Archive of Our Own

How did it end up like this? 

England looked in front of him. At the boy he had taken in, at the boy no longer a boy- but a man. A man he had grown to care for- had grown to love in his own right. A love that had been so pure, so passionate- something he’d thought that he would never experience. A heart so fragile you would find it hilarious that such an old soul never felt such a thing before. But it was true. No matter how old he seemingly was, his viewpoint was that of a young maiden with a tough exterior. The proud British empire. The regal British empire. Not even the lecherous France could crack through that facade. 

Meeting America, caring for him as a boy and feeling so happy to have someone rely on him… Someone who loved him unconditionally. Those days were so sweet, so fulfilling. Even though England only got to spend a few weeks at a time with the young country (before having to return home) he still felt a sense of contentment. 

That child had clung to him, ran to him when he got cuts on his knees, ate his food with a huge smile because he didn’t know any difference- and slept all cuddled up into the older country’s side at night. 

So it was a shock when one day England had returned to the American country and saw that the boy he had been visiting was now a young man. America had greeted him warmly- a huge smile on that boyish face as he ran up to England and hugged him tightly. It was a strange sensation- to have someone bigger than you wrapping their arms around you so strongly that you felt so small. So warm. It had England flustered. 

No longer a boy, but now a young man just trying to make a difference in the world. A young man who wanted to prove himself, and most of all prove himself to England. Someone he looked up to. Someone he admired. Someone he loved. It was hard trying to connect with the new state of their relationship- but they eventually came to their own rhythm once more. 

Until things were thrown off track once more when England came back and saw an even older America who looked at him so strangely. His eyes were warm, but the warmth wasn’t like the childhood wonder that he had once experienced gazing upon him. This new America touched him gently- his fingers grazing his chin after he moved golden hair from his cheeks. Softly guiding England around the waist whenever he was about to bump into something- tugging him against his broad chest and for some reason it had England’s cheeks flushing red. 

It was so conflicting. England didn’t know what exactly had changed. He just knew he felt different. Things were different. Yet he couldn’t figure it out. Couldn’t put a name to the things that made his heart race or made his palms sweaty along with the redness of his cheeks. 

But he wouldn’t have to wonder much longer considering he was suddenly cornered by a face full of wildflowers wrapped in a bouquet and a rather embarrassed looking American. His eyes met England’s and wouldn’t waver no matter how nervous he appeared. Shoulders trembling just slightly and fingers gripping the stems roughly. Determined to say what he wanted to say.

“England, I love you,” It was quick as he came right out with it and before England could even reply he had continued earnestly, “not in a way I probably should. Not in a way that probably sense for you. You’ll probably be upset with me… or wondering if something is wrong with me- but I can’t help it. I love you, England. Not as my mother, not as a guardian, not as an older brother. I’ve loved you a long time and I only hope that you can hear this and see me as I am. A man. A man who feels so strongly for you as… as another man… Please don’t disregard my feelings. Know they come from my heart and I mean every word.”

Truly a passionate speech, America kept eye contact- watch the ways England’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then confusion, then contemplation… all while his face burned all crimson. Had he ever been spoken to that way before? Had he ever had someone tell him they loved him? Sure France and other countries made sexual comments to him- but they never made his heart thump like this. A drum in his chest that echoed in his ears as he swallowed thickly. What America had said… What he had wanted from him… It was his love. Or at least- just the understanding of the other man’s feelings. To acknowledge them- even if he didn’t reciprocate… but not reciprocating… that- that didn’t feel right either. The way he felt about the confession- if he… if he truly felt nothing for America- then why was his body reacting the way it was? Why did he suddenly feel like they were the only two in the universe?

“England… I…”

But the shorter blonde cut him off- reaching up to grab the taller man’s head and pulled his face down to meet his. Their lips met and from that kiss- England was sure he felt the same way. Two hearts becoming one as soon as America realized what was happening. As soon as it was confirmed that his feelings weren’t being rejected- and in fact: embraced, America seized the moment to really kiss him full of all the love and passion that the other deserved. 

It stole the breath right out of England’s lungs. He had been used to physically dying and coming back and on repeat thanks to his unnatural state of being- but this… being kissed so thoroughly, was so much more painful and yet so so addicting. So pleasurable. 

England would feel much more pleasure from the American in the coming years. Yet those years would be only too short. Just as America would lay him down in bed, caress his skin- whisper those pretty words into his ears, it would all be over. England would have to leave, but he’d come back. They’d write letters. They’d spend days longing for each other. And every time they returned to each other’s sides it felt like torture pulling them apart. 

All the pretty bruises left on pale skin from strong hands would fade from time passing by. The feelings of sexes becoming melded together. The thrusts of hips, the penetration being wide and deep just begging to split the smaller lover apart. It would never happen, but sickly England had wished he’d come apart like that by America’s hands. By his touch. Moans being torn from England’s throat and feeding into the passionate atmosphere. 

Each time they came together and made their bed a mess it just left an aching pit that couldn’t be satisfied after America would pull out. If they could have it… They’d wish to stay inside that little room together forever. 

