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usxuk Mar. 21st, 2010 10:59 pm)
shiyasim.livejournal.com posting in usxuk Mar. 21st, 2010 10:59 pm)Title: Three Tasks
Genre: Fluff/Humor
Pairing(s): America/England, brief appearances of other characters
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for England's French
Summary: The one in which Russia and China want the Holy Grail, the fairies are gay but mostly unhelpful, and America is determined to be a hero.
England’s morning had been quite pleasant right up until France showed up at his summer cottage in the Cotswolds. This was for a two-fold reason: 1.) it was France, and 2.) France wanted a favor. The last time France asked for a favor was when he'd been attempting to coerce England into marriage. England pointed this out.
"The last time you wanted a favor, you tried to force me to marry you." England folded his arms and stared suspiciously at France.
"That was centuries ago, mon ami," France said airily.
"There are no amis here," England snapped.
"Besides, this is for the good of the whole world. The Earth's fate rests in your hands," France continued, unperturbed. "You could hand the responsibility to America, but he’d come digging around here…" he added after a short pause during which England continued staring suspiciously at him. France winked. “Or maybe that’s what you want?”
England glared at him. "What do you want?” he gritted out.
France leered. “Well…”
“One inappropriate comment and I will personally bomb your stupid tower,” England said. “And Versailles,” he added.
France sighed loudly. “Very well, mon cher, but you are missing out some—”
England folded his arms. “Eiffel Tower.”
“All right, all right,” France said. “You have to tell me where the Holy Grail is,” he said.
England stared at France, waiting for the punch line of what was no doubt, another dirty joke. It didn’t come. “What?” he settled for.
“The Holy Grail, you know, a cup about this big, supposed to make whoever has it the true king, gives you eternal life when you drink from it?” France said.
“You’re actually serious,” England said.
“So where is it?” France asked, looking entirely too eager for England’s comfort.
“What makes you think I have it?” England asked.
“It was last seen in your land, wasn’t it?” France answered. “Well, don’t keep an old friend waiting. Let’s see it.” France tried to peer around England’s doorstep into his living room.
England blocked him. France was never ever getting into England’s house. Not even if England’s boss ordered it. “I already said we are not friends, and I don’t have it,” England snapped.
“But you know where it is,” France said, persistent.
England rolled his eyes. “What makes you think I’d give it to you even if I did have it?” he asked, leaning against the doorjamb.
France looked even shiftier. “Can we not talk about this inside? Over wine, perhaps?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” England said.
France sighed. “Well, if you won’t give it to me, you’d better find it yourself,” he said. “Rumor has it Russia and China are both looking for it.”
England raised an eyebrow. “Russia and China want the Holy Grail?” he asked. “China isn’t even Christian,” he said.
France shrugged. “Germany got drunk and started talking about it and somehow he convinced Russia and China that it’s all they need to…”
“Take over the world?” England finished.
“More or less, oui,” France said. “It’s better for me to be the number one superpower than either of those two, isn’t it?” he asked and tried to look over England’s shoulder into his house as though England kept the Holy Grail on display on his mantel.
“I’d rather anyone but you had it even if I did have it,” England snapped. “Now get out of my house.”
“I’m not in your house,” France said.
“Get off my lawn then. You’re putting me off my tea,” England said and slammed the door in France’s face.
“You will hide it from them though? They’re both coming to your country to look for it!” France hollered.
The first thing England did was call the police. “There’s a drunken Frenchman on my lawn,” he said and a few minutes later, hung up with the assurance that France would immediately be removed.
The next thing he did was brew himself a strong cup of tea. He took it out to the garden where he sat in the peaceful greenery and thought about what to do. He really hoped France was just being drunk and causing trouble for him because if China and Russia actually got their acts together and invaded the UK, he might be in big trouble.
“We know where it is.”
A soft tinkling laughter came from England’s right and he saw three of his fairy friends hovering in the air.
“Where what is?” England asked absently, smiling at them as he took another sip of his tea. His friends never failed to cheer him up.
“The Holy Grail,” the green pixie piped up.
England very nearly spit out his tea. “What?” he croaked after he finished coughing.
“We know where the Holy Grail is,” a small gnome said from where he stood by England’s chair.
“You do?” England asked and then frowned. “How come none of you ever told me where it was?” he demanded. “All those centuries I could have been king of the world!”
The fairies tittered. “You never asked us!” the pixie said.
“You always managed to pull through without it,” a gnome added, tugging at his beard. “We would have brought it out if you really needed it,” he said.
“Pull through is not the same as ruling the world,” England said.
All the fairies looked slightly guilty.
England wasn’t impulsive by nature. He’d had his glory days, his golden age of power, and now he was mostly content to stay sequestered on his island home, drinking tea and relaxing in his garden, or, when it was raining, hiding inside and cursing the miserable weather. He could still remember those days when all the nations of the world feared him, though, before America had stepped up, and then the various wars… The promise of becoming a world superpower again was a tempting thought. Very tempting indeed. And it was right here at his fingertips.
England considered it for all of two minutes. “Go on, then. Where is it?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager.
The fairies laughed again and went into a discussion group. England sighed. While he loved his faithful companions, they were still fairies and fairies tended to be both absent-minded and loved doing things the hard way. From the way they were enthusiastically huddled up in a bright circle of pretty lights that even a baby unicorn had joined, this was going to be very difficult indeed.
“Trail of breadcrumbs!” England heard one of them say before the furious discussion began again.
And then: “Three good deeds!”
England sighed. He was almost tempted to let Russia and China try to deal with this bunch when they got excited. Of course, Russia and China couldn’t see his friends so it was a moot point.
“Riddles!” one of them called out. More discussion.
“Why not all of them?” another said. And then there was an even more enthusiastic bustling and furious whispering. After several long moments, the group of creatures turned collectively and beamed at England.
“We’ll give you three clues to get to the Holy Grail,” the gnome who had apparently been elected spokesman said.
England sighed, but from experience, he knew that trying to dissuade them would be like telling Italy to stop eating pasta. “All right, then,” he agreed.
“We’ll start with a trail of breadcrumbs,” the gnome said, smiling from ear-to-ear. There was a buzz of excitement and several brownies started raiding England’s cupboards – apparently looking for bread.
England sighed again. “Just let me get my coat,” he said.
The enthusiastic fairies were fluttering around, excited and impatient, when England locked up his front door. The pixie, unable to contain herself, had already started breaking off pieces of a charred scone and was dropping them onto the porch and down his pebbled walkway towards the main road.
The air was fresh in the after-rain sort of way, it was brilliantly sunny out, and England was going on a quest – something he hadn’t done since his Medieval Ages. England inhaled and felt a little younger as he started walking down, following the trail of black crumbs. His good mood lasted right up until he reached the gate of his small estate.
“England!” The loud, boisterous voice was one England would recognize anywhere even if he hadn’t already seen America jogging up the road, holding a McDonald’s meal bag and waving at him.
England felt his heart jump the way it did every time he saw America, the way it had ever since he first set eyes on young America when he’d just started out as a colony, curse him.
England massaged his forehead.
What was it with all the unwelcome visitors today?
***
“What are you doing here?” England asked.
America beamed at him. “I’m here to be the hero, of course!” he answered. The worst part of that statement was that America actually meant it every single time he said it.
“I don’t need a hero. Go home,” England said.
“Of course you do. My boss sent me here after he heard Russia and China are coming to invade you,” America said.
England narrowed his eyes. “Your boss sent you here to help me?” he asked suspiciously. America never offered help unless something offended his democratic sensibilities – usually in places help wasn’t asked for – or else if excessive begging was involved.
America looked up at the sky. “Yea, um…of course he did!” he said too quickly. “Um…looks like rain, doesn’t it?” he said and started whistling.
England decided he didn’t want to know what America’s ulterior motive was. He eyed the trail of blackened crumbs that led further down the road and wondered how long it would take to shake America off.
