Explosions sounded overhead and yells screamed from all directions. England was used to such vicious wartime sounds, lifting him up into the air only to be violently dropped back onto his feet, stumbling into another soldier as he scrambled for his gun. His only concern at the moment was not of the planes shooting at his men, nor of the naval battleship being torn apart all around him, but of the other country racing across the deck. America was fresh to this Second World War and had no idea how to properly conduct himself. He may have thought he did considering his involvement in the First World War. Oh how funny that England and the others had nicknamed what they saw as the Great War to be the War to End All Wars. How naive.

Just as naïve as America was being. He would stop every so often to help a fallen soldier, whether it was his own or one of England's. He would send them on their way, towards either a life boat in the process of lowering into the sea, or to a machine gun trying in vain to shoot down the barrage of fighter planes in the air. Behind him, England and a commanding American officer tried to keep up with him.

"America!" England shouted, his voice drowned by an engine roaring just over the top of their heads. He tried once more, this time catching his attention. England pointed at the officer with him. "He says we must abandon ship! We are of top priority! Let's go!"

America shook his head. "We can still help! We should stay!"

"America, sir!" the officer tried. "We must get you and England to the boats! You have to stay alive!"

"We're countries! We can't die!" America smiled a little too confidently.

England rolled his eyes, surging forward. He yanked on America's tie, snarling. "This isn't a matter of living or dying! It's a matter of being there for our boys! Now get on the bloody boats, or do I have to drag you like you were a colony once more?"

America frowned, his entire demeanor changing within seconds. He nodded to his officer and followed the two towards the nearest boats. The soldiers saluted quickly, and then helped them into the boat. Someone shouted, an explosion sounded just behind them, and England felt his grip slip from America as he felt his body become weightless. Time seemed to slow as England fell over the side of the ship. Before cold water enveloped his entire being, England caught the last sight of America's panicked face.

The sudden rush of the tumultuous ocean knocked the wind out of England. The waves overhead were another battle, but this was one England had never learned to face or win. He came to the surface with a flail of his hands and feet, calling out for help. His head continued to go above and below the surface. He could never get a full breath. His hands and feet splashed and kicked, hoping to keep him afloat. Around him, the sounds muddled together, at first loud and violent, and then muted under the water, his desperate gasps for air being overtaken by the water forcing its way into his lungs. Somehow, through all of this, he only thought of where America could possibly be; if he was safe, if that explosion had hurt him, why he had gotten himself mixed up in another one of Europe's wars?

Arms circled around England's midriff, lifting him up as if another bomb had gone off under his feet. Instead of being rocked into the air by a malicious weapon, he was pulled against a strong chest and held in place by safe arms. America called England's name, keeping his head above the water. He swam effortlessly towards the lifeboat where their men pulled them in.

England fell to the ground, coughing up as much water as he could. America's thick leather jacket fell over his shoulders, a reassuring hand firmly rubbing England's back in an effort to help him cough. England squinted up to see America, but he couldn't hear him; water had even filled his ears. England shook his head, a little sound coming back to him.

"I'm all right," England managed after a moment. America didn't seem convinced, so England repeated himself, only this time with less of a cough.

America sat up, looking to a few of his men that were nearby. "I need to know how many men are missing and where we will rendezvous with the nearest ship."

The men nodded, scurrying away to do America's orders. England had finished coughing by now, but his voice was still weak. America moved close to check on him. "You okay?"

"I'll live," he replied. He looked at America, his voice barely above a whisper. "You didn't tell anyone… did you?"

America shook his head, a miniscule smile on his face. "Naw. I'm the only one that knows you can't swim."

England flushed, but looked towards the sky. He was relieved to see the planes had finally left. Then he looked behind him. America's brand new battleship was sinking, many men still jumping into the ocean for safety. Luckily, other lifeboats were nearby and could take on the soldiers. Still, England caught sight of America's saddened expression. He had been so proud of the ship when it was first unveiled. England had been forced to see its Christening only days ago. What was once a beautiful ship was now a pathetic pile of metal being eaten by the sea, with it went America's moral.

"Th-thank you," England said, catching America off guard. He bit his lip when America's eyes turned on him. "For…saving me."

America's classic smile returned in full force, almost as if he had forgotten the attack all together. "Of course! I'd never let you drown!"

Something seemed off. England could feel as if part of him had been badly damaged. He checked himself over and was relieved to see he didn't have a single injury on him. When he hit the water, he hadn't felt his body connect with anything such as debris or the like while submerged. His only explanation could be that he just felt the loss of too many of his men around him. Somehow, when he looked at America, that didn't feel quite right.

He reached for America and retracted his hand almost instantly. A trickle of blood came down America's scalp, passing over his right eyebrow. He didn't even seem to notice it until it practically dripped into his eye. His hand pressed to his forehead, pulling back his hand to see the blood on his gloves.

"O-oh!"

"America!" England shouted as he saw him collapse. He managed to grab him before his head hit the ground. How could he have been so stupid to have not felt something like a head wound? England kept shouting America's name, only turning away to call for help when America managed to open his eyes. "Medic! Where is that imbecile? Get over here! Medic!"

America held up a hand, waving anyone away from him. "N-no, it's okay… Really."

"America, shut up," England snapped. "You have a bullet ingrained in your thick skull. You need medical attention."

