Dark Clouds Over My Halcyon Days.

A Hetalia Axis Powers fanfiction

::Chapter Two:: Sabat Mater

::Pairing(s):: AmericaXEngland

::Genre:: Hurt/Comfort/Romance

::Rating:: T+

::Summary:: England had never needed, nor wanted, a hero before, and fairy spirits be dammed if he was going to start wanting one now.

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England was warm. It was as if the snow around him had melted and the sun beat down upon his tired body. He ached all over and his head throbbed; he must have hit it. The heat was stifling. He shifted, trying to free himself from the cloying heat, but to no avail. When he tried moving his arms, he found them sluggish and heavy. Nothing seemed to want to work anymore.

The incessant heat beat at his eyes, but, despite how much he longed to open them, he just was not strong enough. Restless, he turned his head to one side, in hopes of getting away from the heat. Another wave of heat rolled over him and he shuddered.

He just wanted to wake up.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

America glanced over in concern as England slept; wracked in the throes of a high fever. He dropped the dustpan and brush; he'd been trying and failing to clean up England's house after he'd tramped two set of snowy boot prints through the house and walked quietly over to the sofa.

Concern embedded itself in his features when he took in England's pale face. Gently, he brushed the older nation's sweaty fringe back from his face and laid a hand on his forehead. He remembered England doing the same thing for him when he was younger.

"It's okay England…it'll be better soon." He murmured, in an attempt to soothe the older man. England's breath came in short gasps and America frowned.

How was he supposed to breathe properly like that?

Then the penny dropped; England was overheating. And it was only natural he would. In his panic, America had heaped all the blankets he could lay his hands on, onto England in an attempt to warm him up.

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he began to remove the twenty or so layers piled on top of England's small body. He sighed in relief when the other's breathing slowed.

Much better.

Glaring in distain at the brush and pan he'd abandoned earlier, he settled himself into a chair beside the sofa. His eyes were itchy with lack of sleep, and it occurred to him he'd been awake for almost an entire day. He scrubbed at his eyes with his fists and winced when they stung.

His eyes threatened to close, but he shook himself awake. He needed to stay conscious for England's sake. Again, his eyes drooped, and it took an almighty effort to keep them open. When they closed for a third time America gave up.

His head drooped onto his shoulder and he fell silent.

Outside the snow continued to fall. Piling deeper and deeper until the abandoned sedan chair out on the lawn was almost buried.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

England opened his eyes.

His gaze fell on a slouched figure in a chair beside him and England tried to raise himself into a sitting position. His arms shook with the effort, and he collapsed back onto the pillows, scowling at his weakness.

America mumbled something and England turned to watch him. The younger country was (rather ungracefully he might add) slumped in one of England's kitchen chairs. The ones that were renowned for being extremely uncomfortable.

England frowned and tried to tell'the idiot nation to wake up', but his valiant efforts resulted in a coughing fit. His throat burned, his vision blurred as he heaved in a lungful of air.

America was awake and at his side in an instant, running a hand on his back and muttering soothing words in his ear. England's hand grasped at the other's shirt and he clutched it tightly as he just tried to breathe.

Presently, his coughing stopped and he drew in a shuddery breath. America was silent for a while, before he removed himself from England's grip and stood. England glanced up at him, and was startled to see that the other nation looked angry. It was strangely nostalgic.

America's expression mirrored the same expression that England's face bore almost two centuries ago. He could see anger, and pain.

"Why..? America whispered hoarsely. England lowered his eyes to the floor. He knew this question had been burning in the back of his head ever since he had found his father, lifeless, in the back garden.

He sighed. "Because…" he paused and looked out the window; out at the snow.

"I am tired, America."

"You're tired?" parroted America in confusion. "Why don't you just sleep then?"

England cracked a bitter smile. "I am tired…of life. America. I wouldn't expect you to understand that feeling yet." He looked his foster son straight in the eyes, and the swirl of emotions America saw in them made him strangely afraid. It was easy to forget sometimes; just how long England had been alive. How much he had seen.

"I am dying, America" said England. So quietly it was almost a whisper.

"But… you--!" America stuttered. England held up a hand.

"You know this is true. Do not deny it. You've seen the news; recession, sickness, abject poverty." He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "I will not last much longer at this rate."

America stood stock-still; the news England had just sprung on him felt like a kick in the teeth.

"But…" he stammered. England looked up at him with pity. "I don't want you to…." He choked on his words, and much to his embarrassment, he found himself on his knees in front of England, weeping into his shirt. He only cried harder when he felt England's thin arms encircle him and hold him tightly.

He beat his fists miserably on England's chest. He wanted to claim this was all some strange dream; he wasn't awake, none of this was real.

But he knew then he would be lying to his heart. Heroes don't lie to themselves.

He stopped crying and rubbed the back of his hand across his face.

He looked up at England, smiling through his tears.

"I'll protect you, Iggy. I'm a hero! It's my job!"

England smiled at him and mussed his hair.

"Git." He murmured fondly, and closed the distance between their lips.

"Thank-you."

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Author's Note

Aaand…we're finished! Yay! I'm so sorry for the delay between the 2nd chapter and this one; the ending did not want to be written! But it's finished; finally.

On another note; there will be no new stories at all this week; I'm going to Barcelona on Saturday, and then to the London MCM Expo on Friday. Anyone who's attending, give me a bell; I'll look out for you! :)

Thank-you for reading and enjoying Dark Clouds Over My Halcyon Days!

See you next time!