Yet every time, they were pulled apart by duties. Mostly England’s. America was just a colony. Not his own country, just something owned by the person he loved most’s government. Those officials, they kept them apart with titles, with long travels, with contempt. America was nothing compared to England, the great and powerful. 

Knowing that, it left insecurities hanging over their relationship no matter how short. They spent a lot more time apart than together. It was barely a functioning one- America wanted more. Wanted to be equals. Wanted England to be proud of him… to admire him. To view him as someone who was capable of protection instead of needing protecting.

Which was why, he had to do the hardest thing. He had to become independent to be a man. Knowing that he would most likely break the other man’s heart. Knowing it might just ruin everything- he had to do it. Had to be his own country with his own ideals. It was his American dream to have freedom, to have a strong leg to stand on, to be anyone he wanted to be. He’d make that a reality.

So it hurt him, and he knew it hurt England when he had one more night of passion with his beloved- it was selfish… taking what he wanted knowing that it would crush him when he finally dropped the metaphorical bomb. Savoring every moment, every breath, every sound that England created. Savored the way he squeezed around him, milking him for all that he was worth and oh how it felt so heavenly inside. Warm, wet, so unforgiving. Unforgiving in the way he knew it would plague his nights, plague the way his hands would pump away at his aching cock the second he was alone. 

England would also be unforgiving.

Mossy green eyes absolutely shattered when America declared his independence. All but spat in his face to his heart. Didn’t understand the reasons- didn’t understand the way that this was an ultimate declaration of love. Trying to become the man that England always deserved- yet here he was- absolutely breaking his heart. Smashing it to smithereens with his bare hands as he stood before the stone shocked older man. 

“What… What do you mean?” 

“Independence. I need to be my own person. I need to be a man, to do things on my own. Find my own path in life. I-”

“I don’t care! Independence?! What a joke! Don’t make me laugh!”  England didn’t know why he was freaking out like this. Why anger and betrayal was flooding his senses. Pain burned behind his eyes as he stared up at America like he didn’t even know the man.

The blue eyed boy no longer a boy- wilted. Standing before the person he loved most, withstanding the harsh words as England backed away from him. Backed away from whatever they shared. It was ruined now. Nothing could fix it. Nothing could repair the damage that was caused. 

England’s musket charging right at him only some time later left a scar on his heart as well as his weapon. Though he didn’t have any right to feel like England was a traitor. It was he who destroyed everything that they built- even if the foundation was flimsy. 

It was so flimsy. 

England had all the power. America was nothing compared to him. Yet his feelings were accepted for whatever reason. England wanted him as a partner? But was that the truth? What did America have that wasn’t just his land? America had to be stronger, had to be better, had to offer more. 

Watching the man he loved crumble to his knees, crying, wondering what went wrong- yet he got no answer. America wouldn’t give him any more than that. Had to do this. Had to stay strong. Couldn’t scream even if he wanted to. God he wanted to. Nothing to ease the pain 

Winning his independence… But at what cost? 

At the cost of England. 

The letters had stopped. Never seeing him on his home turf ever again. Only seeing glimpses of him during world meetings whenever the other had to show up- but even then… after a while he stopped showing his face. His older brothers or his secretary would attend for him. They said that England needed time by himself- that he would be back with them all soon enough.

That soon enough wasn’t fast enough. Years. So many years had passed. America blamed himself- yet he couldn’t let himself be lost to those thoughts. To that heartbreak. He had to mend those old wounds and prove himself and what he set out to do. 

No longer was he the same sweet and affectionate man that England once knew- now he was loud. Boisterous. That childish whimsy he had as a child was now amplified into something else. 

Telephones were created not that long ago, and with that invention- on his own land- a wonderful American creation. So many creations. So many things to be inspired by. This country was gaining power, gaining influence, and yet- what was it all for again?

Exhaustion followed him as well as the memories of that dreadful day. Not being able to sleep due to how paralyzing it was. Every invitation he sent out went completely ignored. England didn’t want to see him and he had to just deal with it. Yet he couldn't wait much longer. The last time he saw his beloved England was in the early days of the 1900’s. It was fleeting. England didn’t meet his gaze- only hung his head and awkwardly played with the cufflinks on his sleeves. A quiet “hello” and that was it. Everything he did was for nothing without England. 

Deciding that enough was enough, after that encounter he knew he had to find him. Had to see him again. That his sacrifices were meaningless if he didn’t at least make his intentions known. England deserved that much at least. Deserved to know that America wasn’t just someone who wanted his body and then to move on. 

But where was he? Where did he even start looking? A cold fearful sensation ran down his back as he pictured the group of brothers that never liked him popping into his mind. Scotland especially hated his guts- didn’t care about making it known. North Ireland was more cheeky about his distaste whereas Wales was incredibly two-faced about it. Didn’t want to upset England no doubt. 

Still… they were probably his best bet. So the blonde American waited until the next world meeting. Until the next time he’d see the countries. Until he’d eventually have to face the consequences of his actions. God only knows what they heard from their heartbroken youngest brother… and yet America wouldn’t have blamed them. 

