[Fanfic] You'll Be In My Heart 2
Title: You'll Be In My Heart Part 2
Characters: America and England
Rating: K
Warnings: MORE SAP AND PHIL COLLINS!
Summary: A long ago memory renewed by war might just bring this country some peace.
England had sat atop so many things in his life; thrones and mountains, conquered colonies and cowering countries. However, now he sat atop the rubble of his people. The pain of his citizens surrounded him. He couldn't breathe or move, knowing that one step would lead him to see another starving child, crying for his mother or a man with empty eyes, feeling the same sense of loss of everything he had. England had never felt more worthless than ever in his founding. The abuse from his brothers, the backstabbing from his so-called "allies", the curses from his enemies, and the desertion from his "special person" didn't amount to the absolute devastation in his heart.
His scared body now had so many new paths carved into his arms, legs, torso. The worst was the one across his heart that was still steadily bleeding down his chest. He knew he couldn't bleed to death; a country was incapable of this to his knowledge. It didn't hurt. Bleeding never hurt, it was more a nuisance. Still, it was there and it shouldn't be. England shouldn't be bleeding because of Germany.
All of Europe knew (in good and bad ways) that England was the only stronghold left against Germany and Italy (well more Germany than Italy). England, riding high on his pride to be the only protector left and surging from his superpower status, did all he could to stop the madness from reaching his shores. And now, here he stands.
Defeated.
He hated admitting that disgusting word, but there was nothing left for him to throw at Germany. In the distance, Big Ben rang its chime. England lifted his head slightly; a tiny sense of relief in knowing his beloved clock tower was still there. That meant his King George VI and ambitious Princess Elizabeth II were still alive. But that fact wasn't enough to settle his anxiety.
A strange feeling. Anxiety. He had only felt it once. It was so long ago that the memory seemed lost in a haze of battles and pain. And yet, there it was. That small fragment of baby blue eyes and preciously soft hands reaching up for him. He had needed his comfort; America.
England had heard faintly from some of his citizens that America had been attacked. Of course England's initial reaction was to rush to the boy's side, scoop him into his arms and whisk the child away from all the nightmares. That was what he had done for so many years, or tried to, America would say. Yes, that America was gone. The America now wouldn't be held in anyone's arms, protected by anyone, or treated like some child.
Still, the feeling remained. The aching to be near his "special person" had always remained a constant in his life since they parted ways, even though that term never left England's lips and he was certain America didn't know of his nickname. England honestly didn't know why he still thought of America as that. He was certainly not a person, he was a country. But countries were cruel, harsh, and conniving. They had their own agendas to follow. America just never seemed to be that way in England's mind.
That's ridiculous, England would always think. The lad certainly had his own agenda when he left. He's not any different.
And yet… no one else had clung to him, so close on the verge of death, wanting only him to be there by his side. Crying for him in the night when terrified of ghosts or on the dock when he left. Only him, always him. America was always about only England.
But he wasn't now. He wasn't here.
He's not here.
England looked down, his heart breaking as he suddenly felt so very alone. Perhaps if America had not been attacked by Japan he could be here by his side. That ridiculous smile and those inviting arms. But he couldn't come and he wouldn't come. Like so many other disappointments in his life, England would have to accept this one as well.
America tapped his fingers on his knees, doing his damndest to keep his patience as the plane prepared for landing. It had been a week since his attack on Pearl Harbor, his back still bandaged from his fresh wound, but America refused to sit by. He convinced his President to let him fly across the ocean to England. There and only there could America enter the war that was not his war.
It upset him greatly that a war that truly did not concern him had suddenly pulled him into it. Sure, some countries said that America was secretly preparing and might have joined in a few months, but only America knew what his original intentions were. Now, no one would ever know. They could only say that he was the cheerleader from the other side of the world for England and France. Why wouldn't he be?
These two men had helped raise him and his brother. He had obligations, kinship, debt, and so much more to them, no matter how much they didn't get along. That so much more mainly connected him to England. The aggravating eye browed guy that was more like the scolding father than a friend. And yet he was.
America didn't have many in this world, he had only just recently opened up to the idea that there are other people out there in the world. However, that certainly didn't mean they could come start getting involved in his affairs in the Americas. Hell no, that was his department. Sometimes, it was the countries that lived there as well, but for the most part, he controlled that side of the world.
So what was he doing on the other side? Saving England, he guessed.
Upon arriving at London, he felt his heart clench. It looked worse than he knew. If England looked this war torn, what did the rest of Europe look like? The land had been brutally ground up from the bombs, the buildings toppled over into the streets and devoid of any life. America knew England now had more scars that he didn't deserve. And that, that made him angrier than he knew.
Without waiting for his citizens that had accompanied him on the trip, America dashed for England. Countries had that innate sense of knowing where another was, especially one with such a connection to America. England was his "dearest person". He was always about only England.
