The Colony

[cheetah]

A trade half with Daisoku.

This is set in...god knows when, it's 3am and I'm Irish, I have no idea. Sometime recently after America was colonized by England (basically he's a chibi.)

Ireland is mine (the sueness, but I just couldn't help ittt...) and England's brother is Scotland, as he appears in some episode I'm not going to link. I finished writing this about...now, which is why the style sort of moodswings as it goes.

Somehow I suspect that this is ridden with typos, even if I just re-read it twice...

First Hetalia fic so I probably killed England and Chibimerica (derp), but I hope it's not all so bad~

“England? England?”

The words that bounce around the house are unmistakable; lighty accented, an unbroken male voice that anyone in the household would place as a certain young colony.

Today, there’s no answer; no “Hello, America” of the former delinquent; the little boy tilts his head sideways.

“England?”

“Who ‘rre you?”

Spinning around, America sees a stranger about his age- or has he seen her before?- staring at him with nothing short of guilt. He sees why; she appears to be dragging around a sack of what are clearly England’s potatoes, a bottle of his whiskey…and a broken chain on her neck.

“Oh, sure Oi know you. Yorr’ the colonist’s pet, sure.” she takes a bite of (raw) potato, muffling her heavily accented voice. “When y’go up t’see him, be a chara and don’t tell ‘im Oi’m free, will ya, biy?”

“Are you his little sister? Where’s England?” America asks, frowning.

“Narr biy! Neverr, biy! Oi’m his cousain, goul.” she pouts, insulted. “Moi name is Eíreann, biy! …but that goul cahlls me Ireland!”

“Where is he?!” the larger colony loses his temper to this little girl. “If you did anything to him-!”

“Oi din’t do nothin‘, biy!” she yawns, unruffled. “The slave keeper‘s oup there, he‘’s been missin‘ all day, biy!”

He pauses- the girl’s clearly a little confused about this herself, even if she‘s hiding it…either that or she acts oddly when drunk. Either way, America swears that he’ll take better action than to go boozing and steal England’s stuff.

“Whatever, biy. Lookh, all Oi know is that he hasn’t come down, alroit?” her face softens suddenly. “Didn’t you have a bear last time? Waht’s your name again?”

“Last time?” he blinks, distracted. “My name is America.”

“Whatever, biy. See you aroond, Meiriceá.” she begins to walk away, and adds “He’s in ‘is bedroom, boi the way.”

The newly-christened Meiriceá dwells on this odd conversation for a second before the last part sinks in. Why would England be in his room? It was midday; the orderly gentleman would have been out of bed a few hours before.

“England?!” he runs upstairs, his imagination spurting up a few undesirable scenarios. “Enggllaa-”

He stops.

“A…America?”

For a second, America hardly recognizes him; his usually tidy self is completely ruffled, as if he…well…hasn’t gotten out of bed. Staring at the boy with baggy eyes- red-rimmed, they match the colour of his cheeks and nose- they share a small moment of surprise.

“Ughh…G…h-gtschh! Good morning, America…what time is it? Have I overslept?” England’s voice is thick; congested and hoarse, his nose filters out some of the syllables.

“E…England…” the colony mumbles, still a little surprised, “It’s midday. I came because I thought you forgot about…”

“Of course I didn’t, America.” he smiles briefly, before turning and coughing into his fist forcefully. “I…simply…midday?” he splutters. “Bollocks!”

The Englishman sits up- and to give him credit, he tries. He really does. But somehow…

Somehow…

Getting out of bed was suddenly much harder.

“H…hetchuu! Kschht!” Cursing, he slumps back down again. Leave that hurdle to be jumped later.

“England, are you sick?”

Bloody hell.

“Of course not, I’m sure it’s just so…some…”

“Sickness?” a flash of an America of the future, the one that England would lose control of.

“America! I’m ju-hutchoo!”

The little boy’s face was lined with confusion and dawning realization.

“It’s OK, England!” he beams suddenly. “I’ll take care of you!”

