He Said What! Chapter 2
There is so much love for this story. It legitimately warms my heart, and just… thank you very, very much.
Also. Seriously, you guys-all of you commented on either Overprotective!Canada or how you were hoping that he would make good on his mental threats to England and technically that's just an extension of Overprotective!Canada himself, so… Um. I don't know quite how to feel about that, aside from poor England! Also, this WILL be USUK in the future, alright? No, not M-rated or anything like that, I doubt it'll even get up to a T-rating, save for minor language, but they'll definitely be getting back together.
…Um, yeah, on with the fic, lest I bore you more with my author preview.
XXX
"Angleterre, what did you do?"
England shifted uncomfortably for a moment, awkwardly shuffling his feet with an expression that really didn't suit him, France noticed-England had never been one for obvious regret-and finally the Frenchman just put a hand on his northern neighbor's shoulder.
It was then that he noticed England had been talking-mumbling, really; a long, run-on sentence with a lack of grammatic structure that was more worrying, France mused, than what England was possibly saying.
"-And… and, well, you know I didn't mean any of it, right? I didn't mean for him to take me seriously, but I knew he did, and just, how could I not have noticed, the look on his face… just… it killed me, and how could I not have bloody seen it, how could I have just kept talking for that long, pointing out everything that I'm sure he already knew were his flaws, and they're not even flaws, really, half of them are endearing but he doesn't bloody know that and how did I not notice the look on his face until it was too late, I might as well have been committing bloody genocide and it wouldn't have been any worse, it was like his heart bloody shattered-"
"Angleterre."
"-And the worst part is that I got on Canada's case for doing the exact same thing to him, years ago, nevermind that Canada at least tried to hold back, and his personality's naturally quiet, and he's too polite to have done near as much damage as I just did, I'm such a terrible person, have you noticed it by now? I always pretend that I'm done being a pirate or a punk but no matter what I do I say the wrong thing and how could I have said all that to him, like that, just everything out on the table and I was telling him that he was too loud, too rude, doesn't care about other cultures, stupid and abuses his bloody power to do the most idiotic things and his face… if you saw that bloody face, it was just… It just… his heart shattered! It shattered, France, it bloody shattered and I couldn't stop him from leaving and I didn't even try, I was still in shock because he was starting to cry, France, he was bloody crying and America does not cry unless something absolutely bloody terrible has happened, or when someone's abused his self-worth to the point where it's a bloody train-wreck, and lo and behold, I made it into a train-wreck, and how could I bloody do that to anyone, much less him? And the worst part is-"
"Angleterre."
"-Is that I bloody didn't even think what could have happened to him while I just stood there and let him get into his car and drive off, and bloody hell why didn't I stop him? He was crying, I could have stopped him easily, I know how much of a mess he gets to be when he cries and I can't believe I legitimately made him cry, over something so stupid! It was a fricking toilet paper roll, I bloody well could have taken it for what it was and I should have stopped him from leaving, I shouldn't have said any of that, for God's sake I should have told him what an amazing person he was, distracted and playing video games and all, because he is, how could I ever have made him think that he wasn't loved and cared about and, God, my favorite person in the world, no offense, France, we're friends and there's some part of me that still sees you as my older brother, but America is… is bloody America, and he's the sum of everything right in my world and he'll fight with me over the most stupid things and when he looks me in the eye I can tell that he means every word that he says-that hero complex makes him almost insufferably honest, and he's a bad liar to begin with-"
"Angleterre."
"-And just, he's, he's… everything to me, and I'm such a bloody fool for letting him think that I meant even a single word of that, I was just mad, probably in both senses of the word because someone would have to be completely bonkers to even consider letting him slip away like that, letting him think that any of what I said right there was the truth over every time I've ever told him what he really means to me, and I should have told him more often, maybe he wouldn't have believed me yesterday-or was it today? It feels like I've been talking forever-but, just, I should have just stopped and apologized and taken him out for ice cream or let him drag me to one of his God-awful movies and-and read Pride and Prejudice out loud for him until he fell asleep, or taken him to the park and let him do absolutely anything he bloody wanted, because he deserves those types of things, deserves someone who will take so much better care of him, and I don't deserve any of the things he's done for me, not once have I told him how much I truly, honestly appreciate all of it, and I'm such a terrible person, because-did you know he actually does things like randomly walking up to me and kissing me senseless, or can actually read the situation well enough to understand that I've had a truly awful day, but then it's not awful, because he's there, and I don't deserve any of it, not him staying up till midnight or later to watch the release of Harry Potter or Sherlock Holmes with me, o-or spending all day with me at a bookstore even though he'd rather be playing something or watching something or going out to honest-to-God save someone's life or just make their day better-because did you know he actually does that? And on a daily basis! For all his hero talk, he actually does it, and I should have stood up for him more often when you guys would go on a rant against him, maybe then he wouldn't have believed me when I went on one of my own-"
"Angleterre!" And this time France said it while shaking England's shoulders, so his northern neighbor finally seemed to snap out of it. However, upon closer examination, there were tears in England's eyes, but they were quickly starting to leak out, running down his face no matter how stubbornly England wiped against them. France sighed, placing a hand on the other nation's shoulder, about to say whatever he had to just to keep him from crying.