"Arthur!" America called, knowing that England's human name was to be used during war times. Not like it truly mattered at this point. Anyone walking down the tattered street could see that a normal human could not be still alive with such a large blood stain on his uniform over his heart.
The older nation blinked back into focus, adjusting his gaze on America standing before him. He was really here, panting and frazzled from worry. He was pulling off his bomber jacket and covering England's wounded body as the rain began to sprinkle on them.
"Ameri…Alfred?" England asked in disbelief. He had to ask. If he said it as a statement, it might be a lie.
"Let's get you somewhere warm. Come on. Come with me." America held his hand out. His hands were out. England stared at them, amazed they still opened to him. Always open to him and waiting, whether it be at a port or in his defeated roads. There he stood only for him.
America had taken England into a bank, still slightly intact. The safe in the back had been untouched by the bombs save for a few charred marks on the metal cover. America had rushed to get food from his men that were currently passing out candy to children, coming back with arms full of packages usually reserved for his soldiers. He figured a man would give up his food for a country.
"Here, eat this." America thrust the food into England's lap. England mumbled a thanks before he started to eat. America didn't know how he could with the smell of death so strong around him, but he figured it was due to his years of constantly being surrounded by death in the form of plagues. "England? Are you…ok? I mean, you're not okay physically and such, but I mean you… Are you…?"
The British Empire was known for many things, but emotional he was not. Short tempered, sure, but that didn't merit him one that lived with his heart on his sleeve. America had been present when he saw England cry, truly and deeply cry, and wished he would never see it again, even in his memories. And yet, there it came. England cried, cried harder than at the Revolution.
Because to lose a colony isn't so horrible in the grand scheme of things. It's a blow to your pride and check book, but one less conquered land didn't break as many hearts as America liked to think. But losing everything, being defeated. It was something America never knew of, hell, he didn't even know what a cold was.
"I worked…so hard…," England sobbed, gasping between his cries. He wiped at his face only to look at his mud stained hands, or was that blood? "So hard to prove to everyone…I was good enough… That I was strong… Not a cry baby with too messy of hair and…an attitude problem… And yet… That damn Wurst took it all…"
America rubbed his arm nervously, unsure of what to do. He looked down at England, wishing he could hold the man, but knowing that the older nation would push him away. Just like always. Still, America had to correct something in England's mind he had about other countries.
"You don't have to prove that to me, England." The older nation looked over at his former colony, confused. America gave a small smile full of fake strength. "You never had to with me. I always knew you were a strong cry baby with a bad attitude problem."
America half-heartily wished England would laugh, maybe punch him in the arm, but not sob even harder. He knew the man couldn't help it, losing so much in a day. England pulled America close to him by clinging to his shirt sleeve. America wrapped his arms around England, making sure to keep that jacket over his shoulders.
What to do…? America thought to himself. What did he do when I was sad or scared…?
And there it was. That memory. That gentle one. England had whispered those comforting words into his ears when he was on the verge of death, almost losing it all. He never forgot the words and had always wanted to say them back to England, but always losing his confidence. And now he found the ample opportunity.
"Come stop your crying, it'll be all right," America murmured. England's sobs were still going strong, so he spoke a little louder, taking England's hand in his. "Just take my hand…hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you… I will be here, don't you cry."
England looked up in surprise. America only gave a smile masked in fake strength back. He rubbed his thumb over England's knuckles as he continued. "For one so small, you seem so strong. My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm." He pulled England's head down to his chest so that England could hear his heartbeat. When he was a child, just hearing that would always seem to soothe even the strongest of his fears. It meant England was real, he was there. "This bond between us can't be broken. I will be here, don't you cry. 'Cuz you'll be in my heart. Yes, you'll be in my heart."
He could feel England grip at his shirt. Yes, he remembered the song too. America rubbed England's back, smiling slightly. "From this day on, now and forever more. You'll be in my heart. No matter what they say. You'll be here in my heart, always."
England lifted his head to look at America, desperation apparent in his eyes. Another smile from America and the older nation gulped. The faraway look of despair slowly vanishing.
"Always?" he asked, again, not a statement.
America's smile had changed to that of true confidence, not masked in fake strength in hopes of passing it to England. "…Always."
Now, he really was here. And here, he'll always be.
Hoshiko2's cents: I LIED! IT WASN'T A ONE-SHOT! Ok, well it originally was, but then itachi00sasuke gave me such a wonderful idea to do a sequel. So all credit goes to my wonderful pal.
Also, thanks so much for all the amazing comments from the last fic. I've never gotten such a response from my fanfics before! It made my heart super happy! /Kai Lan
So I made two Disney refs here. Obviously "Tarzan" with the song, but it someone can guess the second one, YOU'LL WIN AT LIFE! And I have no idea how I wrote this while listening to "Tangled." Lol.