“I’ll take care of it,” England said. “You can bugger off.”
“You can’t match either one of them much less both if they really do come,” America said, strangely serious. He was frowning. “It’s not like you actually have the Holy Grail, so how are you going to deal with them without me?” he asked.
England went a bit red in the long pause that followed.
“You do have the Holy Grail!” America burst out, his grin boyish and his eyes wide as he grabbed England by the shoulders and shook – hard. “Where is it? Let me see it! Why didn’t you ever say you had it? When I get it, I can be an even bigger and better hero!”
“You are not getting it,” England snapped. “This is why I wanted you to go home,” he muttered.
America pouted. “Why not? The hero gets it, doesn’t he? Didn’t you watch my Indiana Jones series?” he asked.
“America, those are movies,” England said.
“If anyone gets the Holy Grail, it should be me! After all, I’m awesome and you’re an old man. What would you do with a Holy Grail?” America asked and then snapped his fingers. “Oh, you want to become young again, don’t you?”
England was tempted to throttle America.
“Go home,” England said.
America looked stubbornly back at him. “No way. I’m going to find the Holy Grail before everyone else. And seriously, what if Russia and China come?”
“I said I’d take care of it. Leave,” England said.
America pressed his lips together, stubborn, but when England folded his arms and gave America his best stern look, America huffed a sigh and reluctantly backtracked down the road. He’d parked some import Japanese car by the side of the road and America got in, pouting the whole time. When he finally started the engine and drove away, England slowly relaxed and then looked back down at the trail of crumbs.
Of course, he should have expected it since it was America, but less than half an hour of crumb trail-following later, England caught the first glimpse of gold in the periphery of his vision. He whipped around to look, only to see a few cars passing by on the road, the occasional building, and lots of bushes, grass, and trees.
England turned back to his trail, but only a few yards down the road, he saw it again, and this time, he was sure he glimpsed America’s leather bomber jacket and blue jeans. In fact, when England looked back, he could still see America’s stupid Nantucket hair peeking out from behind the large oak. Behind the wind, England was also sure he heard the rustling sound of a burger being unwrapped – confirmed when one of those very wrappers dropped to the ground and rolled a few feet away from the tree.
“America!” England shouted.
His hair bobbed, and America jumped out from behind the tree. “Uh, hi, England! What are you doing here? What a coincidence, huh?” America grinned.
“Don’t litter in other people’s countries, you twat,” England said.
“I was going to pick it up,” America said and picked up the wrapper, stuffing it in one of his pockets.
“Stop following me,” England ordered and this time watched pointedly until America walked down the road again. Once America decided anything, it was like asking a pitbull to nicely let go of the leg it had sunk its teeth into so England was fairly sure that America was going to be back – he just hoped it would be awhile before that happened again.
The crumbs led off the road and into the fields a few moments later. It got a lot more difficult to see the crumbs hidden in the grass, but also, hopefully, made it more difficult for America to follow. But as the day progressed, England found himself less and less optimistic as he was forced to climb up five overgrown hillsides, break into three different estates to sneak through their yards, and finally having to crawl through one very prickly bush.
By the time he was finished picking stray plant life out of his hair, England almost wished America was there if only because America was big and had the ability to plow through all manner of things unharmed which included prickly bushes.
England was actually rather surprised that America had given up the chase after just two tries and he hadn’t even tried to force England to hand anything over. It seemed distinctly un-American.
He’d decided that his plan would be to find the grail, do whatever it was to make himself a superpower again, and keep the grail out of everyone else’s hands. It would probably mean war again – maybe even a World War Three though, if legend was true, England should come out as top victor with the Holy Grail even if all the other world powers united against him. He could think about all that after he’d found the grail first. Occasionally France did have a point – at all costs, he had to keep the grail out of Russia and China’s hands.
The trail led back to another road, which was several miles from where he lived, but still clearly in the Cotswolds. What was suspicious, though, was that the trail of crumbs was leading down the road in the direction his house lay. It was already nearing sunset now, and England was sweaty, tired, and itchy from crawling through so many plants.
The fairies had gone on ahead, but the gnome who had more or less been following him the entire day, was still trailing behind him and chuckling happily with the unicorn.
England narrowed his eyes, and pounced, grabbing the gnome and lifting him up to eye level.
“Put me down! Put me down!”
“Just where is this trail leading me?” England demanded and hardened his heart to the gnome’s pitiful squeals.
“Oh, put me down!”
“Not until you tell me,” England said.
The gnome dug in his pockets, little legs kicking, and pulled out a map larger than himself.
England stared at the map. It was one of the entire United Kingdom with the starting point marked at his summerhouse. The dotted trail then proceeded to wind all around the Cotswolds, up into Scotland, around Wales, and all over England in a mess of tangled lines.
“What the shit is this?” England shouted.
The gnome gave him a very sheepish smile, peering at England through his beard. “A map?” he offered.
“I am not going to run all over the UK on foot,” England said very slowly. “So I am going to go home and have a nice cup of tea. And tomorrow, you will tell me where the grail is. Understood?”
The gnome nodded hurriedly.
England put him down and the gnome immediately disappeared along with the unicorn.
England sighed, dragging a hand over his face. He’d wasted an entire day because of the fairies.
It would be several miles trek back to his house, England thought, and did not look forward to it which was the only reason he didn’t immediately tell America to leave when he once again made his appearance.
England would never admit that he was not disappointed to see America drive up to him on the road in his car.
“Yo England,” America said cheerfully, the sunset dying his hair gold. “Did you find the grail yet?”
“What are you still doing here?” England asked.
“Well, I got hungry after you told me to go away, but there’re hardly any fastfood restaurants around here at all. How do you live here? I had to drive all the way back to London to find a McDonald’s,” America said, the car puttering along slowly, keeping in pace with England’s walking. “Then I came back to see if you found it yet. Did you?”
“No, and even if I did, you’re not getting it, I already said,” England snapped, grumpy and tired and really hankering for a cup of tea.
America went silent as England walked down the road. It was really beginning to irritate England that as fast as he was striding, America’s car was keeping pace more than easily enough.
“So… want a ride home then?” America finally said.
England eyed the car and then the long stretch of road. “…since you insist,” he muttered and ignored America’s grin as England circled to the passenger’s seat and got in.
“Your roads are so funny here,” America commented as he started driving again. “Everything’s on the wrong side. I keep forgetting and switching into the right lane.”
The roads of the Cotswolds by this time were, except for the big highways, empty of most cars so even with America swerving into the wrong lane every so often, it wasn’t too dangerous. However…
“You said you drove into London?”
America grinned.
England buckled his seatbelt.
***
The next morning, England was set upon by the fairies at breakfast. Or rather, his fairy friends all lurked by the door, looking at him eating. The gnome had conspicuously hidden himself at the very back of the crowd and shuffled around, looking both slightly fearful and sheepish in a way that made England feel horribly guilty.
“About yesterday, i-it’s not that I’m sorry,” England muttered. “But er, I may have been a bit irritable… I didn’t mean to pick you up….er, or get mad at you guys,” he said.
The gnome perked up and a moment later, England was being swarmed by the fairies and elves, and nuzzled by the unicorn.
“You have to hurry today,” the pixie said. “You have three good deeds to do!”
The gnome sidled close to England and then whispered quite loudly, “Psst! You should bring food – em, maybe even a whole picnic,” he added.
England did not want to know what they were planning. “All right, all right. I’ll do it after I finish breakfast,” he said.
The fairies had all just made enough space for him to start eating again, when the doorbell rang.
England sighed and got up to go answer it.
“Morning,” America said, grinning brightly at England.
England really hated the way he warmed up just at the sight of America’s smile – as stupid as it looked sometimes.
America didn’t even wait for an invitation, shouldering his way into England’s cottage. “Wow, this place is old-fashioned,” he commented, looking around.
“Hey, stop poking around. Who said you could come in, and stop touching my things,” England said, snatching back the set of knitted tea cosies America had picked up.
