“America! America come out!” England shouted between cupped hands. It was getting late now, the sun dipping in the horizon. He paused in his pace, an irritable sigh passing through his lips. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, looking towards the sun. The frown grew, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. Two hours. It had been two hours now since the boy had run off. Two hours since their argument had ended.

Of course, England could barely remember what had caused the fight. His frown deepened, arms crossing over his chest as he tried to remember. It had been something foolish. Yes, that was it. The reason behind the fight had been something silly, though he could not necessarily remember what that silly reason was. After it had begun it had escalated. They had been shouting insults across the table at one another, surprising England greatly. Sure, he and the young America had gotten into many fights in the past, but never to that extent. At the very end, America had said something that had just snapped the last of England’s patience in two. It wasn’t until after his had slapped the boy that his mind had caught up with his actions that he realized what he had done. But before he could apologize, America had run off, out of their home. Almost immediately England had taken off after him, but the young boy knew this land better than he did. All the Englishman could do was wander, shouting for the little boy as he searched. “America, please! Where are you!?”

But the little boy did not come out like England had hoped. The little boy remained hidden, causing a frustrated sigh to escape him. It was getting dark, and if England was reading the sky right, which he was (unless his sailing skills had rusted over the years) there was a storm coming. The worst combination possible. America already was frightened easily in the dark. He would always think a ghost was going to come out and attack him. Add a storm to that, well… England had a feeling when he found the boy he would be curled up into a tight, terrified ball. Cupping his hands around his mouth again, England continued forward. “America!”

There was still no response. England wondered whether or not he should return to the house. America could have returned, and if not England could get a lantern before continuing.

Pursing his lips together he looked back towards the sun. He still had about an hour of light left. He could spend a little more time searching.

“If I was America… Where would I hide?” But England had already checked the usual hiding spots. And the woods had thousands of new ones for the young colony. Plus, there was that annoying fact that America knew the woods far better than England did. “America, I’m sorry alright? Please come out!”

Still no sign of the blonde headed boy. England wondered if the little colony was ignoring him. It was either that, or he had been distracted by something. Probably some rabbits.

Then again… What if something had happened? What if… What if  that pervert France was in the area!? England’s eyes went wide as he began to look around more frantically. His fear for his charge growing more and more at the sheer thought.

The rain began to fall, lightly at first. But it did not take long for it to begin falling harder and harder. It also did not take long for what little sunlight the setting sun had casted to be drowned out by the dark clouds. He cursed beneath his breath, straining his eyes in the growing darkness to look around. There was no doubt about it. America would be curled up in a ball somewhere.

“America!? Where are you!?” He shouted above the howling winds. He squinted against the pouring rain, continuing forward. He strained his ears, listening for any sound that could be the colony. But all he could hear was the storm.

A loud crack of thunder made the once pirate captain jump, its accompanied flash of lightening illuminating the area. Just enough for England to see the steep, rocky incline he was besides, just enough for England to brace himself as he lost his balance, tumbling down the incline. He couldn’t help but cry out, his head colliding with one of the rocks as he tumbled. It did not take long for darkness to overtake his mind.

(-)(-)(-)

“Stupid England,” a young, blonde haired boy muttered trudging into the house, hoping the aforementioned man would not hear him. He grinned at his luck upon realizing that England was not even around. America hummed happily, kicking his muddy shoes off by the door, before going to his room to change. However, as the thunder cracked, he could not hold back a scream, diving under the blankets of his bed. Shaking, he peeked out, hugging his knees into his chest. He hated storms. He really did. England always teased him about it, saying that the thunder was just ‘angels bowling’. Yeah right. America figured angels had more important things to do then bowl. Besides, that wouldn’t explain the scary lightening.

He stayed curled up for the longest time. Biting his bottom lip to fight down a whimper as the sky roared. As the storm continued, he wished his England was there more and more. Sure, he was mad at the older country. He was really mad. But the fear was outweighing the anger. Plus… As minutes ticked by, worry began to knaw at his stomach. Where was he anyways?