Characters: America and England
Rating: K
Warnings: MORE SAP AND PHIL COLLINS!
Summary: A long ago memory renewed by war might just bring this country some peace.
England had sat atop so many things in his life; thrones and mountains, conquered colonies and cowering countries. However, now he sat atop the rubble of his people. The pain of his citizens surrounded him. He couldn't breathe or move, knowing that one step would lead him to see another starving child, crying for his mother or a man with empty eyes, feeling the same sense of loss of everything he had. England had never felt more worthless than ever in his founding. The abuse from his brothers, the backstabbing from his so-called "allies", the curses from his enemies, and the desertion from his "special person" didn't amount to the absolute devastation in his heart.
His scared body now had so many new paths carved into his arms, legs, torso. The worst was the one across his heart that was still steadily bleeding down his chest. He knew he couldn't bleed to death; a country was incapable of this to his knowledge. It didn't hurt. Bleeding never hurt, it was more a nuisance. Still, it was there and it shouldn't be. England shouldn't be bleeding because of Germany.
All of Europe knew (in good and bad ways) that England was the only stronghold left against Germany and Italy (well more Germany than Italy). England, riding high on his pride to be the only protector left and surging from his superpower status, did all he could to stop the madness from reaching his shores. And now, here he stands.
Defeated.
He hated admitting that disgusting word, but there was nothing left for him to throw at Germany. In the distance, Big Ben rang its chime. England lifted his head slightly; a tiny sense of relief in knowing his beloved clock tower was still there. That meant his King George VI and ambitious Princess Elizabeth II were still alive. But that fact wasn't enough to settle his anxiety.
A strange feeling. Anxiety. He had only felt it once. It was so long ago that the memory seemed lost in a haze of battles and pain. And yet, there it was. That small fragment of baby blue eyes and preciously soft hands reaching up for him. He had needed his comfort; America.
England had heard faintly from some of his citizens that America had been attacked. Of course England's initial reaction was to rush to the boy's side, scoop him into his arms and whisk the child away from all the nightmares. That was what he had done for so many years, or tried to, America would say. Yes, that America was gone. The America now wouldn't be held in anyone's arms, protected by anyone, or treated like some child.
Still, the feeling remained. The aching to be near his "special person" had always remained a constant in his life since they parted ways, even though that term never left England's lips and he was certain America didn't know of his nickname. England honestly didn't know why he still thought of America as that. He was certainly not a person, he was a country. But countries were cruel, harsh, and conniving. They had their own agendas to follow. America just never seemed to be that way in England's mind.
That's ridiculous, England would always think. The lad certainly had his own agenda when he left. He's not any different.
And yet… no one else had clung to him, so close on the verge of death, wanting only him to be there by his side. Crying for him in the night when terrified of ghosts or on the dock when he left. Only him, always him. America was always about only England.
But he wasn't now. He wasn't here.
He's not here.
England looked down, his heart breaking as he suddenly felt so very alone. Perhaps if America had not been attacked by Japan he could be here by his side. That ridiculous smile and those inviting arms. But he couldn't come and he wouldn't come. Like so many other disappointments in his life, England would have to accept this one as well.
America tapped his fingers on his knees, doing his damndest to keep his patience as the plane prepared for landing. It had been a week since his attack on Pearl Harbor, his back still bandaged from his fresh wound, but America refused to sit by. He convinced his President to let him fly across the ocean to England. There and only there could America enter the war that was not his war.
It upset him greatly that a war that truly did not concern him had suddenly pulled him into it. Sure, some countries said that America was secretly preparing and might have joined in a few months, but only America knew what his original intentions were. Now, no one would ever know. They could only say that he was the cheerleader from the other side of the world for England and France. Why wouldn't he be?
These two men had helped raise him and his brother. He had obligations, kinship, debt, and so much more to them, no matter how much they didn't get along. That so much more mainly connected him to England. The aggravating eye browed guy that was more like the scolding father than a friend. And yet he was.
America didn't have many in this world, he had only just recently opened up to the idea that there are other people out there in the world. However, that certainly didn't mean they could come start getting involved in his affairs in the Americas. Hell no, that was his department. Sometimes, it was the countries that lived there as well, but for the most part, he controlled that side of the world.
So what was he doing on the other side? Saving England, he guessed.
Upon arriving at London, he felt his heart clench. It looked worse than he knew. If England looked this war torn, what did the rest of Europe look like? The land had been brutally ground up from the bombs, the buildings toppled over into the streets and devoid of any life. America knew England now had more scars that he didn't deserve. And that, that made him angrier than he knew.
Without waiting for his citizens that had accompanied him on the trip, America dashed for England. Countries had that innate sense of knowing where another was, especially one with such a connection to America. England was his "dearest person". He was always about only England.