America grinned. “You still use these?” He laughed. “You old geezer.”
England glared at him. “Get out! No one invited you,” he said.
America headed for his kitchen. “Do you have any coffee?” he asked. “They only have tea at the B&B I was at. Can you believe it?”
“Of course I don’t—”
“Aha! Here it is,” America said triumphantly and pulled out a dusty bag of ground coffee beans from the very back of England’s cupboard. “I knew you’d have some. You secretly like coffee, don’t you?” he asked and set about cheerfully making himself coffee.
“Of course not,” England snapped. He was never going to admit that he kept those around on the off chance that America came over his house.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” America said, indulgent. “So where are you going to look today?” he asked.
England sighed, and that was when two of the fairies decided to join them in the kitchen. The pink fairy kept buzzing around America’s head, staring at him though of course America didn’t notice, and the green pixie circled back and forth between England and America.
A moment later, the pixie flew up to England. “So he’s the one who broke your heart?” she asked.
England choked. “What? No!”
“What’s wrong with that? He’s fit,” the pink fairy giggled and circled America’s head again.
England may have gurgled a little in mortification.
His fairies were checking out America.
“England? Are you okay?” America asked, waving a hand in front of England’s face.
England slapped his arm away. “I’m fine,” he gritted out. “And you guys, go away,” he said, waving the fairies away.
“You should invite him to the picnic!” the pixie called before she darted out the window, giggling.
“Oh my god,” England said.
America raised an eyebrow. “Are you talking to your imaginary friends again?” he asked.
“They’re not imaginary,” England snapped.
“If you say so…” America continued to look skeptical and helped himself to a mug, stirring in sugar to his coffee.
England ignored him and started going through his cupboards for food. In the fridge were some leftovers from last night’s dinner. America had dropped him off and when England had casually asked America to stay for dinner, America had raced off, claiming the desperate need for hamburgers. Cooking for one person wasn’t economical and England always ended up with leftovers – in this case, cold stew and some rather droopy chips, but along with some of the scones he’d made the day before and the crumpets he’d intended to eat with his afternoon tea, he thought it was enough food for a nice picnic.
“What are you doing?” America asked, eyeing the food England had got out onto the table.
“Going on a picnic,” England said absently, debating whether to bring more food or not. He wasn’t really sure why the fairies wanted him to bring a picnic.
“You’re going on a picnic with your imaginary friends?” America asked. “Can I come?”
“What? No! And I told you, they’re not imaginary,” England said.
“We can bring hamburgers! And hotdogs,” America said eagerly. “This’ll be fun.”
It had been a very long time since England had gone on a picnic with America. The last time had to be sometime before the Revolutionary War. After that, once their relations had begun to improve again, they’d gone out to eat a few times – usually at pubs. Those nights usually ended in alcohol-induced memory loss, or else England wished they had ended in alcohol-induced memory loss. A picnic with America?
“If you insist on coming,” England muttered.
“So… hamburgers?” America asked.
“No,” England said.
It looked like enough food, but England had to feed America now too, so just to be sure, he added a few chicken sandwiches, and a packet of water crackers and cheese. He brought a thermos of tea, and as an afterthought, added the Coca Cola that he kept for the same reason as the coffee, into the picnic basket as well.
“But if we don’t get hamburgers, we’d have to eat your cooking,” America said and winced, looking into the basket.
“Don’t eat it if you hate it so much then,” England snapped and snapped the basket lid shut, catching America’s fingers.
America sucked on his fingers, but obediently followed England out the door. This time, the fairies had been even more vague about where England was supposed to go, but the pink fairy and green pixie kept fluttering around them, and England could see the unicorn peeking out from behind a tree with the gnome, so he figured they were probably going to go wherever he went, and give him good deeds he was supposed to do as he went along.
Just to put up the impression that he was more-or-less headed for a specific destination, England wandered down a few random streets, went through an old cemetery, and then around early noon, walked into a small park where he set everything down and began to spread out the blanket on top of the long grass.
America sat down as soon as England finished spreading out the blanket, and flopped back. “Your weather isn’t half-bad right now,” he commented.
England scowled. “Aren’t you going to help set things up?” he asked.
America rolled his eyes but sat back up and tugged the picnic basket over where he immediately began unloading everything. His eyes brightened when he saw the cola, which made all the embarrassment of buying it at the grocery and the trouble of keeping it hidden in his refrigerator worthwhile.
“This is nice,” America commented later when he’d demolished a good two-thirds of the food which England took to mean an admission that his cooking really wasn’t that bad. America was flopped on his back, staring up at the blue sky. His glasses had been put to one side and he’d tucked his hands behind his head.
England watched the breeze ruffle America’s hair. “Yeah,” he agreed.
“But what does it have to do with finding the Holy Grail?” America asked. He’d been oddly agreeable the whole day – more relaxed than his usual exuberant self although England was fairly sure it was because America wasn’t used to following anyone else other than himself. “You have to tell me sooner or later.”
England sighed. “It’s the fairies,” he said finally, and told the whole story to America sans the parts where the fairies had been commenting on America.
To America’s credit, he didn’t burst out laughing until after England spilled the whole story. Of course then he laughed until he cried and then curled up, chuckling breathlessly.
“What? You’re following a bunch of imaginary fairies?” America huffed a few minutes later by which time England felt like his face might explode if he got any redder.
“They’re real,” he insisted.
“Real enough if you’re seriously following them.” America gave another weak laugh, holding his stomach as he looked over at England. America’s eyes were a brilliant blue, even slightly watery from laughter, and he looked thoughtful. “Well, I guess the Holy Grail’s supposed to be a legend too… why not follow imaginary fairies?” he said.
England glared at America even though his face refused to cool down. “Tosser,” he muttered.
“Well? So what are they saying? They just told you to go on a picnic?” America asked.
In fact, the fairies were currently giggling about what a pretty shade America’s eyes were and what a nice laugh he had, and the green pixie kept elbowing England in the ear.
“Stop that,” England waved her away.
She dodged his hand. “You agree, don’t you?”
“Well? We’ve had the picnic. What next?” England asked, trying to get over his embarrassment on both accounts and mostly failing because America kept grinning at him and chuckling, and the fairies were even worse.
“You should get a leg over that one before worrying about an old cup,” the pink fairy said and let out a squeal of laughter when England snapped and made a grab for her.
All around the clearing, the fairies were giggling and nudging each other.
“Well, what’d they say?” America asked, looking blissfully ignorant.
“Y-You don’t want to know,” England managed to stutter out. “And if you’re not going to be helpful, go away!” he said.
“The first test already started,” the pixie called.
America jumped up.
“Not you, the fairies,” England clarified.
“No, ants,” America said.
“What?”
“Ants!” America said and began stomping. A hoard of ants had converged onto the remains of the picnic and, watching America go at it, England thought it was really a very nice gesture despite all the complaining America had done about the food.
And that was when England heard the shout.
“Help!” came a tiny voice.
England looked around.
“Down here! I’m an ant!” the squeaky voice shouted. “Help us! Hel—squelch”
“Hah! See if you ever attack a picnic again, ants!” America said, triumphant.
England looked down at the picnic in horror. “Oh my god, you squished my first task!” he shouted.
***
“It’s okay. There’s still two more to go. Majority rules, right?” America said to him as they continued on walking. He had been rather abashed after England explained what had happened, and now he was walking along, subdued, carrying the picnic basket with the remains of the food.
England didn’t think he had to go to any particular place since the fairies were the ones setting up the tasks, and they kept hovering around them. England was enjoying the peaceful nature and sunshine of the day, though, so he elected to stay out in the countryside instead of returning to his house.
They followed a meandering path through the hillside and the trees, and England had almost managed to put the abrupt and murderous end to the first task aside, when America spoke up.
“Um, sorry about that,” America said. “I didn’t know.” He rubbed the back of his head.