To France's eternal displeasure, though, England just started to cry harder, and burrowed his head into the other nation's chest, making a somewhat pathetic grab at France's shirt.
France sighed again. "Angleterre," he said again. "You need to calm down, stop being so hard on yourself, non? Vous êtes un frère adorable petit…" he paused, somewhat hesitantly putting his arms around the crying nation. And he somewhat unknowingly slipped into his native language. "Ne vous inquiétez pas tellement. Il sera tout droit, mon cher."
England blinked up at him, trying in vain to wipe the tears away. "Vous ... le penses vraiment?" he asked, voice wavering just a little. And though his accent was off, it really was the thought that counted.
"Je sais donc, mon doux petit Angleterre," France murmured. However, when he saw England finally wince at the bright lights of his own office, the Frenchman frowned, just a little, and switched to English, so as not to aggravate the headache he was almost sure England was getting. "For right now, though, you should probably get some rest. You do not look so good, mon cher… We can discuss what to do when it is morning."
At that, England's already wavering confidence crumbled. "But… but how am I supposed to sleep when America m…might… when he might be crying, still? I can't sleep when there's something I can do about this!" And with that said, he re-buried his face in France's shirt, sniffling uselessly.
"Do not worry about Amerique, Angleterre," France said with a knowing smile. "Canada will take good care of him, even if he will not allow you to see notre petite doux Amerique right now."
England seemed to get even more upset over that, but fought an outburst and finally just nodded. "Alright. Just… I need to see him. As soon as I can…" And his words trailed off into little more than a mumble, and soon France found that his island neighbor had fallen asleep in the office.
France just gave a small smile and moved him to the small couch in the corner and found a blanket to cover him with. And after England looked comfortable enough, France really couldn't resist pressing a faint kiss to his forehead before hurriedly leaving the room, but not before he managed to bite out a, "Dormez bien, ma douce petite Angleterre. Son frère aîné France prendra soin de vous.
XXX
Canada wasn't having the same luck with America.
No matter what he tried, he couldn't get his brother-nation to stop crying. And after the twelfth hour of crying, he decided to step back and find a better idea, as his previous ones-everything from all of America's favorite foods to video games to offering to talk to offering to beat the living daylights out of England (which just made America cry more) to something he really would rather not talk about which involved a chainsaw, a felled Maple tree and a cosmetics factory-hadn't worked.
America had cried a total of nearly fifteen hours, on and off, and while Canada was wondering how, exactly, anyone could produce that many tears-nation or human-it didn't mean he wasn't worried. Really, it was extremely worrying, even though he couldn't have grown up with America without knowing that his southern neighbor was one to exaggerate to a fault.
Still. For every half-hour that America cried, Canada was planning to hit England with his serrated hockey stick. He'd have done it for every minute, but that was too many-and, alright, he had a feeling that America would just cry more at England's funeral and he did not want that-and one for every hour was too few (only fifteen). So for now, England was at thirty hits.
Scratch that, his watch had just hit eleven-forty-five (P.M.), so that meant thirty-one hits.
And as much as Canada wanted to beat the living daylights out of England, more than anything he just wanted America to stop crying.
Sighing, he pulled out the hot cocoa once more and heated it up-again-as best he could.
"America," Canada said quietly, placing a meant-to-be-comforting hand on America's shoulder and pressing the mug of cocoa into his brother's hands none too gently. "You need to calm down. Eat something, watch a movie, just please, please stop crying."