“There’s really no need-”

England has to stop at the approaching look of disappointment- the face of a child whose toy has been taken away.

Luckily, America takes advantage of this before he can speak again. “Stay here, England! I can do it!”

“…what are you going to d-”

Too late. America’s gone back out, god knows where.

“Americ- eh…hechoo!”

A pause, broken only a few sniffs.

“He can’t work the stove, can he?”

Another equally cracked pause.

“America!”

He can’t keep track of time- somehow, he feels like he’s half-asleep. Nauseous. It’s odd, really- it’s not the symptoms, nor the inability to move, nor the lack of IQ that seems to be the worst. It’s the fact that the sarcastic, dignified, unruffled gentlemen can just…

…well…

…lose control.

As the thought passes through his mind, the tickle at the back of his nose strengthens. Face shifting automatically, he raises his arm.

“H’tchuu! Kgtchhu! H…hkechoo!”

He moans, lies back, and thanks his lucky stars that it’s not France who’s seen him like this.

“England! England, look!”

The elder jolts awake- this tells him two things. Firstly, America is back. Secondly, when did he fall asleep?

Make that three.

Oh. He does know how to use the stove…or one of the other colonies wandering around showed him. It was hard to keep track of all those kids.

“Here!”

He stares into the mug of liquid which, considering it was made by a small child who was probably quite unhygienic, didn’t look too bad. Cautious of hurting America by not doing anything, he took a sip.

“This…this is delicious, America! Where did you learn how to make this?”

He feels the warm liquid soothe his throat, at least. The nose could come later.

“I got help.”

England wondered who’d helped him- but his head felt clouded by fever, the names and faces drifting out somewhere he couldn’t reach them. He raised it and drunk deeply, hardly able to taste it with a congested nose yet somehow savouring it deeply. Suddenly, he feels happier. This isn’t all so bad…to just…be calm for a bit.

“How did you make this, though? What did you put in it?”

The little nation beamed, clearly pleased with himself.

“I did it all by myself, mostly! Your cousin told me what the secret ingredient was, though!” he beamed. “She let me use the whole bottle!”

England stares at the mug with a sudden suspicion that he’s drunk. What is he doing? America is his responsibility! He shouldn’t be letting him free roam, using his kitchen and alcohol, for crying out loud.

“Americ…eh…etchuu! G‘tchuuh!!” he lost it, giving himself up- anything to just stop that relentless tickle. He doubles over, lost in a fit of sneezes and chokes, while the child watches in terrified fascination. ”Hu’tchuuh! Ktchuu!”

The younger nation gives him a mournful look, waiting for silence, before he speaks.

“I’m not going to be able to make you better, am I, big brother?” his eyes are tearful as he balls up his hands, frustrated at his own weakness.

England stares back at him, the word echoing around his mind infused with memories-

No matter how powerful you think you are, Artie boy, you’re always just a little kid- I’m always going to be the big brother, you pathetic little brat-

-France was right about you, England, you’re nothing but a spoilt child who got older-

-and shakes his head slowly, struggling to turn around and place his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“Don’t be silly, America…this is…this…” he throws away the memory, and it’s gone- gone someplace where he’s let it go. “Thank you.”

The little kid’s eyes are filled with confusion, but he nods, and the usual cheerfulness slowly dilutes his expression.

“I don’t want to go home.” he says suddenly. “I don’t want you to be alone here, England…”

The colony is silent. And then,

“You…can do what you want, for now.”

He can’t help but silently agree, but somehow he suspects America already knows.

[Dye]

Oh...

My...

Goooooddddd...

thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!!!! <3

I think I can die happy now! Except I can't! I need to finish your picture! ;v;

But asdfghjkl... you should write more~~~ You're amazing at writing~! Englaaaaand~~ <3

Have you noticed you have destroyed my ability to use words and grammar correctly? ;w;

iloveyousomuch <3

[cheetah]

Haha, no problem~

I would do anything for a piece of art from you, biy I mean dude I mean umm WIFE ;A;