They had every right to hate him, and yet could America get his feelings and reasonings across? That he had to do it if he wanted to be seen as someone worth looking at. America was a grown man now. Though… It did take him so many years to actually decide to confront his mistakes. At first he just wanted to give England space- to let him come to him again on his own terms… Yet time had passed and England was even further away from him than ever. Seeing him even less than before from the long ship rides. It apparently would be up to him, fitting since he was the one who started it all. Or, well, ended it. 

The next world meeting had him tapping his fingers on his already bouncing leg out of nerves. He’d have to move fast since most of the time the UK bros ended up leaving rather quickly- seemingly preferring time spent together than time spent with outside annoyances. Who knew if that was how they all actually felt- they might have just been introverts- but America was great with assumptions.

So as soon as the meeting concluded, America jumped up from his seat (ignoring the startled Japan) and bounded towards the end of the long ass table that was used for said meeting where Scotland was just getting up to leave. His green eyes that seemed familiar had narrowed. They were lit with a quiet fury. “What do you want?” Scot asked coldly. 

Beside him stood North and Wales, both whom kept their matching eyes on America as well. They were on either side- posed up as if they were a small gang about to run you for your money. America wasn’t THAT intimidated- okay guys? He squeezed his fists shut and stood before Scotland. 

“Where’s England?” 

What a question. Because immediately the eldest country looked even angrier than before- and without a second to spare nor even a moment to think- America found himself on his ass with a throbbing feeling from his no doubt now swollen cheek. His glasses had clattered to the ground and the blonde felt around for them whilst he kept his eyes up at the furious scotsman. 

“How funny, ya want to know where he is now- do ya? Too fuckin’ bad, cuz I ain’t sayin’,” The dark haired man spat- only lightly shaking the hand he used to punch as if it were dirty. 

America grit his teeth as he put his glasses back on, “please! I just want to talk to him- to explain myself,” he pleaded, fixing his position into one of him kneeling before them, hands gripping the tops of his pants cuz he really didn’t know what to do with them.

Wales scoffed lightly, crossing his arms as he kept his mouth shut. The bitter aura radiating off him in waves was enough to get what he was feeling across. North wasn’t faring much better with his welcomeness. The redhead just shrugging his shoulders and keeping his face stony. America had a feeling that North couldn’t meet his eyes for whatever reason. Maybe that was a good thing though because he figured if the other did then it would sign his death warrant.

Instead, Scotland click his tongue and shook his head, “no. Ye don’t get to come back in his life and hurt him again. He’s a little shit but he’s our little shit. Ya don’t know what he has gone through because of YOU,” he hissed, making a motion with his hand to get his brothers to follow him, “trust if I find ya bothering him again- I’ll cut yer sack clean off.”

As they walked away- America could only feel his pulse pounding in his ears. So that was a bust. His face hurt so he lifted a hand to rub at his cheek. If America were any less durable he’d for sure have a broken jaw and fractured cheekbone. 

Plan B. But what was plan B? 

America chewed on his fingertip as he thought about his options. It wasn’t like he could stalk them. The third youngest (Wales) could also see things apparently and America would be outed if he even tried to be stealthy. 

He could try finding the human name that England went by? But what was it… Arthur.. Cumberbatch? No, that didn’t sound right. Besides, there were so many Arthurs out there it would be impossible to narrow it down. 

Who else did England talk to? 

Japan maybe? They were close-ish? America looked back to where he was previously sitting and spotted Japan looking antsy as he clearly tried not to eavesdrop on America getting scolded… but it was too late for him as America hopped over from his spot on the floor and made a mad dash towards the shorter man. 

“Yo! Japan! Quick question for you- do you know where England is staying?” He asked, not caring about being in Japan’s personal space as we all know anyone’s personal space is an American’s space too. 

Japan tried to shy away from America’s questioning- dodging the hands that tried to grab onto his shoulders to keep him in place. Instead he lightly swatted those hands away before then clearing his throat, “I don’t know where he is. Occasionally he’ll write but it’s always handed off from one of his brothers so I never see the return address that is actually his,” he replied. Then his brown eyes softened, “do you think your brother might be able to help you? Wasn’t he close to him as well?”

When Japan mentioned his brother- America completely froze for a moment. His brother and England… They did have a friendly relationship. Actually, America remembered Canada being quite angry with him for declaring independence in the way that he did. His brother was always fond of England and tried getting his attention many times- but the country was always occupied with America. There was some bold favoritism- which was another factor in why America had to “grow up”. 

Nodding thankfully, America did an awkward head bow before heading out of the meeting room. His brother’s hotel room was near his so all he had to do was wait for him to get back. Knowing him, he was probably out and about smelling flowers. It didn’t smell like petrichor- so maybe the day would stay sunny after all. 

They were on the third floor of this hotel- they were rather old but dignified. European buildings were often built like that considering they were created so long ago. American homes were always built like new and meant to crumble a few years standing alone it seemed. 

America crouched on the floor and stared at his watch as troubling thoughts filled his head. What if Canada didn’t know? But… What if Canada did know this whole time and didn’t tell him? Well, it wasn’t like America had actually asked. So maybe they assumed he didn’t care. Which was… a fair assessment. America did make a show of being bigger than life and not caring about anyone but himself. 