England sighed. “It’s fine,” he said because obviously America was going to suffer his failed hero complex until England alleviated some of his guilt. “I should have expected that when I brought you along anyway.”
He looked over and found America staring back at him, a sheepish smile on his face, one hand tucked in his pocket, and the other swinging the picnic basket. The thing was, as much trouble as America got into and caused for everyone else, he meant well. He always had the best of intentions going into things, which was why, England, who had gone through his long history making alliances and betraying them, fighting wars and winning them, working with outlaws for his own benefit – it was why England had fallen in love with America from the start of his existence and why even after two hundred years, he still was.
“It’s all right,” England said and nudged America with his elbow, turning red.
“Hey, England—” America began when they heard the bird.
“Help!” came the call from down below again, and England prayed that America hadn’t accidentally stepped on anyone else.
It turned out to be a very small bird caught in a very big spider web suspended in a short bush.
“Please help me,” the bird said pitifully. It was a plain brown and struggled weakly, its wings folded up and caught in the webs.
England’s heart went out to it and he gently plucked the bird out.
“Your animals talk here?” America asked, eyes huge as he stared.
“No, I told you, these are tasks for me,” England answered as he cleaned off the spider webs still caught on the bird’s wings so it would be able to fly.
Some ten minutes later, he was done and the bird was walking along, digging little talons into England’s palm. “Thank you, kind sir. You have saved me,” it chirped.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to fly?” England asked, running his fingers along the wings of the bird. It fluttered weakly.
“I should be able to,” the bird said.
“Hey, I can help,” America said. “I’ll give you a push-start,” he said, beaming.
Then, before England could protest, America grabbed the bird in one fist, wound up his arm, and let it fly in a perfect fastball. The bird disappeared into the distance with an echoing squawk.
England stared at America in disbelief.
“You killed it, you steroid-pumped stupid fucker,” England shouted.
“What? No I didn’t. I helped it fly. You can’t even see it anymore,” America said, guiltless and cheerful.
“Why…” England moaned. He should have been present for more of America’s childhood and maybe America wouldn’t have turned out this way. It was all his fault. He was a failed guardian, England thought morosely.
“So what’s the next task then?” America asked, grinning as he tossed one heavy arm around England’s shoulders. It jostled England out of his justified mope.
“Just don’t help this time, okay?” England said, trying to hold onto his annoyance, but it was difficult when he could feel America’s arm shift with every step, warm around him.
“Aw, but I—”
“No,” England cut him off. At his crestfallen face, England sighed and added, “It’s supposed to be my quest, right? If I don’t do it, it doesn’t count.”
America brightened up. America never managed to stay down for long. “Ah, I see. Gotcha,” he said and winked.
It was such a cheesy thing to do but England felt stupidly liquid inside anyway.
***
The third task, it turned out, was a classic.
About two hours later, wandering around nowhere, an old lady appeared at the side of the road.
“Are you serious?” England said out loud.
The fairies who were still following them around, giggled.
“Could you spare a poor old woman a bit of food, laddie?” the old woman said, holding out one trembling, wizened hand.
England rolled his eyes. “We have leftovers,” he said to her. “You have the basket?” He elbowed America in the side.
America held it out to the old lady. “Here you are! England’s bad cooking,” he said.
England glared at him.
The old lady took it and began shoveling down food as fast as she could to England’s astonishment. It was just that, he’d never seen anyone go at something he’d cooked so enthusiastically before. Even back when America still liked his food, he’d never eaten with such voracity.
“See? My food isn’t that bad…” England trailed off when the old woman stopped as abruptly as she’d begun.
The old woman blinked twice, gave a loud hiccup – and then fainted dead away.
England stared.
America’s mouth dropped open.
“You killed her with your cooking!” America shouted a long, shocked silence later.
“I-I didn’t!” England grabbed the old woman, pulling her upright and pounding her on the back. “Breath! It wasn’t my fault – she’s old, it could’ve been anything,” England said.
The old woman still refused to gain consciousness.
“You killed her,” America kept shouting.
“Shut up and help! Aren’t you supposed to be hero?” England snapped.
Apparently, that was the right thing to say because America suddenly straightened up and grabbed the old woman. “Right! To the hospital to get her stomach pumped!” he declared.
America tossed the old lady over one shoulder, grabbed England’s hand, and took off sprinting back down the road.
***
When they finally got back to his cottage, it was late and England was feeling rather discouraged about the whole deal. Two days were fruitless and who knew when China and Russia might come knocking on his doorstep – which would be infinitely worse than just France and America.
“Hey, it’s okay. The old lady will live,” America said, clapping England on the shoulder as they stood by the gate.
“I know,” England said. That wasn’t the problem, and in accordance with his usual, oblivious self, it flew right over America’s head.
“Then what are you so mad about?” America asked, going strangely sincere and looking intently at England. It was so rare that America wasn’t being a happy idiot that it surprised England into telling the truth.
“Russia and China,” England admitted. “And the fairies…”
“Kiss him! Kiss him!” one of them cheered in the background.
“…are not helping,” England finished, gritting his teeth.
He was still thinking about which was the best way to torture the fairies – that had been a fun time during the Middle Ages what with the racks, head crushers, Judas chairs, and all – so England didn’t notice when America suddenly tugged him forward until he was already being enveloped in a warm embrace.
“No worries, tomorrow we can try again,” America said. “If Russia and China come, I’ll hold them off for you.”
England could feel America’s voice vibrate beneath his hands. “America…”
“Besides, what’d you expect when you try to do a hero’s job?” America asked, almost but not quite entirely ruining the moment.
“You. I don’t know what I did wrong raising you,” England said, shaking his head as America let go and backed up.
America grinned. “Nothing. I’m awesome, aren’t I?” he answered. “See you tomorrow!” He waved and then started down the road towards his car.
England sighed and went into his cottage.
“Nothing, huh…”
***
An enthusiastic pounding on his door woke England the next day. He managed to drag himself up to answer the door, and was still yawning in his bathrobe when America bounded in. America always got up inhumanly early what with his overabundance in energy, and England didn’t understand a word of what came out of America’s mouth as he yawned and tried to blink himself awake.
“What?” England muttered, squinting at America.
“What are we doing today? Questing again?” America asked as he bulldozed his way through the kitchen, helping himself to the coffee again, and then going through England’s refrigerator. “You have nothing normal to eat here for breakfast here. You should get cereal,” America said. “Or build a McDonald’s close by so you can buy their breakfasts,” he said.
“Breakfasts should be healthy,” England muttered as he got out the bread to make toast. A cup of tea and a good breakfast later, he felt much more himself.
“So why are you here this early?” he asked, watching as America helped himself to another piece of burnt toast, spreading a grotesque amount of blackberry jam onto it.
“Well we should get an early start, right? You said the fairies are giving you three clues to find the Holy Grail,” America said nonchalantly. “Pass the butter.”
England handed it over to him and looked around for the fairies. The fairies were gone this morning, but the gnome was hovering behind the stove. “You there,” England said. “What’s the task today?” he asked.
The gnome shuffled out, tugging his beard. “Em… it’s a riddle,” he said. “Em…”
“Just say it,” England said.
The gnome cleared his throat several times in anticipation before he recited: “Where land meets ‘twixt the sea and sky, the king’s great birthplace, you must find.”
England waited.
The gnome coughed again. “Em, em… that’s all,” he said and fidgeted again before darting back behind the stove to hide.
“Did they say?” America asked through a mouthful of toast and jam.
England recited the riddle though he doubted America would know what the fairies were going on about. “Why on earth did I agree to this…” England muttered when he finished, massaging his forehead. At this rate, he’d be invaded by the time he figured out what the fairies were talking about.
America laughed. “Oh, that’s easy,” he said.
England stared at him. “You know what they’re talking about?” he demanded.
