tightly. His knuckles were slightly bruised from the many punches he had dealt out to protect him. “Despite everything, you still matter to me England.”

“But the revol-“ England uttered astonished.

“My revolution was over two hundred years ago England.” America butted in strongly, gazing into his eyes with determination. “Besides, even if your king pissed me off and I wanted to fight for what my people wanted, I had another reason to fight that revolution.”

All England could do was give him a confused look as he fumbled with the cardboard cup of tea in his hands. What was America trying to tell him?

“As a kid up until my revolution, I always walked in your shadow. At first I didn’t mind at all because you were raising me and teaching me about the world and how to be a nation. As I grew up though, I really wanted to go out and see the world for myself, but most of all…” America explained before looking England in the eyes again. “I wanted to walk next to you, instead of behind you. I wanted to be a strong nation like you because I really admire you. You were my hero.”

England’s eyes went wide like dinnerplates. America really admired him? He was his hero? The most shocking part about that statement, which sounded so heartfelt and genuine that it made the Englishman’s stomach do summersaults, was the fact that he said ‘admire’ in the present tense. He still admired him now? Despite everything that had happened between them?

“It’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but I still really look up to you. You’re an amazing nation, even if some of your and your people’s actions were questionable at best.” America added, somewhat bashfully rubbing the back of his neck while looking away.

Then there was a sudden change in the younger nation’s mood as his expression showed signs of remorse, a very foreign thing to see coming from the normally ever cheerful American. “I know that message didn’t really come across the right way though, back when the revolution started. I really hurt you, and I’m really sorry about that. I know I should have told you this sooner but-“

Before America could continue his emotional speech, England interrupted him. “I am sorry too…” he brought out quietly.

Wide blue eyes were suddenly on him, filled with an odd mix of regret and hope.

“I…” England started, but needed to stop and take a deep breath to settle his nerves before continuing. “I should have listened to you more… You tried to talk to me and ask for help, and instead I pushed you away and wrote you off as an ignorant child. After the revolution I didn’t put in enough effort to properly mend things, while I was the one who was really in the wrong.” He explained tearfully, trying his hardest not to choke up as the memories of those painful years returned.

He really had messed up, hadn’t he? He was supposed to guide America on his path to become a strong and wealthy nation one day, and yet when he came to him all those years ago to have a genuinely serious conversation as nations he hadn’t given him the time of day.

“My power and wealth as an empire had gotten to my head and I was so convinced I was always right about everything, that no one would want to leave my empire and that everyone would be better off under my wing. But perhaps most of all…” England continued, looking up to America with emerald eyes filled with emotion. “I did not want to lose you…” he then uttered softly as his voice was on the verge of breaking.

America couldn’t do much more than stare at England as a knot formed in his throat and his eyes filled with tears.

“I was anxious and confused when you came to me asking if you would be a good independent nation. I thought I had done something to make you hate me, that you wanted to be rid of me. And yet here you are… saving me when I didn’t even have the guts to defend myself against my own people.” England then said, all of the words he had kept to himself for so long just flooding out without any resistance. He couldn’t hold it in anymore and it all burst out like water through a broken dam.

“I… I know this might be strange and you’re free to think that it is weird or even wrong, but… As I watched you grow into the nation and person you are now the feelings I had for you when you were little started to turn into something entirely different. Alfred, I-“

England’s emotional flood of words came to an abrupt halt when he felt lips touching his own.

It was only a small kiss, but the impact was massive. That brief yet immensely important action seemed to make all of the past regrets and heartache flow away along with all of the water that had burst through that broken dam, for both of them.

England could only gape at America as the younger nation let out a relieved sigh. “Damn, I’ve been wanting to do that for so long!” he exclaimed with a happy chuckle. When he turned to his former mentor he barked out a laugh. “You look ridiculous right now Arthur! You’re a shocked blueberry!”

The remark was enough to snap England out of his shocked stupor and brought on a much more familiar reaction. “Hey! Shut it you bloody prat! Earlier when you were about to cry your eyes out you looked like a pouting toddler!”

The room was only filled with more laughter as America cackled so much that very different tears filled the corners of his eyes. “So, we good now? More than good actually, right?” he spoke up after he gathered his bearings.

England’s face flushed, and if America did not know better he would have thought he should fetch a doctor or nurse. “I-I guess so…”

A grin that went from ear to ear decorated America’s face at the positive response, seemingly brightening the entire room. “Awesome! So yeah, I love you too Arthur!”

“D-Don’t say it out of the blue like that!” England screeched. “And I thought you’d find it weird!”

“Why would it be weird for us to have romantic feelings for each other? Because you raised me?” America asked, receiving a slow nod from England in response. “Well we’re nations, so for us relationships and stuff work totally differently right? Not like we have normal families like regular humans do. Besides, we’re not the only ones. Look at Spain and Romano. They totally fuckin’!”

England grumbled as he buried his face in his hands. “Why put it like that…” he muttered before letting out a sigh. Why did he fall in love with someone so odd and insufferable? Then again, he was also incredibly kind and charming, and handsome to boot. To top it all off, he had rescued him from those thugs while as a nation he would not have suffered from any permanent consequences.

As he looked up to see America chuckling to himself in a way that made his heart flutter, England felt a warm smile sneak onto his face.

It seemed he wasn’t so alone after all…