But that wasn’t really true. Though he really did dig himself into this hole. Maybe England thought him the same way. Just using England until he was able to stand on his own and then throwing him away? It wouldn’t be farfetched. 

“America?”

America flinched in surprise before calming down and looking up to see his near mirror image, “hahaha dude! You scared me!” Standing up and dusting off his pants, America tried to seem calm, “so listen- I need your help.”

Canada didn’t look that amused, but he was curious- so he nodded and let his brother into his room. The Canadian took off his outer jacket and loosened his tie- tired from having to dress so stuffy. His eyes settled onto America who was fidgeting awkwardly near the door. “Wow, you’re so tense. It’s not like you,” he pointed out. “What happened to your face?”

“Bro, I-...” America sucked in a breath, “I need to ask you…” Canada nodded for him to continue, “please tell me where England is.” Ignoring Canada’s question because his own basically answered what had transpired.

The other twin looked uncomfortable. America was finally asking to see England… It only took so many years. Canada took his glasses off and pulled out a cloth to wipe them clean- trying to give him something to do so he didn’t have to look America in the eyes, “why?”

“So you do know?”

“Answer me, America. Why? Why now? Why after all this time when you could have gone after him when he left in the first place,” Canada sighed softly, “so why?” It wasn’t like he was jealous of America and England’s relationship- at least not anymore when he found out how it had developed into something else. America and England becoming… something more… actually had Canada and England becoming closer as well, friends of sorts. Canada was the only other person who understood America so it wasn’t a wonder that England would need an ear to rely on.

At least America had the sense to look shameful, but he also had this stubborn air about him as well. He huffed slightly- deserving the questions aimed at his integrity, before wandering over to one of the armchairs in the center of the room just a few feet from Canada, “I couldn’t be with him as part of his country’s property. I wasn’t a partner, an equal, nor man. I was someone he had dominion over who enjoyed my company and more… and obviously I know he didn’t see it that way- but everyone else would have. I would have. I wanted to be a man, be my own person so we could be equals… I know I hurt him. I know that he has every right to not want to see or hear from me… But I never used him. I… dammit… I love him.” His cheeks were pink with embarrassment, not expecting to have said such a thing in front of his brother who was also a big fan of Iggy.

Canada listened patiently, he didn’t look super convinced by America’s words but he also knew exactly how much an independent identity meant to his brother. How important it was to be someone worth admiring. Besides… Canada put his glasses back on and bit the inside of his cheek- “I do know where he is… I’m not entirely sure if it’s the best thing for me to tell you… but England- I think… I think he needs you right now.” He faced America whose face was twisted in confusion, “he hasn’t been doing so good lately…”

“What? Is he sick?” America was way more concerned now.

“Of sorts,” Canada sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “I can’t explain it myself, but things have changed a lot since you two split up. You need to see it for yourself.” Walking over to the desk in the corner of the room and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen. He dipped the tip of the pen into ink and started to scribble down something.

“Why did he stop showing up to meetings?” America asked quietly. He knew that it was hard for England to see him… But to neglect his country’s duties because of it? Didn’t he go through wars before? 

Canada smiled faintly, but it was a sad smile and not one that America could even see. Sucking in a breath- he carried the paper over to his brother, “it’s his address. You’ll find all your answers there.”

“Thanks, man…”

“Fix things between you two. Please.”

“I’ll try.”

The address that was handed to him led the tall blonde man to a small English Cottage style home. It was in a small village, long pathways lined with stones or bushes. Each house was spread out as well, and England’s seemed to be the one furthest into the woods. Which now that he thought about it- it completely made sense. 

Steeling himself with confidence he was trying to keep up, he slowly made his way up the dirt path and to the tiny home. Outside was carefully pruned, rose bushes everywhere. It smelled so familiar yet so far away. A nostalgic scent. Raising a fist- he finally knocked on the door to finally see the man he had broken. 

Though, when the door opened, instead of seeing the golden head of hair he had expected to see- instead his gaze was brought much lower. A girl who only barely reached his stomach stared up at him. Was he at the wrong house? 

But one look at that face… seeing those fluffy golden brows that he knew all too well… he knew he was at the right place. The little girl couldn’t have been older than nine- physically. Was she another English country? Her hair reached her shoulders and curled at the ends. Bangs were parted down the middle and tucked behind her ears- showing off her forehead and eyebrows proudly. There was a hair clip above her left browbone and a headband atop her golden head. Those eyes… They weren't green like every UK sibling… They were a deep ocean blue. 

“Uhm… I’m looking for England,” he eventually broke the silence instead of just watching her watch him quietly. 

Recognition at the name brightened on her face. She nodded her head, “mama…” She spoke which just hit America like a freight train. England… had a baby? Maybe that was why he stopped coming to work? I mean- he did come to work for a while and it only took a few years before England stopped talking to him altogether… he must have found someone… Pain ebbed at his heart. Why did it hurt so much to know England had moved on? Did he want his love to be suffering and lonely for so long? “Your… Face…”

“My face?”