“Of course! I know all my great heroes,” America answered confidently. “It’s talking about King Arthur. That’s the only great hero you have, isn’t it? …that’s sort of sad, huh? We’re in modern times with comics and cartoons and graphic novels – I mean, I’ve come up with dozens of cool heroes and you have what? Doctor Who?” America said.
England ignored him. “King Arthur’s birthplace,” he murmured. It figured the fairies would come up with a riddle that was so obvious that only the truly simple like America would understand. “I can’t believe you’re actually right for once,” he said.
“Hey!” America said, offended. “I’m a genius.”
“You’re touched in the head,” England answered. “Let’s go. We have a long drive.”
***
During the first hour of the trip, America was mostly bearable – talking about everything from the new space technology he was building to the new television series he’d made in California. During the second hour of the trip, America fell asleep. And during the third and final hour of the trip, America got restless which meant it was absolute hell to be driving a car with him in it.
“I spy something… green,” America said.
“That tree we just passed. Can you please be quiet,” England said. He’d won the short battle about who was going to drive and managed to wrestle America out of the driver’s seat, but now he was becoming increasingly suspicious that America was being as annoying as possible for revenge.
“Guessed wrong. Guess again,” America said cheerfully and started tapping out a beat onto the dashboard.
England gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Can you stop acting like a child?” he asked.
“I’m bored,” America said.
England exhaled. “Deal with it. You’re an adult now.”
“I’m hungry then,” America said.
Sometimes it was truly difficult to tell if America was really this immature, or if he did a lot of it just to get on England’s nerves, so England was actually surprised when America went silent for the last half hour of the drive. When he looked over, half expecting America to be asleep again, he found America staring at him instead.
England went unwillingly red. “What?” he asked.
America smiled. “Nothing,” he answered, which only made England more suspicious.
He was all too relieved when they finally pulled into Tintagel – a town about the size of an American shopping mall – that consisted of one main street littered with King Arthur themed tourist shops and B&Bs.
England hadn’t been to Tintagel since around the 12th century. The tacky shops and arcade were definitely new. He found the parking lot, and America immediately hopped out despite the drizzle that had started up. England rummaged around in the trunk and found one rather beaten up old umbrella. He hoped the weather wouldn’t get any worse.
“Come on,” he said to America who was looking around rather eagerly. “Get under. You’re going to get wet,” he said.
“Man, your towns are tiny,” America said but obediently ducked under the umbrella, his hands brushing England’s thighs as they walked.
“Yours are just oversized,” England answered and began walking down the street towards the castle.
It was a short distance before they got to the visitor’s center and paid for access in. Tintagel Castle, as it was now, wasn’t really a castle anymore, but more the ruins of one. Mostly it consisted of lots of steep stone steps and little squares of grass blocked out the size of ancient medieval rooms.
Once they were in, even more fairies appeared, and they kept urging him up the stone steps, which America was only too happy to start jogging up, ignoring England’s attempts to keep the umbrella over both their heads.
America was waiting for him by the time England climbed to the clifftop that overlooked the ocean where half of the castle, now almost entirely gone, had once stood. It was mostly overlaid with grass, but the view was unparalleled even with the gloom and drizzle.
“This is one crappy castle,” America commented.
England glared at him. “At least I have real castles,” he pointed out. “This one’s older than you are.”
“I’m not that young.” America pressed his lips together. “So where’s the grail?” he asked, changing the subject.
England couldn’t help grinning at America’s sullen face. “I don’t know,” England said. “It should be somewhere around here,” he said and went to hold the umbrella over America again.
“It’s here, it’s here,” the pink fairy said, giggling and trying to get under the umbrella.
“This way,” a new, blue fairy added.
England followed them, and in the end, it was really rather anti-climactic when the fairies unearthed an old wooden cup, buried deep in the dirt close to where the chapel of the castle would have once been.
“…that’s it?” America asked, staring at the cup.
England attempted to brush off the dirt caked all over it as best as he could. It still looked brown, dirty, and plain. “I guess…” he answered.
America looked rather disappointed. “It’s sort of ugly, isn’t it?”
“Weren’t you the one going on about Indian Jones—”
“Indiana Jones,” America corrected.
“Whatever. Those movies – it was a plain cup too,” England pointed out.
“Yea, but that’s a movie. You should know better than to believe anything movies say, England,” America said. He grinned, mischievous.
“Brat,” England said.
“Well… are you going to drink from it?” America asked. “You better wash it first.”
England was surprised as he looked over to America, standing so close to him he could smell America’s wet leather jacket. America was staring curiously down at the cup but had made no move to even touch it yet. England realized that the whole time, he had, deep down, been expecting America to make another move like he had that time during the Revolutionary War – another betrayal and attempt to seize power. He’d expected America to take the grail from him as soon as they found it, and even worse, England had been willing to let him do it so long as he could spend these last few days with America without politics or war or any of those things hanging over them like those days during the early colonies.
His Golden Age really was past, England thought, looking out over the ocean. The drizzle had let up now, as suddenly as it had started, and the sun was breaking out again, tinting the ocean blue.
“No,” England said. “I don’t want it.”
America turned and stared at him. “What?”
England smiled and held out the cup. “If this is what you came for, you can have it,” he said.
And although he’s prepared himself for it, his stomach still plummeted when America took the cup in his hands, turning it over and around. America was already the world’s one and only superpower right now, though who knew how long that position would last either. England would rather it be America than anyone else.
England waited for America to take it and run back down the steps, out of the United Kingdom, and back to the United States to report success to his boss and his beloved people.
America smiled.
“Nah, I don’t really want it either,” America said after a moment, turning the cup around. “I’m supposed to be a democracy anyways. What would I do with one of your monarchic vessels?” he asked.
America took the cup in both hands, and abruptly broke it in half.
England’s mouth dropped open. “You broke the fucking Holy Grail!” he shouted. “What’s wrong with you?”
America grinned at England. Then he wound up his arm, looked out into the horizon, and threw the two halves of the grail out where they spiraled and fell, tiny brown dots into the blue ocean.
“You…you… what did you do?” England shouted, ready to start hyperventilating. The most important sacred item since Arthurian times had just been broken and lost forever by the idiot with the ridiculous strength standing next to him. Why on earth had he decided it was a good idea to bring America much less hand him the Holy Grail?
America laughed, guileless. “Now you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” he said. “I said I’d keep Russia and China away for you, didn’t I?” He leaned close until they were eye-to-eye and England could feel America’s breath against his mouth.
“Can I…?” America murmured, lips brushing England’s lips. It was like they were kissing already.
“You are such an idiot,” England muttered, and then looped one arm around America’s neck and pulled him in for a real kiss.
Watching America grow up, there had been all sorts of kisses between them. Sloppy kisses America planted on his cheek. Chaste kisses England pressed to America’s forehead. Shy kisses America placed on England’s nose. Comforting kisses England smacked on America’s scraped knee. None of them were like this one.
Even though America had started it, England had wanted this for so long that he still half-expected America to freeze or push him away. But America just pulled England in closer, and in the end, it was England who ended up gasping when America sucked at England’s lower lip and slid his tongue inside, and it was nothing like any of those other kisses before.
England jerked back when the fairies’ giggles turned to laughter and chatter, and then stared around himself, mortified when he found hundreds of pairs of eyes focused on them.
“Finally…” the pink fairy sighed.
America had meanwhile reeled him back and was nipping at his throat in a way that made England’s knees go wobbly.
“The fairies are watching…” England said, pushing America away.
America laughed. “Just pretend they don’t exist,” he said.
“I’m tempted,” England muttered and pressed his forehead against America’s jaw. He sighed and turned to stare out at the place where the Holy Grail had sunk underwater again. America’s arm went around his shoulders, heavy and stinking of wet leather, but infinitely comfortable.
“So it’s really gone now forever,” England said. “Isn’t your boss going to get angry if you don’t bring it back?”
England felt America shift. “He’ll get over it. What kind of a hero would I be if I needed an old cup?” he said.
