Olympics Fic Sprint
Title- Naive Perfection
Ratings/warnings- G
Word Count- 1, 522
Summary- England has extremes in his treatment of America
A/N- I may have stretched this theme a little xD It was actually the first thing that came to mind~ well, this may be what you call an introspective or not; it has no real plot and it is really just a massive headcanon ^^' Anyways, I hope it is okay :D
|Naive Perfection|
America was always the golden child.
As a young child, everything that came out of his mouth and every step he did was adorable. Often it didn't even register in England's mind whether the child was telling him that he loved him or to go to hell. All that England heard was his name being lisped in America's tiny baby voice and that was all he needed to hear most of the time.
As a boy, America could never put a foot wrong. No matter how he talked back or pestered England to do things, England would always find time to oblige his simplest of whims. America was hardly ever scolded, even if he deserved it for some reason or another. He got no harsh words and no physical discipline and got everything he wanted on top of that.
As a teen, it didn't matter how many doors he slammed in England's face or how many times he side stepped England's hugs, he was always the most important. Even when the townsmen started revolting and England could often see the bob of a young man's head in the crowd that he recognized immediately, America could still do no wrong.
England didn't do it on purpose. America wasn't the first or the last charge and he definitely wasn't the most obedient or most useful. England often told himself that he had no clue why he favoured America over any of the others before or after him but he did know.
America was the first to call him big brother.
That was what made him the golden child.
-x-
One hundred and fifty odd years later, it was different. Completely different.
It seemed like England was making up for all the years of not scolding and giving out to him when he did something wrong by yelling at him even when he did something right. No matter what America did or said it was idiotic and unimportant and that was the reaction he got if England actually listened in the first place.
War struck, millions died and England spent the whole time blaming America for every little thing, including his migraines. Every battle plan America made was ridiculous in the other's mind, whether it was actually worth a shot or not.
England complained when America helped or saved some lives because he believed America's heart was not in the right place and that he was a glory hunter. When America came too late he was a waste of space who didn't care about the lives he endangered. There was no middle ground. It was war and it wasn't just between the people over ideals; it was between the allies as well.
America wondered how England was the one with a migraine and not him. Within the four years America had actually been in the war, England had yelled at him more times that he had for the first one hundred and seventy odd years of his life.
Everyone else wondered if it was just the war getting to them both; wondered if it was just the pain of thousands of soldiers and the relatives that would never see them come home.
But the war ended, first with Germany and then with Japan.
And the first thing England said was that America could have done a better job than the one he did.
It seemed like the era of the golden child was over.
-x-
"Would you quit it!"
England stopped arguing for a minute, straightening his back and flexing his fingers in the note paper he had lined up on his part of the table. He stared America down; America who was also in a defensive stance, his hands fisted behind his back and his shoulders bared like an animal would do with its teeth.
He stared. And then he ignored him.
"What I'm saying is that your idea is truly preposterous and there is no way in hell it would ever work. I'm sure a two year old child could come with a better way to stabilize the current economy than the nonsense you are spewing at the moment. Honestly, do you ever get sen-"
England didn't see America come around to his side of the table- he was too busy nitpicking and searching for things to nitpick at. He only noticed when America had already grabbed his arm in a vice grip and he only reacted when he was already being dragged half way to the door of the meeting room.
"Hey, let go of me!" he demanded, trying to struggle out of America's reach to no avail, "Look at me when I'm talking to you, you insolent brat!"
He was already outside the door though because he heard it slam just before he too was slammed right into the wall outside. He froze, staring at America's narrowed eyes and down turned mouth before slowly taking in that he was suspended a few centimeters above the ground, America having pinned him to the wall by his shoulders and upper arms.
"I'm not a child," the other hissed, his grip tightening and prompting a choking noise out of England as he felt like his circulation was being cut off. "I'm not some boy you can scold into submission and you need to learn to shut up."
England was stunned quiet and he presumed that was to America's liking because the grip on his arms loosened a little but not enough to allow his feet to touch the ground again. He gave an experimental stretch of one of his legs to see if he could touch the ground, but he barely grazed it off of the hallway carpet.
America's expression eventually softened slightly, but not entirely. "You took that surprisingly well," he mused, dropping England to the ground with such complete and utter ease that England felt mildly queasy before America's words hit home and he saw read.
"Well? Well?!" England screeched, jamming his finger into America's chest in a failed attempt to make impact, "You cant just throw your weight around like that and expect people to take it well! But that is just what you do isn't it? You just throw your weight around and everyone else is just meant to fall into line. You talk about me forcing you to submit?! You're the one with the problem with that here!"
America blinked slightly and blankly as he listened to England rant before slowly replying, "I thought I told you to shut up."
England bristled visibly. "You cant tell me what to bloody well do, alright," he growled, his fingers worrying at the edges of his sleeve, causing damage he would only have to fix later, "You think you're so bloody perfect that the whole world should just sit back and listen to what you have to say!"
He wasn't the one who made him think like that; the one who made him think he couldn't do anything wrong, the one who made him believe that everything he said was gospel, the one who told him time and time again that he was perfect. That wasn't him, it couldn't have been.
"You're not bloody perfect," England spat, "Your life is completely imperfect as long as I'm in it."
America was silent and England ran out of steam. He couldn't do anything else only stare America in the eye and huff until he got an answer he was happy with and if he didn't, he would complain again. If he did, he'd nitpick and complain even more.
"You're wrong."
England looked up before his eyebrows furrowed and he awaited no explanation before he was on the defensive once again. "Oh, how narcissistic of you. You cant even take some basic criticism? I don't even think that was criticism, you dolt! That was practically self depreciation and you take it as an insult to your perfection?! What a load-"
Similarly to before, England didn't see America get any closer to him, this time until a hand was tugging on the back of his head and weaving in his hair, shoving his face straight into America's collar, successfully rendering him physically speechless.
"I wasn't finished," America said then, slowly and deliberately and England's ears were still working so he didn't know why. "You're the only one who thinks I'm perfect, who ever thought I was perfect. What you said is wrong- as long as you're here, I am perfect because to be something you need to be recognized as it. I'm only perfect in your eyes and if you weren't there, I wouldn't be perfect." There was a choke chuckle. "Do you get that? I don't think I do."
Was this quantum physics or something? It made about as much sense as science theories did to England. He struggled away from America's hands and America let him back away, still smiling as though England was some nervous animal being backed into a corner that needed reassuring, which didn't sit well at all with England.
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
"As long as we're both here," America said easily, "I'll always be your golden child."
|END|