She shifted uncomfortably, “y-you have a bruise on your cheek… it looks painful…” She told him, her grip on the door tightened. Who was this man? Didn’t he realize he was hurt? Why was he after her mama?

America seemed to gather these thoughts and gasped softly, “oh! No- I’m fine… I ran into a tree…” He lied. He was NOT going to face Scot’s wrath if he told his niece that Scotland had punched him. 

“Are you a friend of mama’s?” She inquired, her eyebrows endearingly furrowing as she inspected this man. When America nodded quickly, she hummed and opened the door for him to enter. “I’m Lucy. What’s your name?”

“Lucy? That’s a pretty name! My name is America! Or you can call me Alfred, either is fine,” He told her with a winning smile. Though she didn’t seem to swoon by that.

 “Ohh… like mama sometimes goes by Arthur?” She inquired, obviously England tried to blend in as much as he could in this small area. When America hummed in confirmation- Lucy grabbed him by the arm and tugged him down the hall.

Inside was cozy- there were some photos and paintings on the walls- some were amateurish and done childishly so clearly it was artwork done by the girl herself. There were potted plants and a comfortable matching living room set. Off to the side was a small dining table tucked against the wall and three chairs. They made their way down the corridor to the door at the end. Lucy darted forward and pushed it open and lying on the bed under a floral quilted bed set had laid England. Sound asleep. Looking almost dead it was that kind of eternal peace.

“Iggy?” America asked softly, stepping past the young girl and over to the side of the older country. With his long legs the distance was short with his quick stride. England didn’t respond- even when America gently touched his face- not even a nose or eyebrow twitch. “England?”

“Mama sleeps a lot,” She told him- appearing by his side with silent grace. She looked over the bed to make sure that everything was put together and comfy. “He only wakes up for a little bit. Sometimes he sleeps for a couple weeks, sometimes he’s away ten minutes a day…”

Bewilderment flushed through America’s body. What? Was this what Canada meant? “Have you been alone that whole time? Where’s your dad?” He questioned the little girl, blue eyes soft as he looked at the top of her little head.

Lucy shrugged lightly, “mama taught me to clean up after myself and how to make easy finger foods. I don’t touch dangerous things and I don’t go past our yard,” she insisted, “I take care of myself and mama…”

America knelt down next to the girl and gently took her hands in his, making her look at him, “I’m sure you do… I’m sure you do your very best and that’s so awesome, but a little girl shouldn’t be on her own,” he stressed. 

She pulled back, “are you going to try and take me away from mama?!” The question heavy on her little heart which had America’s own chest ache. 

“No! No- I would never separate you two,” America smiled kindly at her, “I’m a good friend of your mama… I know you haven’t met me before but we knew each other a very long time. Uhm- Canada- or do you know him as Matthew? He’s my twin brother!” He told her, putting his hands on her upper arms and rubbing soothingly. How did England comfort him back then?

She sniffled but nodded. “I know Matthew… He came to visit a couple of times. Mama and him would talk alone and look sad after…” She rubbed her eyes, “I don’t know how to help mama not be so sad.”

America chuckled, “I’m sure you bring him a joy that can compare to nothing else,” he pulled his hands away and leaned his head onto the mattress as he looked up at her, “how about I stay here with you for a little while. At least until your mama feels a bit better, how does that sound?”

Lucy pursed her lips together a few moments as she thought over America’s offer… She really would like some more friends, and her mama… Maybe her mama would be happy with a new visitor as well? So eventually, she nodded her head. 

America smiled once more, “mkay, now that we have that settled- want to give me the house tour?” The man stood up from his knees and dusted off his pants. Shining a smile to the nervous girl who nodded her head again. She was cute and shy it seemed. Lucy really was a sweet girl who just really wanted to take care of her mother. Pushing aside her own loneliness to see it happen. 

So she was secretly happy this man had offered to stay with her. She wasn’t that worried about stranger danger- he looked exactly like Canada and she knew he had a brother so the America man was telling the truth. Her little hand grabbed America’s larger one and she gently pulled him down the hallway once more.

She showed him the bathroom which was full of white tile with cute painted flowers as decals, the kitchen which was stocked full of easy to make dry foods and fresh fruits and veggies (he assumed they had a garden that Lucy could get things from), the kitchen was an open floor plan so it was connected with the living room and right next to them was a door that led into Lucy’s room. 

Lucy brought America inside and bounded over to her dresser where a large metal cage but with small wire gaps was sitting. America blinked curiously as he peered closer- expecting a rabbit or something but yelped when the little girl pulled out a rat. A huge smile was on her face as she held the creature in her hands, “this is Eustace!”

“Ahh… Eustace you say? That’s a… fun name. What a cute little guy…” America stammered, gross little vermin terrified him. But this rat had big black eyes and a smooth gray coat and was staring so politely up at him that he just knew that this guy was so rad. 

“Eustace is so nice,” She started to gently stroke the rat on the space between his ears, “he followed me home from my walk and likes snacks. Mama was soooo shocked but saw how cute he was and let him stay!”