"Arthur!" America called, knowing that England's human name was to be used during war times. Not like it truly mattered at this point. Anyone walking down the tattered street could see that a normal human could not be still alive with such a large blood stain on his uniform over his heart.
The older nation blinked back into focus, adjusting his gaze on America standing before him. He was really here, panting and frazzled from worry. He was pulling off his bomber jacket and covering England's wounded body as the rain began to sprinkle on them.
"Ameri…Alfred?" England asked in disbelief. He had to ask. If he said it as a statement, it might be a lie.
"Let's get you somewhere warm. Come on. Come with me." America held his hand out. His hands were out. England stared at them, amazed they still opened to him. Always open to him and waiting, whether it be at a port or in his defeated roads. There he stood only for him.
America had taken England into a bank, still slightly intact. The safe in the back had been untouched by the bombs save for a few charred marks on the metal cover. America had rushed to get food from his men that were currently passing out candy to children, coming back with arms full of packages usually reserved for his soldiers. He figured a man would give up his food for a country.
"Here, eat this." America thrust the food into England's lap. England mumbled a thanks before he started to eat. America didn't know how he could with the smell of death so strong around him, but he figured it was due to his years of constantly being surrounded by death in the form of plagues. "England? Are you…ok? I mean, you're not okay physically and such, but I mean you… Are you…?"
The British Empire was known for many things, but emotional he was not. Short tempered, sure, but that didn't merit him one that lived with his heart on his sleeve. America had been present when he saw England cry, truly and deeply cry, and wished he would never see it again, even in his memories. And yet, there it came. England cried, cried harder than at the Revolution.
Because to lose a colony isn't so horrible in the grand scheme of things. It's a blow to your pride and check book, but one less conquered land didn't break as many hearts as America liked to think. But losing everything, being defeated. It was something America never knew of, hell, he didn't even know what a cold was.
"I worked…so hard…," England sobbed, gasping between his cries. He wiped at his face only to look at his mud stained hands, or was that blood? "So hard to prove to everyone…I was good enough… That I was strong… Not a cry baby with too messy of hair and…an attitude problem… And yet… That damn Wurst took it all…"
America rubbed his arm nervously, unsure of what to do. He looked down at England, wishing he could hold the man, but knowing that the older nation would push him away. Just like always. Still, America had to correct something in England's mind he had about other countries.
"You don't have to prove that to me, England." The older nation looked over at his former colony, confused. America gave a small smile full of fake strength. "You never had to with me. I always knew you were a strong cry baby with a bad attitude problem."
America half-heartily wished England would laugh, maybe punch him in the arm, but not sob even harder. He knew the man couldn't help it, losing so much in a day. England pulled America close to him by clinging to his shirt sleeve. America wrapped his arms around England, making sure to keep that jacket over his shoulders.
What to do…? America thought to himself. What did he do when I was sad or scared…?
And there it was. That memory. That gentle one. England had whispered those comforting words into his ears when he was on the verge of death, almost losing it all. He never forgot the words and had always wanted to say them back to England, but always losing his confidence. And now he found the ample opportunity.
"Come stop your crying, it'll be all right," America murmured. England's sobs were still going strong, so he spoke a little louder, taking England's hand in his. "Just take my hand…hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you… I will be here, don't you cry."
England looked up in surprise. America only gave a smile masked in fake strength back. He rubbed his thumb over England's knuckles as he continued. "For one so small, you seem so strong. My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm." He pulled England's head down to his chest so that England could hear his heartbeat. When he was a child, just hearing that would always seem to soothe even the strongest of his fears. It meant England was real, he was there. "This bond between us can't be broken. I will be here, don't you cry. 'Cuz you'll be in my heart. Yes, you'll be in my heart."
He could feel England grip at his shirt. Yes, he remembered the song too. America rubbed England's back, smiling slightly. "From this day on, now and forever more. You'll be in my heart. No matter what they say. You'll be here in my heart, always."
England lifted his head to look at America, desperation apparent in his eyes. Another smile from America and the older nation gulped. The faraway look of despair slowly vanishing.
"Always?" he asked, again, not a statement.
America's smile had changed to that of true confidence, not masked in fake strength in hopes of passing it to England. "…Always."
Now, he really was here. And here, he'll always be.
Hoshiko2's cents: I LIED! IT WASN'T A ONE-SHOT! Ok, well it originally was, but then itachi00sasuke gave me such a wonderful idea to do a sequel. So all credit goes to my wonderful pal.
Also, thanks so much for all the amazing comments from the last fic. I've never gotten such a response from my fanfics before! It made my heart super happy! /Kai Lan
So I made two Disney refs here. Obviously "Tarzan" with the song, but it someone can guess the second one, YOU'LL WIN AT LIFE! And I have no idea how I wrote this while listening to "Tangled." Lol.