And America seemed to only cry harder at that, but there was a rather pathetic whimper that Canada struggled to decipher. "I can't eat 'nything 'cause England said 'm… f-fat, 'n my stomach hurts 'nyways and I feel like 'm g'nna throw up 'n it huuuuurts…." And, really, the fact that America just curled further up into himself and the blanket really didn't matter much to Canada, who very quickly grabbed his brother's wrist and wrenched him away from the cocoon of blankets America had made for himself.
America obviously scrambled, but his fifteen-and-a-half hours of crying had definitely taken a toll on him, and he had to admit defeat to an irate Canadian.
"This is why you haven't eaten anything all day?" Canada asked, voice even and frankly, terrifying.
The American just squirmed uncomfortably under his northern brother's glare before managing a pathetic nod. His chin was quivering too much for him to put much thought to sentence structure, but he managed to get out a rather shaky, "W-Well. Um. He, I… Kinda, we fought, alright? It's not a big deal, that isn't the only thing he said, just I kind of. Um. He…"
Canada blinked, glare momentarily gone as he struggled to piece America's voiced thoughts-they really didn't have enough structure to be thought of as statements or words, even-together.
And then his glare returned in full force as he put two and two together. "You mean he said more than that?" And without waiting for America to respond-the guilty aversion of his eyes was enough-Canada tightened his grip on his brother's wrist. "What all did he say to you? And don't you dare lie to me, Alfred F. Jones, because if I find that you're leaving something out-"
Of course right then his chin started quivering again, and Canada quickly found that he was being pushed into a heap on the floor, with America on top of him, hugging and clinging to Canada as if this was the Titanic and he was the last lifeboat.
A few minutes later, America was still trapping him, but seemed to be finally, finally calming down. And so Canada decided to risk asking again, though with a gentler voice than before. "So… do you want to tell me what he did to make you like this? I need to find out exactly what to do to him to pay him back in full for hurting my little brother like this."
And America just blinked up at him, eyes still watery and lip still quivering, but finally had stopped his fifteen-or had it actually gone to sixteen?-hour cry fest. "I… wouldn't want him to h-have to feel as bad as I do, ever." He paused, biting his lip for a moment before he seemed to regain his nerve, and finally continued speaking without looking his northern neighbor in the eye. "D'you think you c…could just… let it go? Everything'll be fine, okay? I promise."
Canada was nonplussed, and most certainly more worried for America's mental health than ever. He angled his brother-nation's head until it was impossible for America not to look him in the eye. "America…" Canada said quietly, once he was sure that his brother-nation was really, really looking at him. "He made you cry, and insulted you so badly that you couldn't stop crying. He made you feel so insecure about your appearance that you honest-to-God were too insecure to eat anything. There is no part of that that's 'fine'." He paused, then glanced at the clock before making a decision on what to say next. "I need to know what he said to you so I can pay him back in full, but first, it's almost midnight. I'd say it's time to go to sleep. You can tell me in the morning."
And with that, Canada slowly disentangled himself from America's still-clinging arms and motioned to the spare bedroom that America always stayed in. In it waited a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush and the still-untouched mug of hot cocoa.
Even as America thanked his brother-nation and crawled into bed, though, the bed still felt too cold, too empty, and more than anything, he wished that England would just make things all right, like he always did-
He wished that England was there and reading him some boring old book until he fell asleep, wished that right as he was falling asleep he'd feel a sweet kiss on his forehead, wished that he could remember what it was like when 'idiot' was just a pet-name from years of overuse and not something actually intended to hurt. Wished that the England from before was there, the one who didn't let his temper get in the way of what he really meant, the one who was at least a little careful during arguments. The one who didn't mean to ever hurt him and tried not to. The one who America knew, always knew, was going to apologize, to stop the hurt, to give him a hug and a kiss and say that he didn't mean any of it, that America was his favorite person.
He missed that England.
And so he fell asleep hours later, still wondering what had changed.
XXX
Alright, first a French translation:
Angleterre-England
Non-no
Vous êtes un frère adorable petit-You are an adorable little brother
Ne vous inquiétez pas tellement-You need to stop being so hard on yourself
Il sera tout droit-It will be all right
Mon cher-My dear
Vous… le penses vraiment?-You… really think so?
Je sais donc, mon doux petit Angleterre-I know so, my sweet little England
Notre petite doux Amerique-Our sweet little America
Dormez bien, ma douce petite Angleterre. Son frère aîné France prendra soin de vous-Sleep well, my sweet little England. Big Brother France will take care of you
And, um, I'm really sorry about how sad this chapter is, but, uh, things have to get worse before they get better, right?