Taking a deep breath, America got out of his bed. He hummed again, trying to ignore his fear. There were no monsters. No ghosts. He was safe. That was right. He pulled the blanket around him tighter. As long as he stayed underneath his blanket he was safe. It was his shield. Nothing could get through it.

A floor board squeaked underneath his foot.

America screamed, stumbling back and landing on his romp.

Tears began to slide down his cheeks, despite how he bit his lower lip to keep them from falling. He held the blanket around him tighter, screaming again as another flash of light cut through the sky. “En-England!”

But his brother did not come to him. The house remained early quiet…

America wished Canada was here… At least then he wouldn’t be alone. And if Canada was there, America’s big brother instincts would cause him to work through his fear. But his little brother wasn’t here, nor was his big brother. And America was paralyzed in fear, huddled in a tight ball in the hallway.

He kept imagining England rushing into the house, scooping America up and calming him like he often did. But the sandy-haired man never appeared.

Where was he? America knew the older country was mad at him. But England never ignored America before when he was scared, no matter how angry the older man was…

But America had never seen England that angry before. After all, he had slapped America. England had never raised a hand to the young boy before. He had threatened too, sure. He had threatened to spank America numerous times when he was younger and misbehaving. He had threatened to slap America before too, to the point of raising his hand. But England had never carried out with the threats. This had been the first time…

That was why America had run off. He had gotten scared. That was why America had said what he had said…

“I hate you England!”

The little boy cringed at the memory. He wondered if England would forgive him for those words. They had been said in a heat of rage. America hadn’t meant them… He had just been frustrated. Angry. England was getting so overprotective these days, it drove America insane. That’s how their fight had started… Though the trigger was something America had long forgotten.

“En-England! I’m sorry!” He shouted, his voice trembling. He waited, hesitantly peeking out from his blankets. But there was no sign of him. It was then a sudden thought hit America, his blue eyes widening.

What if England was outside? What if he had gone out in this storm looking for America? It would be like England to do that… But with this storm.

With a deep breath America forced his shaking legs to work. He stood; walking down the long hallway, America never realized how long the hall was before. It felt like it had grown twice its length. Each step making the floors creak. America scrubbed his teary eyes fervently. He had to be brave! At least until England showed up. He reached the front room, fumbling through the darkness until he managed to light a candle. In the dim light he looked around. He had hoped that maybe England would be lying around someplace. It wouldn’t be the first time. America had stumbled upon the man in a drunken stupor before (and England had always woken up with ink scribbles all over his face). But England was not lying on the ground, and America was too terrified to look through the other dark rooms. He sat at the table, hugging his knees tightly, eyes fixed on the flickering candle. He observed the wax dripping down in an attempt to distract his mind, his blanket remaining tightly wrapped around him.

But his blue eyes darted towards the door, expecting a soaking wet England to come through it at anytime.

“What if something happened..?” He voiced to no one in particular, eyes remaining wide as he curled up tighter. “N-No way! England’s tough! No-Nothing bad could happen to him…”

Another crack of thunder. Another shriek from the young boy. He buried his face into his knees, trembling from head to foot. England would come home soon. England would come home soon. He would…

“-merica,” a soft, barely audible voice made his head snap up. He looked around frightfully, his heart pounding against his chest. Nothing was there. But that barely audible voice sounded again. “America…”

“Whose there!?” He shouted, gripping the blanket. “England if this is one of your jokes cut it out! It’s not Halloween, you jerk!”

“Follow my voice,” he looked around, again seeing nothing. It didn’t sound like England… No it sounded like a girl’s voice. And as cool as England was, there was no way he could imitate a girl to scare America. Then that would mean…

A ghost! He pulled the blanket over his head, pressing his hands over his mouth to muffle a scream. A ghost! A ghost was in his house!

“America!” A very angry ghost at that! It yanked at his blanket, nearly sending the boy tumbling off his chair. Fearfully he peeked out of the blanket, but still saw nothing. “Honestly! I know you cannot see me, but now is not the time to be hiding like a baby!”

“I’m not a baby!” He shouted, throwing the blanket off his head in a dramatic fashion. He heard a high pitched giggle.

