[identity profile] tekia.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] tamingthemuse
Title: Do Not Attempt
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Prompt: Sorrow
Warnings: fail!fanfiction writings? Reason #1 as to why I don't write fan fiction, I suck at it. Meh.
Rating: PG
Summary: Someone's sad and his friends try to cheer him up.

“He was happier once, wasn’t he?”
Three tiny heads nodded in agreement, wide eyes watching the object of their discussion, a fair haired young man sitting along, sipping tea in his garden. The fourth head followed their gazes and frowned. “We have to make him happy again.” The small purple lips pursed into a thoughtful pout as the others turned back to look at her for guidance. Suddenly, she smiled. “I know!” Tiny wings, massive on her, unfurled and lifted her into the air. Her three followers, younger siblings, all lifted up with her.
The quartet flew away as fast as their wings could take them and they disappeared in the vast blue sky.
They soon arrived to a secret glade, where only the purest of crystal blue water trickled over stones polished smooth with age. The water bubbled happily and the four faeries settled on the bank, three looking up at their older sister.
“See here, we’ll make him happy again and I know how to do it.” She stood with only her toes touching the water and grinned at her siblings. “We’ll bring him something that always brings a smile to his face.”
The other three cheered and crowded around, demanding she tell them her plan. She held up her hand and lifted her head arrogantly. It wasn’t everyday she got to prove her greatness before her siblings. “We’re going to make him happy.”
~*~*~
America was tired. He was wet, tired and hungry, but all that had to wait. He had to get to back before the fighting started. He cursed as he slipped in the mud, but kept going despite the sudden pain flaring from his ankle. He had to get back.
The rain was falling heavier now and he fervently hoped that the rain would delay the battle he sense in the air. He doubted it, but it was nice to hope anyway. There was so little of it left anymore.
He slipped again and fell, jarring his elbow and landing heavily on his rear. He took a moment to look around him and sighed heavily. He was even more tired than he had thought, for he thought he saw specks of light shimmering through the clouds. He frowned, rubbed his eyes and forced himself upright.
Then he blinked in surprise. Was he lost? He carefully pulled his feet under him and gingerly put weight on his aching ankle, testing it, before moving forward once again. He reached out for a tree to steady himself as he looked around.
“Damn,” he hissed as he blinked the rain out of his eyes. Just where was he? How was he supposed to arrive in time for the battle, to face off with England once more, if he couldn’t find it? How was he supposed to prove himself capable if he couldn’t even navigate his own country?
Then he took another step forward and the ground slipped under him. Flailing his arms, he felt himself fall into a puddle, the water rushing up and around him, stealing into his open mouth and cutting off any cry he might have made. He frantically clawed at the water, trying to swim back to the surface, just how deep was this puddle anyway! Something was tugging at his heel, pulling him ever down, and there was pain as he gasped for breath and found only water.
Clamping a hand over his mouth, he already knew it was too late, there was no air to keep captive, his vision was already dimming.
The next thing he knew, he was coughing violently, spitting up water and clutching his aching chest as his lungs fought to expel the rain water. He fought for each breath and finally could feel his lungs settle. He looked around him only enough to notice that it had stopped raining and the ground around him was the only spot wet. He dropped his head back, consciousness already slipping away when he heard that familiar voice call his name.
Was that worry he heard in England’s voice? Surely not. Not after so roughly declaring his independence and starting this war between them.
Surely not.
~*~*~
England had just poured a second cup of tea when he heard the coughing. Startled, he turned in his chair and found himself still alone in his garden, but the coughing brought him to his feet. It sounded painful, as if someone were struggling for breath, for life. He followed the sounds and gaped as he turned a corner.
“Bloody hell, America, what are you doing?” He leaned over the body curled in on itself, only distantly realizing what he was wearing. His thoughts were more focused on how the younger nation was fighting for his breath. Before England could reach out to help, America laid back, blue eyes pale with fatigue and glassy with illness. “America?”
It was no use, the boy was out.
Frowning, England was half a mind to leave him there, but something about the situation didn’t sit right with him, so he hefted America up into his arms, had he always been this thin and light? and took him inside the house. He carefully placed him on the couch and eyed the mud splattered blue coat of centuries past. He curled his lip, knowing he was going to give the boy an earful later.