Yeah now I’m remembering Iggy’s strange tastes. America chuckled to himself at the thought as he listened to Lucy gushing about her best friend the rat named Eustace. The rest of her room was cute too, a floral bedspread to match England’s just in a different color, stitched together curtains that were tied off into a bow shape with ribbons, the oak dresser that matched her bed and closet and nightstand. There were handmade plushies that littered the room and America knew immediately that England had sewn them for her. 

Some fairytales were set in a stack next to her bed by the lantern for some late night reading. It was something America could picture perfectly well. He wondered how often England got to even read to Lucy lately. Maybe she’d appreciate his own silly voices. They eventually made their way out to the living room once more and Lucy had shown him where all the extra pillows and blankets were. He’d have to curl up on the couch or sleep on the floor which was something he was perfectly fine with. 

And with his new bed made up- America and Lucy would start a new routine together. Every day they would wake up, usually it would be Lucy and she’d nudge the man awake to make breakfast. Ever since America started staying over she got to try a lot of different and yummy meals. Though she’d really miss her mama’s porridge when she got sick. Lucy showed America all the chores that needed to be done and since he was here she let him do the yucky stuff like tending the garden. Unlike her mother she did not have much of a green thumb. They’d go on walks to town where America would buy her anything she set her eyes on and then some, they’d go to the pond and America would try to teach her how to fish which she found herself enjoying! At least until she realized America would be killing the fish she caught. America had to console her and promised her that the fish wouldn’t feel a thing. In the evenings, America would light a fire in the fireplace as he made dinner. Lucy would practice her teachings by firelight. Such a dutiful student, she reminded America so much of Iggy in that regard. 

When she got stuck on something though, unfortunately America did not know how to help her. She’d just shrug and say: “It’s okay, mama will help me when he wakes up.” To which, America wondered when that would be. It had been over a week now… Every night he’d gently wash England down with a cloth to make sure he wouldn’t awake feeling uncomfortable- but it was hard not to notice just how long the time was passing.

Lucy also seemed worried, but she didn’t want to voice it. Voicing it made it real- so she did her best job at being a good daughter. America felt bittersweet during those times. Wondering who the man was that knocked England up and left him. Lucy was young, it couldn’t have been too long ago. Not that America even had a clue on how pregnancies even worked with countries. There were very few that actually had the parts to do so- but even he knew that it was hard for the penile bearing countries to knock a human up. If it were easy then both France and Italy would have swarms running around. America would just have to ask when he could get the other awake and alone. 

In the meantime, they spent their days doing what they usually did with their newfound routine. The home was more lively and America could see it reflected in those sparkling blue eyes of hers. That night, America had gone out to check the traps he had set for rabbits or other creatures worth eating. Of course not showing Lucy how to do that since he knew England would have a problem with it. Fishing was already pushing it. So he carried the animals in a sack that he caught and put them in the shed that was close to the woods, locking it up tight so little girls couldn’t go wandering. Then he made his way inside the house. He undid his boots and was about to call out to Lucy- but he stopped once the sounds of voices hit his ears. His breath caught in his throat once he noted the direction and even spotted the light coming from down the hall. 

It was impressive how quickly America made it to the room that held the sleeping beauty. His hands met the doorframe as he finally came to a stop as well as his heart. As right in front of him was Lucy all fast asleep in the lap of the one and only England who had a book in one hand and fingers in Lucy’s blonde hair in the other. Green eyes met blue and for a moment- America could only see terror and guilt reflected back in those orbs. 

“Americ…a…” Before England lost consciousness. Only a word spoken to him, and a look that said everything. 

It wasn’t fear of America that was being felt, but fear and shamefulness of hiding a secret. What other secret could it have been than Lucy? Lucy… America looked at the little girl and suddenly things were clicking into place. If Lucy was born from a country… it would make sense that her aging would be so much slower. It would… make sense that from the last time he had bedded England to the last time he actually got to see him would be the gap of a pregnancy. No one really knew how that even worked… America certainly didn’t.

When Lucy opened her eyes and looked up at the man with familiar blue hues… America felt like he was gut punched. He missed so much and she was so alone. If only he hadn’t left England then maybe she wouldn’t have been lonely for so long. Yet, if he didn’t… How could he call himself man enough to be her father. It didn’t matter what happened in the past- all that mattered was that he was there now. 

Lucy climbed off the bed as America gently ushered her to bed- so he could lay England down properly and tuck him in so tightly. Hoping he’d wake up again soon. The man was only awake for at most an hour… poor Lucy. Poor England. What was happening?

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, America would get some answers after another three days. Lucy didn’t comment on how short that time was spent awake- but she did tell America that she was read a book until she fell asleep. It was a comfort for her and something England always did when he woke up. 

They were having lunch when there was a knock at the door. Lucy was eating her chicken noodle soup when she got out of her chair. America was confused- he didn’t know of any visitors who’d come around and he doubted Canada would appear so soon. So it chilled him to his core when he saw the door open and in walked England’s brothers. 

Who all were NOT expecting America to be standing there. Scotland was pissed and was about to shout at him- but the American shook his head quickly and motioned to Lucy. Slowly, Scotland backed down- but those eyes were full of hate. 