“Alright, you are not a baby,” the ghost giggled out, America scowling in annoyance. “Now hurry.”

“What do you mean hurry? Where are you!?”

“In front of you silly,” the female voice announced. It made America look around in a panic. “But now is not the time for questions!”

There was a tag at the front of his shirt, America flailing his arms in panic. “Wh-What do you want!?”

“England’s hurt! We cannot wake him!” Suddenly, America’s fear of the ghost and the storm evaporated, the words ringing in his mind. He bounced to his feet almost immediately, eyes wide as he immediately grabbed a lantern off the counter, placing the candle inside it.

“Where is he!?”

“Follow my voice!” The ghost shouted. America nodded, running out the front door, lantern in hand. The ghost continued to call his name, leading him into the woods. Rain beat against the young colony, drenching him to the bone in a matter of minutes. His bangs flopped into his eyes, America pushing them out of the way repeatedly.

Lightening struck the ground, America shrieking. He tripped over his feet, landing face first in the muddy ground. The thunder rumbled in the air, shaking his bones. He remained frozen, curling up like he had in the house. He shivered, in a mix of cold and fear. Another bolt of lightning, another crack of thunder, another cry of fear from the little boy. He held his hands over his ears,  his blue eyes squeezed shut. He hummed again, louder and louder as he tried to calm himself.

“America! Please!” The ghost’s voice was loud, right besides his ear. He could feel little hands trying to pull his hand away, America swatting at the air in an attempt to stop it. “America! England’s hurt!”

But everything was scary! The storm was getting worse, and his lantern barely did a thing against the darkness. America was scared. He couldn’t move. He knew England was hurt. The ghost had said that on more than one occasion as they ran through the woods. America knew this very well, but as another bolt illuminated the sky, he could only curl up into a tighter ball.

“America please! You are the only one who can help him!” The ghost pleaded, pulling at America’s hand again. He swatted the air, squeezing his eyes shut. Tears mixed with rain as he sobbed. This wasn’t good. This really was not good. England was in trouble. England was hurt. England could die…

That thought caused his blue eyes to snap open. He lowered his hands from his ears, staring at the lantern that was lying on its side not too far away. It was somehow still lit. America forced himself up, picking the lantern up. He wiped his muddy face on his drenched sleeve, looking around for the ghost. “Lead the way! Hu-Hurry!”

He was terrified. There was no denying that. America was terrified, a small whimper escaping him with every flash of lightening and crack of thunder. But he kept running, following the ghosts calls. He was scared, yes. But he had to be brave. He had to work through the numbing fear. England needed help. He was the only one who could help him…

“Be very careful,” the voice called, America squinting through wet bangs. “England lost his balance here. It is very steep, so be careful.”

America nodded, more to himself then to the ghost. Carefully he climbed down the incline, holding the lantern before him to make sure each step was safe. When he reached the bottom he looked around frantically. The voice called again. He ran towards it, eyes widening as the lanterns soft light landed on the prone figure of his brother-figure. America knelt down in the mud, setting the lantern down before shaking the older country by the shoulders.

“England! England can you hear me!?” There was no response, America catching sight of the red blood that had soaked the back of the older man’s sandy blonde hair. He shook him again, eyes wide. Was he too late? “England!”

“Ame… rica?” Green eyes opened ever so slightly. A wave of relief coursing over the little colony. America nodded in response, looking around and chewing his lip. He looked down again, the dazed eyes were still looking up at him, a smile on the older man’s face. “I’m glad… You’re alright…”

“I’m gonna ge-get you help, okay?” He felt fear course through his veins. England had given a tiny nod, his green eyes slipping shut. “England! N-No! Stay awake!”

But the man had passed out again, leaving a frantic America.  England needed a doctor. He needed one now

The nearest town was a good mile away America deduced. Could England hold out until then?

He couldn’t wait to find out. America grabbed the older countries arm, slinging it over his shoulder. England had always commented how strong America was. And often he would receive a lecture from the older country about it. England always warned him that he could not show off his strength, at least until he appeared to be older by human terms. It was something that always annoyed America. But all the same, he obeyed the warnings.