England took a deep breath and ran his fingers up through America’s hair. “Why did you come here?” he asked. “It wasn’t really because your boss sent you?”
America let out a slow breath and leaned back. He was smiling, soft, a hint of his usual brass grin behind the expression, not entirely contained. “Your cooking is actually crap, you know,” he said.
“You ate it all,” England pointed out.
“Yeah,” America said, going slightly pink.
And as they started back towards the stone steps, America’s arm sliding away but his hand slipping around England’s, England thought maybe he did know after all.
***
Two days later, Russia got a text message from England.
“What does it say?” China asked.
Russia held the phone out.
The Holy Grail is at the bottom of the ocean. Fuck off. – UK
Russia and China exchanged looks.
Russia smiled. “It doesn’t matter. Everyone will become one with me in the end…” he said.
China shrugged. “I think Germany was drunk when he told us that legend anyway.”
END.
Hi guys, I am so late to this fandom... Rec me your favorite fics, anyone? :D
Genre: Fluff/Humor
Pairing(s): America/England, brief appearances of other characters
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for England's French
Summary: The one in which Russia and China want the Holy Grail, the fairies are gay but mostly unhelpful, and America is determined to be a hero.
England’s morning had been quite pleasant right up until France showed up at his summer cottage in the Cotswolds. This was for a two-fold reason: 1.) it was France, and 2.) France wanted a favor. The last time France asked for a favor was when he'd been attempting to coerce England into marriage. England pointed this out.
"The last time you wanted a favor, you tried to force me to marry you." England folded his arms and stared suspiciously at France.
"That was centuries ago, mon ami," France said airily.
"There are no amis here," England snapped.
"Besides, this is for the good of the whole world. The Earth's fate rests in your hands," France continued, unperturbed. "You could hand the responsibility to America, but he’d come digging around here…" he added after a short pause during which England continued staring suspiciously at him. France winked. “Or maybe that’s what you want?”
England glared at him. "What do you want?” he gritted out.
France leered. “Well…”
“One inappropriate comment and I will personally bomb your stupid tower,” England said. “And Versailles,” he added.
France sighed loudly. “Very well, mon cher, but you are missing out some—”
England folded his arms. “Eiffel Tower.”
“All right, all right,” France said. “You have to tell me where the Holy Grail is,” he said.
England stared at France, waiting for the punch line of what was no doubt, another dirty joke. It didn’t come. “What?” he settled for.
“The Holy Grail, you know, a cup about this big, supposed to make whoever has it the true king, gives you eternal life when you drink from it?” France said.
“You’re actually serious,” England said.
“So where is it?” France asked, looking entirely too eager for England’s comfort.
“What makes you think I have it?” England asked.
“It was last seen in your land, wasn’t it?” France answered. “Well, don’t keep an old friend waiting. Let’s see it.” France tried to peer around England’s doorstep into his living room.
England blocked him. France was never ever getting into England’s house. Not even if England’s boss ordered it. “I already said we are not friends, and I don’t have it,” England snapped.
“But you know where it is,” France said, persistent.
England rolled his eyes. “What makes you think I’d give it to you even if I did have it?” he asked, leaning against the doorjamb.
France looked even shiftier. “Can we not talk about this inside? Over wine, perhaps?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” England said.
France sighed. “Well, if you won’t give it to me, you’d better find it yourself,” he said. “Rumor has it Russia and China are both looking for it.”
England raised an eyebrow. “Russia and China want the Holy Grail?” he asked. “China isn’t even Christian,” he said.
France shrugged. “Germany got drunk and started talking about it and somehow he convinced Russia and China that it’s all they need to…”
“Take over the world?” England finished.
“More or less, oui,” France said. “It’s better for me to be the number one superpower than either of those two, isn’t it?” he asked and tried to look over England’s shoulder into his house as though England kept the Holy Grail on display on his mantel.
“I’d rather anyone but you had it even if I did have it,” England snapped. “Now get out of my house.”
“I’m not in your house,” France said.
“Get off my lawn then. You’re putting me off my tea,” England said and slammed the door in France’s face.
“You will hide it from them though? They’re both coming to your country to look for it!” France hollered.
The first thing England did was call the police. “There’s a drunken Frenchman on my lawn,” he said and a few minutes later, hung up with the assurance that France would immediately be removed.
The next thing he did was brew himself a strong cup of tea. He took it out to the garden where he sat in the peaceful greenery and thought about what to do. He really hoped France was just being drunk and causing trouble for him because if China and Russia actually got their acts together and invaded the UK, he might be in big trouble.
“We know where it is.”
A soft tinkling laughter came from England’s right and he saw three of his fairy friends hovering in the air.
“Where what is?” England asked absently, smiling at them as he took another sip of his tea. His friends never failed to cheer him up.
“The Holy Grail,” the green pixie piped up.
England very nearly spit out his tea. “What?” he croaked after he finished coughing.
“We know where the Holy Grail is,” a small gnome said from where he stood by England’s chair.
“You do?” England asked and then frowned. “How come none of you ever told me where it was?” he demanded. “All those centuries I could have been king of the world!”
The fairies tittered. “You never asked us!” the pixie said.
“You always managed to pull through without it,” a gnome added, tugging at his beard. “We would have brought it out if you really needed it,” he said.
“Pull through is not the same as ruling the world,” England said.
All the fairies looked slightly guilty.
England wasn’t impulsive by nature. He’d had his glory days, his golden age of power, and now he was mostly content to stay sequestered on his island home, drinking tea and relaxing in his garden, or, when it was raining, hiding inside and cursing the miserable weather. He could still remember those days when all the nations of the world feared him, though, before America had stepped up, and then the various wars… The promise of becoming a world superpower again was a tempting thought. Very tempting indeed. And it was right here at his fingertips.
England considered it for all of two minutes. “Go on, then. Where is it?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager.
The fairies laughed again and went into a discussion group. England sighed. While he loved his faithful companions, they were still fairies and fairies tended to be both absent-minded and loved doing things the hard way. From the way they were enthusiastically huddled up in a bright circle of pretty lights that even a baby unicorn had joined, this was going to be very difficult indeed.
“Trail of breadcrumbs!” England heard one of them say before the furious discussion began again.
And then: “Three good deeds!”
England sighed. He was almost tempted to let Russia and China try to deal with this bunch when they got excited. Of course, Russia and China couldn’t see his friends so it was a moot point.
“Riddles!” one of them called out. More discussion.
“Why not all of them?” another said. And then there was an even more enthusiastic bustling and furious whispering. After several long moments, the group of creatures turned collectively and beamed at England.
“We’ll give you three clues to get to the Holy Grail,” the gnome who had apparently been elected spokesman said.
England sighed, but from experience, he knew that trying to dissuade them would be like telling Italy to stop eating pasta. “All right, then,” he agreed.
“We’ll start with a trail of breadcrumbs,” the gnome said, smiling from ear-to-ear. There was a buzz of excitement and several brownies started raiding England’s cupboards – apparently looking for bread.
England sighed again. “Just let me get my coat,” he said.
The enthusiastic fairies were fluttering around, excited and impatient, when England locked up his front door. The pixie, unable to contain herself, had already started breaking off pieces of a charred scone and was dropping them onto the porch and down his pebbled walkway towards the main road.
The air was fresh in the after-rain sort of way, it was brilliantly sunny out, and England was going on a quest – something he hadn’t done since his Medieval Ages. England inhaled and felt a little younger as he started walking down, following the trail of black crumbs. His good mood lasted right up until he reached the gate of his small estate.
“England!” The loud, boisterous voice was one England would recognize anywhere even if he hadn’t already seen America jogging up the road, holding a McDonald’s meal bag and waving at him.
England felt his heart jump the way it did every time he saw America, the way it had ever since he first set eyes on young America when he’d just started out as a colony, curse him.
England massaged his forehead.
What was it with all the unwelcome visitors today?
“What are you doing here?” England asked.