“Hey Lucy, why don’t you finish your food and play with your uncles. I’m going to talk to your bigger uncle,” America suggested to the girl who cocked her head like an owl before giggling and rushing off to her bowl. 

Nire and Wales were silent as they walked past America, but instantly started cooing and greeting Lucy the moment they were. “Oh Lucy! How is Eustace today?” 

“Looks like you’re eating well!”

“Mhm! America has been staying with me! It’s been great!”

They soured, but their cooing didn’t stop. Smugly, America puffed out his chest at Scot before the two men found themselves outside. “What the fuck are ya doin’ here? Didn’t I tell ya to stay the fuck away?” Scotland spat the moment they were alone.

“Me? What the FUCK are you all doing?!” America snapped, much to the surprise of Scotland who wasn’t expecting the country he often spoke down to to actually talk back. “I accepted the harsh treatment for so many years because I knew I fucked up- I hurt your brother and I’m sorry- but why the fuck are you okay with abandoning a girl by herself?!”

Scotland balled his fists, “what the hell do you care? Ya don’t get to judge us over this, we’re doing what we think is right. WE have to do his job because YOU knocked him up and now he’s fuckin’ sick and we don’t know what to do!” He snarled- trembling with rage. It was all America’s fault. The loss of their brother. The thinness of balance in their countries. The health of the once proud country failing. 

Sick… “I know… I mean- obviously I didn’t know about… about Lucy… or the sickness until now, but why? What is it?” America asked, voice small as he tried to wrack his brain for answers. Was it a curse for hurting him? Why would England be punished then? To punish him? 

“It’s called the sleepin’ beauty sickness,” Scot scrunched his nose before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a lighter and cigarette, “all we know is that after he gave birth he started sleepin’ longer. Sometimes it would be ten hours a night, slowly growin’ until he was only awake just a couple hours a day. Now it seems he spends more time asleep than conscious.” The smell of burning tobacco filled the air as Scot took a drag and exhaled through his nose. It was suffocating. Fitting.

America glared at him, “if you knew this was happening, you should have stayed with Lucy. Or brought her with you. Do you know how long she’s been alone? It’s fucked up,” he insisted, though Scotland didn’t look bothered by that. In fact he had a rather insightful expression on that stony face.

“What? Don’t ye remember bein’ a young country? All alone for months at a time,” Scotland pointed out, “all of us has gone through that. Clearly she is either immortal or has a long life.”

America did remember. He also remembered how much it had affected him. “That’s different… We didn’t have parents. Didn’t have someone to love us- at least not for long. Sure we had to figure shit out ourselves, but why do that to her just because you went through it? Why let her feel everything you did when you know how much it hurts? I don’t want to be someone who does that. It’s not heroic to abandon a little girl.”

“Tch! It’s not abandonment!” Scot growled, “we visit quite regularly! YOU only just got here, ya don’t know everythin’ we have been through cleanin’ up the mess you left behind.”

Scoffing, America straightened up, “fine. You don’t need to anymore, I’m her father and I’m here now. We don’t need you,” he stated- firmly, full of confidence he never had against this man before. The love for the daughter he didn’t even know he had fueled him. Backed him up. Made him feel powerful. 

Made Scotland furious. 

A fist landed once again on America’s face- and then another one. And another. America wasn’t fighting back- he was letting Scotland beat the frustration out of his system as he sat there spitting fire at America’s very being. 

It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair how this all happened, how they all ended up like this. They were grieving someone who wasn’t even dead but it was pretty much the case. Someone alive but barely. Someone they couldn’t speak to, someone they couldn’t feel holding their hand back. They were missing a brother, a mother, a love. Someone so important to them all and yet they were powerless to do anything about it. 

Angry tears burned green eyes that didn’t belong to England but to their family. Scotland inhaled deeply, shaking as he finally stopped walloping the other man’s face. He couldn’t look at the bloody mess he made of America’s face. “Shit…” He fell to his ass and put his hands on his head, “Shit… Shit…”

He ignored the sound of America sitting up and spitting the spot out of his mouth, ignored the sounds of the blonde wiping his face clean, and ignored the quiet presence that America provided when he sat next to him. 

“I’ll fix this.”

“Ye’d better.”

How would one go about fixing something broken but with no clear way to put it back together? Ever since then, England’s brothers stopped hassling him about his involvement with Lucy. Though, America didn’t tell her the truth. Couldn’t. Not when his relationship with England was so fragile. 

It was taking so long… and America was never home when England was awake for a few minutes. It wasn’t fair, though it was more unfair to Lucy so he wouldn’t feel that sorry for himself. 

That night, it was quiet. Lucy was asleep in her room and America was uncomfortably lying on the couch. His hands were behind his head as he was propped on the armrest, eyes closed and legs awkwardly bent to fit on the cushions. 

He breathed through his nose, trying to count sheep in his head to fall asleep- but it was getting hard to. His brain was so noisy and it left him unable to slip away into blissful dreams. Perhaps sleeping in general was traumatizing. 