The medic ran up, his case in hand already open by the time he kneeled beside America. But America pushed him away. "No. I don't want anything. N-not until my men and England's boys has been helped."

"But sir!"

"It's an order," America huffed.

The poor medic seemed torn. He couldn't refuse a direct order from his country; no matter what he felt was the right thing to do. He and all his fellow soldiers had taken an oath to serve and protect America, as had England's. With a heavy heart, the medic agreed and sulked away to attend to any others that needed him.

England wasn't in accord with America's orders, though. "How could you be so stupid?"

"I can live. You know as well as I do that we've had worse injuries," America said with a grimace. "Just…just stay with me and I'll be okay."

England sighed. For all America's stupidity, he knew he was right, mainly because England had been through worse. And so they waited. Around them, men chatted, but kept their voices low. From time to time they glanced over at the countries, wondering if they could help in any way, but America was firm in his decision not to get any help until others had been attended to first. Even England hadn't offered his own men to help, knowing full well that America would send them away as well.

Eventually the medic returned. By this time, England had laid America's head down in his lap. He knelt beside America and pulled back his hair. England leaned over to see the damage. The usually bouncy blonde hair had been covered in both dried and fresh blood scattered about by the small hole on the side of his head, just above his ear. England looked away in disgust. He grabbed America's shoulders and tried not to think about the fact that the little boy who was once his colony had been shot in the head.

"Sir, this is going to hurt," the medic started, as he always did. "I'm out of penicillin."

America smiled. "It's okay. I understand."

He held up his hand towards England. Without saying a word, they held hands tightly as the bullet was extracted from his head. England kept his eyes locked on America's, sending him reassuring signals through his eyes alone. He hoped America could read them. During the process, America was strong and didn't flinch or pull away. He gripped at England's hand to the point he could have broken it, but England made no movement to pull away. He wasn't the one having a bullet pulled out of the side of his head.

Eventually, the medic removed the bullet and stitched up America's head. Around them, America's soldiers could visibly be seen to relax. A few pulled out cards to play with in celebration, others smiling and patting their friends on the back. A few of England's men were happy for them as well, as was England as he released America's hand and sat him up.

"You might have a concussion," the medic explained. "I suggest you stay awake all night, sir."

"Then I shall stay up with you as well," England said. He sat beside America. He turned to one of his men and asked for a cigarette, lighting it up.

He sat back against the side of the boat, looking up at the sky. It was coming on fast to sunset, the fight having been at least two hours ago. America sat beside him saying nothing. After a time he asked if he could have a quick drag. England handed it over.

"Thank you," America said when he handed it back. "I mean, for being there for me."

England shrugged. "Now you see why I didn't ever want you to become a stupid country and get involved in the affairs of these maniacs in Europe?"

America chuckled. "Kind of, I guess, yeah. Up 'till now it's been swell being my own country. But I guess there's always gotta be a war."

"It doesn't get any better up top, that's for sure." England sighed, taking a long drag on his fag. "Some days I wish I could just step down, but then again, I know the world needs someone to keep them in line. Keep people from becoming insane and thinking they can take over the world."

"Isn't that what you did? Does the phrase, 'the sun never sets on England's flag' ring a bell?" America nudged England who tried to hide his wry smile. "C'mon, someone's gotta help you out."

"As I recall, you helped me out in the previous war as well," England said with a bitter tone. He hated to be reminded that he had needed help in the first place.

"Yeah, but this time you can't deny you really needed help. Germany was killing you. He already had France, and Russia was no help." America frowned just from thinking about the ordeal. "I couldn't sit back and watch you get hurt…"

"So you dive in?"

"Well…yeah!" America laughed. "I mean… you'd have done the same for me."

They looked at each other, eyes searching the other for an answer they dared not speak aloud in front of their men. England wanted to come when America was hurt. He knew of what had happened at Pearl Harbor and wished to have flown to his side to help him stand back up. But the fact of the matter is he just couldn't. He could barely stand on his own. England had worried that perhaps America might see that as England not having a heart and caring as much for him as he did, but looking in his eyes now and hearing America's carefree words made that doubt vanish. America had dove in to save England while he was drowning, pull him to his arms, and help him stand back up. And England was by his side, holding his hand as he managed to make it through the pain.

"Hey England?" America whispered. He searched for England's hand, giving it a tight and quick squeeze. "You're my hero."

A swift smile escaped England and he couldn't look away fast enough. Had someone seen that moment and misconstrued it, they would have thought that the two were a fresh new couple. As it was, they were just friends. Possibly on the verge for more. Given the way the war was shaping up to be, there was no doubt in either of their minds that they would have to be working closely together from now until the end. That was plenty of time for them to catch up on events past, neither really involved with the other before WWI. Plenty of time to develop anything new or rekindle something old.

And because of that fleeting, hopeful thought, England reached back for America's hand, giving him his own squeeze. He looked back to him, trying, but failing, to hide his own smile. "And you are mine."

Hoshiko2's cents: Welp, here's day 1 of the USUK July event. I want to do every single day of this event. I know I have all of the first week and I hope everyone enjoys the ride.

The first prompt reads as such: July 1st: Hero. Since both of our boys have it in them to be heroes, this is a theme dedicated to that. The idea of a hero is fairly broad, and as such we're leaving it broad for you. Superheroes, military heroes, fairytale heroes, just-saving-the-day-heroes, personal heroes, everyday heroes, the list goes on.

Thanks for reading!