America beamed at him. “I’m here to be the hero, of course!” he answered. The worst part of that statement was that America actually meant it every single time he said it.
“I don’t need a hero. Go home,” England said.
“Of course you do. My boss sent me here after he heard Russia and China are coming to invade you,” America said.
England narrowed his eyes. “Your boss sent you here to help me?” he asked suspiciously. America never offered help unless something offended his democratic sensibilities – usually in places help wasn’t asked for – or else if excessive begging was involved.
America looked up at the sky. “Yea, um…of course he did!” he said too quickly. “Um…looks like rain, doesn’t it?” he said and started whistling.
England decided he didn’t want to know what America’s ulterior motive was. He eyed the trail of blackened crumbs that led further down the road and wondered how long it would take to shake America off.
“I’ll take care of it,” England said. “You can bugger off.”
“You can’t match either one of them much less both if they really do come,” America said, strangely serious. He was frowning. “It’s not like you actually have the Holy Grail, so how are you going to deal with them without me?” he asked.
England went a bit red in the long pause that followed.
“You do have the Holy Grail!” America burst out, his grin boyish and his eyes wide as he grabbed England by the shoulders and shook – hard. “Where is it? Let me see it! Why didn’t you ever say you had it? When I get it, I can be an even bigger and better hero!”
“You are not getting it,” England snapped. “This is why I wanted you to go home,” he muttered.
America pouted. “Why not? The hero gets it, doesn’t he? Didn’t you watch my Indiana Jones series?” he asked.
“America, those are movies,” England said.
“If anyone gets the Holy Grail, it should be me! After all, I’m awesome and you’re an old man. What would you do with a Holy Grail?” America asked and then snapped his fingers. “Oh, you want to become young again, don’t you?”
England was tempted to throttle America.
“Go home,” England said.
America looked stubbornly back at him. “No way. I’m going to find the Holy Grail before everyone else. And seriously, what if Russia and China come?”
“I said I’d take care of it. Leave,” England said.
America pressed his lips together, stubborn, but when England folded his arms and gave America his best stern look, America huffed a sigh and reluctantly backtracked down the road. He’d parked some import Japanese car by the side of the road and America got in, pouting the whole time. When he finally started the engine and drove away, England slowly relaxed and then looked back down at the trail of crumbs.
Of course, he should have expected it since it was America, but less than half an hour of crumb trail-following later, England caught the first glimpse of gold in the periphery of his vision. He whipped around to look, only to see a few cars passing by on the road, the occasional building, and lots of bushes, grass, and trees.
England turned back to his trail, but only a few yards down the road, he saw it again, and this time, he was sure he glimpsed America’s leather bomber jacket and blue jeans. In fact, when England looked back, he could still see America’s stupid Nantucket hair peeking out from behind the large oak. Behind the wind, England was also sure he heard the rustling sound of a burger being unwrapped – confirmed when one of those very wrappers dropped to the ground and rolled a few feet away from the tree.
“America!” England shouted.
His hair bobbed, and America jumped out from behind the tree. “Uh, hi, England! What are you doing here? What a coincidence, huh?” America grinned.
“Don’t litter in other people’s countries, you twat,” England said.
“I was going to pick it up,” America said and picked up the wrapper, stuffing it in one of his pockets.
“Stop following me,” England ordered and this time watched pointedly until America walked down the road again. Once America decided anything, it was like asking a pitbull to nicely let go of the leg it had sunk its teeth into so England was fairly sure that America was going to be back – he just hoped it would be awhile before that happened again.
The crumbs led off the road and into the fields a few moments later. It got a lot more difficult to see the crumbs hidden in the grass, but also, hopefully, made it more difficult for America to follow. But as the day progressed, England found himself less and less optimistic as he was forced to climb up five overgrown hillsides, break into three different estates to sneak through their yards, and finally having to crawl through one very prickly bush.
By the time he was finished picking stray plant life out of his hair, England almost wished America was there if only because America was big and had the ability to plow through all manner of things unharmed which included prickly bushes.
England was actually rather surprised that America had given up the chase after just two tries and he hadn’t even tried to force England to hand anything over. It seemed distinctly un-American.
He’d decided that his plan would be to find the grail, do whatever it was to make himself a superpower again, and keep the grail out of everyone else’s hands. It would probably mean war again – maybe even a World War Three though, if legend was true, England should come out as top victor with the Holy Grail even if all the other world powers united against him. He could think about all that after he’d found the grail first. Occasionally France did have a point – at all costs, he had to keep the grail out of Russia and China’s hands.
The trail led back to another road, which was several miles from where he lived, but still clearly in the Cotswolds. What was suspicious, though, was that the trail of crumbs was leading down the road in the direction his house lay. It was already nearing sunset now, and England was sweaty, tired, and itchy from crawling through so many plants.
The fairies had gone on ahead, but the gnome who had more or less been following him the entire day, was still trailing behind him and chuckling happily with the unicorn.
England narrowed his eyes, and pounced, grabbing the gnome and lifting him up to eye level.
“Put me down! Put me down!”
“Just where is this trail leading me?” England demanded and hardened his heart to the gnome’s pitiful squeals.
“Oh, put me down!”
“Not until you tell me,” England said.
The gnome dug in his pockets, little legs kicking, and pulled out a map larger than himself.
England stared at the map. It was one of the entire United Kingdom with the starting point marked at his summerhouse. The dotted trail then proceeded to wind all around the Cotswolds, up into Scotland, around Wales, and all over England in a mess of tangled lines.
“What the shit is this?” England shouted.
The gnome gave him a very sheepish smile, peering at England through his beard. “A map?” he offered.
“I am not going to run all over the UK on foot,” England said very slowly. “So I am going to go home and have a nice cup of tea. And tomorrow, you will tell me where the grail is. Understood?”
The gnome nodded hurriedly.
England put him down and the gnome immediately disappeared along with the unicorn.
England sighed, dragging a hand over his face. He’d wasted an entire day because of the fairies.
It would be several miles trek back to his house, England thought, and did not look forward to it which was the only reason he didn’t immediately tell America to leave when he once again made his appearance.
England would never admit that he was not disappointed to see America drive up to him on the road in his car.
“Yo England,” America said cheerfully, the sunset dying his hair gold. “Did you find the grail yet?”
“What are you still doing here?” England asked.
“Well, I got hungry after you told me to go away, but there’re hardly any fastfood restaurants around here at all. How do you live here? I had to drive all the way back to London to find a McDonald’s,” America said, the car puttering along slowly, keeping in pace with England’s walking. “Then I came back to see if you found it yet. Did you?”
“No, and even if I did, you’re not getting it, I already said,” England snapped, grumpy and tired and really hankering for a cup of tea.
America went silent as England walked down the road. It was really beginning to irritate England that as fast as he was striding, America’s car was keeping pace more than easily enough.
“So… want a ride home then?” America finally said.
England eyed the car and then the long stretch of road. “…since you insist,” he muttered and ignored America’s grin as England circled to the passenger’s seat and got in.
“Your roads are so funny here,” America commented as he started driving again. “Everything’s on the wrong side. I keep forgetting and switching into the right lane.”
The roads of the Cotswolds by this time were, except for the big highways, empty of most cars so even with America swerving into the wrong lane every so often, it wasn’t too dangerous. However…
“You said you drove into London?”
America grinned.
England buckled his seatbelt.
The next morning, England was set upon by the fairies at breakfast. Or rather, his fairy friends all lurked by the door, looking at him eating. The gnome had conspicuously hidden himself at the very back of the crowd and shuffled around, looking both slightly fearful and sheepish in a way that made England feel horribly guilty.
“About yesterday, i-it’s not that I’m sorry,” England muttered. “But er, I may have been a bit irritable… I didn’t mean to pick you up….er, or get mad at you guys,” he said.
The gnome perked up and a moment later, England was being swarmed by the fairies and elves, and nuzzled by the unicorn.