But now, all those warnings fell out of his mind. With his strength he knew he could carry England to the doctors. There was only one problem…

“Could you carry the lantern?” He shouted, blue eyes glancing around for the ghost. “Or is it too heavy?”

“There’s more than just me here. Between all of us fairies we can carry it.” The ghost called, and America watched the lantern lift shakily. He frowned slightly.

“If there’s more of you why couldn’t you help England!?”

“He’s too heavy, even with all of us trying!”

“… Okay…” Shaking his head he looked a head. Was there another way up the incline? There had to be. His face scrunched as he thought, before nodding to himself. “Okay! Keep the light in front!”

The ghosts obeyed, America hurrying as quickly as he could.

He had to hurry, for England’s sake.

(-)(-)(-)

The first thing that England became aware of was that his head was killing him. For a moment he laid on his back, keeping his eyes shut. He recalled briefly what had happened. He had been looking for America. It had been about to rain, or had it begun? No it had begun. That’s right. And he had lost his footing because he had been startled by the thunder (that was embarrassing). That was the last thing he could clearly remember… But he was no longer lying at the bottom of that hill. He didn’t even need to open his eyes to know he was lying in a bed. That just led him to wonder, just where was he?

Groggily he opened his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling. He attempted to raise his hand, to rub the sleep from his eyes, but found he couldn’t. Confused, England turned his head, gingerly to the side. Relief crashed into him immediately.

A little nine-year old boy was sitting in the chair besides his bed, his head resting against the mattress, his hand gripping England’s own. A quilt was pulled over him, though England noted it was slipping off ever so slightly. He smiled a little, carefully sitting up, his free hand rising to cradle his head. His fingers brushed against bandages, green eyes widening momentarily. Well, at least this explained why his head was throbbing…

“England? Are you okay?” He turned his head, meekly, to the side. He could see his fairy friends, all bobbing in the air by his bedside. The sandy blonde man smiled at them all.

“I’m alright,” he whispered, eyes trailing back to the little colony by his side. “What happened?”

“You fell and hit your head!” One of the more energetic fairies, Twiffles, announced her little arms waving frantically. “We couldn’t wake you up, so Dandledrop flew off to get America while we stayed with you and kept trying to wake you up!”

“They had no luck, unfortunately,” Dandledrop spoke up, flying past him to where little America was sleeping, gently pulling the slipping quilt over him again. “He was truly terrified at first, but when I mentioned you were hurt, well there were still a few rough patches, but he came. He picked you up and rushed to the nearest doctors. Which is where you are.”

“… He carried me all the way here?” The fairies nodded, England looking at the small boy before releasing a short chuckle. “Bloody hell… I forget how strong he can be…”

The fairies giggled, and he was about to ask them another question when he heard movement. He snapped his head to the side, far too quickly. The room spun, and he groaned, the fairies pushing him back. And he was sure America’s grip on his hand had tightened.

“I’m glad to you are awake Mr. Kirkland,” it was the doctor. What was his name? Something Smith he believed, but he couldn’t be sure. Especially not now, with his pounding skull. The man was smiling at him, evidently relieved. They talked softly, not wanting to wake America up. England learned that the little boy had pounded on the door until Smith had woken. Naturally the man had been surprised that little America could carry England all the way there, though he had made a comment about adrenaline making people stronger… Or something. England hadn’t paid him much attention. His head was still pounding, but he somehow seemed to not have a concussion. Of course, he was a Nation. The Great British Empire. He wouldn’t get a concussion from a whack on the head.

Just a fairly large head ache.

“Alfred’s alright though, right?” He asked, reaching his free hand out to pull the ever-slipping quilt back over the boy, his other still trapped in the colonies own. The Doctor nodded.

“I tried to get him to sleep in one of the spare beds, but he refused. He wanted to stay with you. But he’s perfectly fine. Just shaken up over the whole ordeal.” England nodded again, idly pushing the boys bangs back. “To think, such a small child could actually carry you all the way here. He saved your life…”

England could only nod, smiling despite himself. “Mmhmm, he’s a hero…”

America smiled ever so slightly in his sleep.