For now it looked as if America was half starved, frozen and soaked through. How had he come to be in this state? He caught himself reaching out to flick that errant hair out of his face and clenched his fist. He had done that time and again when America was still a child, could possibly have done it not too far into the future, but never while he was wearing that twice-damned coat!
He straightened and went in search of dry clothes and towels. Maybe even to put some left over soup on the boil, for America was, no doubt, hungry.
When was he not?
He found some of America’s clothes that he had left behind during one of his many stays at England’s house and deposited them on the arm rest of the couch and returned to the kitchen to put the soup on the stove when he heard a crash from the living room, followed by a deathly silence. A shiver raced up his spine as he quickly made his way back, thinking that America was never that silent when awake.
And awake he was, sitting upright on the couch, his hair a wild mess and shivering uncontrollably. England leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Really, America, what are you thinking, coming to Britain, dressed like that.” He eyed the coat with distaste. “That’s callous, even for you.”
America had shot to his feet at England’s first words, spinning about to face him only to fall back down onto the couch, his fingers clutching the back in a white-knuckled grip. His eyes were impossibly wide for a moment before they narrowed into angry slits of glittering blue. His face was flushed, whether from anger or illness, England couldn’t tell.
“England,” he spat.
England held back a retort, confusion filling him more by the moment. America rarely got angry anymore. It took a lot before he snapped, so what had England done to deserve this? He pushed off the frame and strolled into the room.
America leaped from the couch once again, giving a small cry as his foot refused to hold him properly and backed away from him.
“Really, America, this is becoming quite dull.” He eyed the now damp couch and decided against it, choosing the chair adjacent instead. He reached for the clean clothes. “Go upstairs and get out of that damn coat before you freeze to death.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” England’s gaze shot to the boy, surprised at the low tone, the malice contained therein. “Did you forget already? I’m not yours to command any longer.”
Maybe it was the tone, maybe it was the state America was in, or maybe it was the fact that America was speaking with a faint British accent, but England’s eyes widened and he finally realized that this was no act on America’s part.
They stared at each other in stunned silence, well, stunned on England’s part. America was silently fuming across the room from him, glare firmly in place. His hand flexed, mindlessly searching for his weapon, something to protect himself from this face off with England.
Slowly England stood and as he moved, America backed further away. He held up one hand as if that alone would hold England at bay.
“America-”
Just then his cellular phone rang and hell broke loose.
America nearly jumped out of his skin. He threw himself back against the wall, upsetting the framed pictures there and his wild eyes frantically searched for the source of the jolly tune. England quickly pulled the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open without a care of who was on the other end.
“England? Hello~? Are you there, old man?”
England nearly dropped the phone as he held it to his ear. “A-America?”
“Yo. Hey, do you think a giant curtain will help us in the fight against global warming? If we made it out of aluminum?”
England wasn’t listening, so much as fighting for his sanity. Two Americas? How was the world to survive?
“Wait, what?”
“Global warming, we’re still working on that, yeah?”
“No, America. I don’t have time for this.” He flipped the phone closed with more force than was necessary and returned his dumbfounded gaze to the young America.
He was still watching him with that determined look of rebellion and England found that he didn’t know what to say. At all. He swallowed hard and ever so slowly lowered himself to the chair once again. It seems that he was going to have to calm the boy’s fears before he got anywhere with him.
He tried smiling but that only earned him a deeper scowl. The bright blue eyes flicked to the phone still in his hand.
“What was that god awful noise?”
England glanced down at the phone, surprised. How did he describe such a thing to someone so obviously from the past? He tossed the phone onto the coffee table and shrugged. “An alarm, only.”
America snorted and gradually his shoulders lost their stiff set as he realized England wasn’t going to outright attack him. Then his eyes roamed the room. “This your house?”
England wiped his sweaty palms on his trouser legs. He nodded and America shivered. “Why don’t you changed out of your wet clothes? You’re lips are blue.”
He frowned. “Why did you bring me here? I’m not going to lose this.” His lips were thin and his chin set at a churlish angle. England sighed.
“I didn’t bring you here.”