Yet as he pondered the waking and sleeping worlds- he felt a soft touch on the bangs against his forehead. Snapping his eyes open he heard and saw England gasp. The shorter country looking embarrassed at being caught but also withdrew his softness from that delicate face. 

“Iggy…” America breathed, quickly sitting up and facing the man he loved. He didn’t know what to do. They only stared at each other as they both thought of a million things to say. So much to say but no time. How much time did they have left?

“America, I-...” England shifted nervously, “thank you… for staying with Lucy. I hear about you from her when I get to… See her.” Emeralds going misty at the thought of his daughter. 

The taller blonde trembly took a breath, “you don’t have to thank me for anything. I should… It was the only correct thing to do,” his voice was hoarse- thin. Wanting to so badly scream and cry and try to get everything out.

But he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to England. 

England sniffled and used his sleeve to wipe away the beading tears. “I do not know what to do. Time doesn’t pass for me until I’m awake and she informs me it’s been weeks. My dreams are empty. It’s like I’m blinking between moments. I’ve failed her, as I’ve failed you,” he sounded so weak. So defeated. It had America aching.

“No!” America surged forward and grabbed the other by the arms- tugging him closer to the couch, “you didn’t fail. At all- I’m the one who failed you. I made you believe you didn’t matter. That I… I was just using you until I could stand on my own.” It was painful to admit his mistakes, even more painful to admit them to the person he hurt, “we had to split up when we did. We had to, England. If we stayed, you wouldn’t have been treasured the way you needed to be. I wouldn’t have been able to give you all that I had in the way that it mattered.”

Tears dripped down England’s cheeks as he nodded- sniffling as he heard basically his worst fears being confirmed, “I-I didn’t know I was harming you… I wouldn’t have… accepted if I knew this was how things were going to be. I wouldn’t have wanted this broken heart…”

The hands on England’s arms tightened until surely there’d be a bruise the next day- the perpetrator ignored the pained hisses as he tried to get his mind together, “you-! Ugh… No, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. Yeah you have a broken heart- but you also have Lucy! We have Lucy, and she’s perfect!” 

“Lucy…” England whimpered, “I miss her. I miss… I don’t get to be with her except for a few moments… I treasure her so much… She’s the only thing I look forward to anymore,” crying softly as he thought of their daughter. The one good thing that came out of this. 

“I’ll take care of her,” America breathed, “and… I’ll take care of you, this time it’s my turn…” Sounding so vulnerable and meeting the same emotion in England’s face. Uncertainty. Fear of betrayal. 

England lightly shook his head, “you’re just saying that because you feel guilty.”

“I’m not.”

“Then you’re just saying that because of Lucy!”

“I’m not!” America moved his hands from England’s arms to his face, “I’m saying it and I mean it because I love you!”

“W-What..?” Oh how it hurt to hear that disbelief in his love’s voice. To see that fear and expression that read you must be lying to me written on his features. 

“God I fucking love you so much, Iggy,” America breathed, “I’ve loved you for so long. Every day. I broke your heart because I loved you. I know it doesn’t make sense- but I don’t have the time to go into it. Just- I love you. I love you. I love you. I’ll repeat it as many times as it takes to sink it, as many times as it takes for you to believe me. I love you.” By the end of his speech they were both sobbing. One who didn’t think he’d ever hear it again and the other who feared he lost the chance. 

England cried as he hung his head- just barely brushing America’s shoulder but not quite giving in to that touch, “y-you love me? But I…” Wheezing out words that were unintelligible.

“I have zero clue what you just said buuut I’m assuming its self deprecating and that’s not cool because you’re talking bad about someone I love,” America chided, voice light and childish. 

It made England chuckle, “you’re so stupid…” He whispered, his forehead finally coming to rest on America’s shoulder, “but I suppose… I love you too.”

Sighing so deeply in relief, America hugged England close- burying his nose in that golden hair, “I’ll make everything up to you. I promise. I’ll fix anything I can,” he swore to him- feeling England nodding and slowly melting into his embrace.

“America… I…” England gripped the front of his shirt, “I don’t want to sleep. I don’t… Want to miss this moment. I don’t want to lose you and fear it was simply a dream.” The amount of tears being produced was soaking America’s shirt. 

Rubbing soothing circles into the small of England’s back, America gently nudged the other country with his nose to get him to meet his eye. It took a few seconds of prodding- but England eventually peeked over and was surprised with a kiss. It was heartfelt, full of love and desire that moved their mouths against each other. They didn’t know how much time they had left, but America wouldn’t let him be alone again. 

Promising England with that kiss that he was loved and was going to be taken care of. Nothing could keep them apart, not even the sickness that plagued their nightmares. When England fell asleep again, he was carried off by warm arms and a full heart. That little house was no longer full of loneliness, now- it housed a family. So it was full of belonging. Of company. Of promises for a happier future.

They may not be able to break the spell with just a kiss, but they’d be able to have hope for the future as the time spent between sleeping and awakeness was getting shorter and shorter. Becoming more balanced. Maybe one day, England would be cured. Until then, they lived every moment together to the fullest.