America rolled his eyes, finally giving in and rubbing his hands over his arms to try to bring some warmth back into them. England so wanted to go to the boy and wrap him in a blanket, set him before a fire and care for him like he used to do. America would never allow it, he knew. Not right now.
“Then, pray tell, how did I come to be here? You nearly drowned me.” America finally decided to relax, or maybe his leg wouldn’t hold him any longer, for he dropped to the couch and that glare had less hate and more confusion in it.
England snorted and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I didn’t bring you here. Wouldn’t even if I could.” He missed the look of desperation in America’s eyes as he sat forward and once again frowned at the water soaking the couch and America. “Will you at least dry off? You’re ruining my furniture.”
America shrugged and his eyes flicked around the room once again. “What happened to the fight? We were supposed to meet in a field. How long was I out?”
“America, there’s something you should know.” England stood and America cowed back on the couch. Making a noise of scorn, England walked around the table, away from America. “You’re not where you think you are.”
“I’m not in Britain?”
“No, you are, but -well, not when you think you are.” He tapped his knuckles on the telly as he passed it by. How to explain?
When?” England turned to look at America and found the boy once again staring at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head. “I don’t believe in your fairies and all that, you know.”
The fae! England spun on his heel and marched out of the room, seeking something he only just now realized was missing. Where were those little imps? Usually they were everywhere, surrounding him and abuzz with curiosity.
~*~*~
He found them surrounding his tea set, faerie dust littering the trey and table. He glared at the eldest of the quartet and her blossoming grin died before it reached its full effect. Before he reached her, she burst out in tears and was wailing quite loudly.
“You’re not happy!” she accused, bringing fists up to her eyes to hide the tears overflowing. Just like that, his anger subsided and he forced himself to keep his glower.
“What were you thinking?”
Through her tears, he gathered that she remembered when he was happy, when America was still a colony and had thought to make him happy with a young America. He sighed and closed his eyes. What on earth was he to do with meddling faeries?
He heard America follow him out, slightly limping as he tried to keep weight off his ankle. A quick glance behind him confirmed his guess and he returned his glare to the faerie. “You have to send him back.”
She hiccupped and was useless, her siblings crowding around her. England sighed.
“England, you’re talking to a table.”
England spun around, finger pointing to the faerie. “There’s a-” he started before he collected himself. This wasn’t America, well, it wasn’t the America he was used to, the obnoxious brat. This America was standing there, that look on his face, but otherwise silent. “There’s a faerie,” he settled for a more calm tone, wondering just what was really happening. He looked back at the sobbing faerie and sighed, the fight leaving him.
He put his hands to his knees to put his face on level with her. “Stop crying, now. I’m not angry with you.”
“Sound angry to me,” America comment over his shoulder.
England shot him a glare before flicking his eyes back to the faerie. “Will you send him back?”
She pouted up at him. “You’re not happy with him here?”
England couldn’t hold back a snort. “No, not at all. It was nice seeing him, but no, send him back.”
“You used to be so happy with him!” She turned a suddenly fierce glare in America’s direction. “He made you sad!” Before he could act, she fluttered into the air and walloped America on the nose with a branch.
Startled, America blinked, eyes crossing a moment at the sudden pain on his nose, then he was gone. Vanished. As if he had never been there to begin with.
Something tense released inside England. At the same time, he felt something else inside him tighten as he remembered how tired, how ill, how thin and haunted that young America had looked.
“You’re still sad!” the faerie accused, pointing a finger at his nose. For a moment he feared a wallop of his own, but the faerie refrained and stared at him with tears filling her eyes. “I want you to be happy!”
“England! What the hell, man?” They both jumped and turned to the house’s door, where the modern America stood pouting a pout to rival the faerie’s. “You hung up on me!”
As America approached, England looked back at the faerie, smiling, bittersweet. “I was happy when he was still a colony, but how can I have time for sorrow when he’s like this now?”
She didn’t have time to respond, as America was suddenly there, lifting England over his shoulder, ignoring his protests.
“Put me down, you prat!”
“No, you won’t listen unless I make you, so you have to come with me. I’ve something awesome to show you.”
The faerie giggled as England’s curses filled the garden. He wasn’t like he was before, but, she realized, he was happy in another, wholly different way.
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