“You have to hurry today,” the pixie said. “You have three good deeds to do!”
The gnome sidled close to England and then whispered quite loudly, “Psst! You should bring food – em, maybe even a whole picnic,” he added.
England did not want to know what they were planning. “All right, all right. I’ll do it after I finish breakfast,” he said.
The fairies had all just made enough space for him to start eating again, when the doorbell rang.
England sighed and got up to go answer it.
“Morning,” America said, grinning brightly at England.
England really hated the way he warmed up just at the sight of America’s smile – as stupid as it looked sometimes.
America didn’t even wait for an invitation, shouldering his way into England’s cottage. “Wow, this place is old-fashioned,” he commented, looking around.
“Hey, stop poking around. Who said you could come in, and stop touching my things,” England said, snatching back the set of knitted tea cosies America had picked up.
America grinned. “You still use these?” He laughed. “You old geezer.”
England glared at him. “Get out! No one invited you,” he said.
America headed for his kitchen. “Do you have any coffee?” he asked. “They only have tea at the B&B I was at. Can you believe it?”
“Of course I don’t—”
“Aha! Here it is,” America said triumphantly and pulled out a dusty bag of ground coffee beans from the very back of England’s cupboard. “I knew you’d have some. You secretly like coffee, don’t you?” he asked and set about cheerfully making himself coffee.
“Of course not,” England snapped. He was never going to admit that he kept those around on the off chance that America came over his house.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” America said, indulgent. “So where are you going to look today?” he asked.
England sighed, and that was when two of the fairies decided to join them in the kitchen. The pink fairy kept buzzing around America’s head, staring at him though of course America didn’t notice, and the green pixie circled back and forth between England and America.
A moment later, the pixie flew up to England. “So he’s the one who broke your heart?” she asked.
England choked. “What? No!”
“What’s wrong with that? He’s fit,” the pink fairy giggled and circled America’s head again.
England may have gurgled a little in mortification.
His fairies were checking out America.
“England? Are you okay?” America asked, waving a hand in front of England’s face.
England slapped his arm away. “I’m fine,” he gritted out. “And you guys, go away,” he said, waving the fairies away.
“You should invite him to the picnic!” the pixie called before she darted out the window, giggling.
“Oh my god,” England said.
America raised an eyebrow. “Are you talking to your imaginary friends again?” he asked.
“They’re not imaginary,” England snapped.
“If you say so…” America continued to look skeptical and helped himself to a mug, stirring in sugar to his coffee.
England ignored him and started going through his cupboards for food. In the fridge were some leftovers from last night’s dinner. America had dropped him off and when England had casually asked America to stay for dinner, America had raced off, claiming the desperate need for hamburgers. Cooking for one person wasn’t economical and England always ended up with leftovers – in this case, cold stew and some rather droopy chips, but along with some of the scones he’d made the day before and the crumpets he’d intended to eat with his afternoon tea, he thought it was enough food for a nice picnic.
“What are you doing?” America asked, eyeing the food England had got out onto the table.
“Going on a picnic,” England said absently, debating whether to bring more food or not. He wasn’t really sure why the fairies wanted him to bring a picnic.
“You’re going on a picnic with your imaginary friends?” America asked. “Can I come?”
“What? No! And I told you, they’re not imaginary,” England said.
“We can bring hamburgers! And hotdogs,” America said eagerly. “This’ll be fun.”
It had been a very long time since England had gone on a picnic with America. The last time had to be sometime before the Revolutionary War. After that, once their relations had begun to improve again, they’d gone out to eat a few times – usually at pubs. Those nights usually ended in alcohol-induced memory loss, or else England wished they had ended in alcohol-induced memory loss. A picnic with America?
“If you insist on coming,” England muttered.
“So… hamburgers?” America asked.
“No,” England said.
It looked like enough food, but England had to feed America now too, so just to be sure, he added a few chicken sandwiches, and a packet of water crackers and cheese. He brought a thermos of tea, and as an afterthought, added the Coca Cola that he kept for the same reason as the coffee, into the picnic basket as well.
“But if we don’t get hamburgers, we’d have to eat your cooking,” America said and winced, looking into the basket.
“Don’t eat it if you hate it so much then,” England snapped and snapped the basket lid shut, catching America’s fingers.
America sucked on his fingers, but obediently followed England out the door. This time, the fairies had been even more vague about where England was supposed to go, but the pink fairy and green pixie kept fluttering around them, and England could see the unicorn peeking out from behind a tree with the gnome, so he figured they were probably going to go wherever he went, and give him good deeds he was supposed to do as he went along.
Just to put up the impression that he was more-or-less headed for a specific destination, England wandered down a few random streets, went through an old cemetery, and then around early noon, walked into a small park where he set everything down and began to spread out the blanket on top of the long grass.
America sat down as soon as England finished spreading out the blanket, and flopped back. “Your weather isn’t half-bad right now,” he commented.
England scowled. “Aren’t you going to help set things up?” he asked.
America rolled his eyes but sat back up and tugged the picnic basket over where he immediately began unloading everything. His eyes brightened when he saw the cola, which made all the embarrassment of buying it at the grocery and the trouble of keeping it hidden in his refrigerator worthwhile.
“This is nice,” America commented later when he’d demolished a good two-thirds of the food which England took to mean an admission that his cooking really wasn’t that bad. America was flopped on his back, staring up at the blue sky. His glasses had been put to one side and he’d tucked his hands behind his head.
England watched the breeze ruffle America’s hair. “Yeah,” he agreed.
“But what does it have to do with finding the Holy Grail?” America asked. He’d been oddly agreeable the whole day – more relaxed than his usual exuberant self although England was fairly sure it was because America wasn’t used to following anyone else other than himself. “You have to tell me sooner or later.”
England sighed. “It’s the fairies,” he said finally, and told the whole story to America sans the parts where the fairies had been commenting on America.
To America’s credit, he didn’t burst out laughing until after England spilled the whole story. Of course then he laughed until he cried and then curled up, chuckling breathlessly.
“What? You’re following a bunch of imaginary fairies?” America huffed a few minutes later by which time England felt like his face might explode if he got any redder.
“They’re real,” he insisted.
“Real enough if you’re seriously following them.” America gave another weak laugh, holding his stomach as he looked over at England. America’s eyes were a brilliant blue, even slightly watery from laughter, and he looked thoughtful. “Well, I guess the Holy Grail’s supposed to be a legend too… why not follow imaginary fairies?” he said.
England glared at America even though his face refused to cool down. “Tosser,” he muttered.
“Well? So what are they saying? They just told you to go on a picnic?” America asked.
In fact, the fairies were currently giggling about what a pretty shade America’s eyes were and what a nice laugh he had, and the green pixie kept elbowing England in the ear.
“Stop that,” England waved her away.
She dodged his hand. “You agree, don’t you?”
“Well? We’ve had the picnic. What next?” England asked, trying to get over his embarrassment on both accounts and mostly failing because America kept grinning at him and chuckling, and the fairies were even worse.
“You should get a leg over that one before worrying about an old cup,” the pink fairy said and let out a squeal of laughter when England snapped and made a grab for her.
All around the clearing, the fairies were giggling and nudging each other.
“Well, what’d they say?” America asked, looking blissfully ignorant.
“Y-You don’t want to know,” England managed to stutter out. “And if you’re not going to be helpful, go away!” he said.
“The first test already started,” the pixie called.
America jumped up.
“Not you, the fairies,” England clarified.
“No, ants,” America said.
“What?”
“Ants!” America said and began stomping. A hoard of ants had converged onto the remains of the picnic and, watching America go at it, England thought it was really a very nice gesture despite all the complaining America had done about the food.
And that was when England heard the shout.
“Help!” came a tiny voice.
England looked around.
“Down here! I’m an ant!” the squeaky voice shouted. “Help us! Hel—squelch”
“Hah! See if you ever attack a picnic again, ants!” America said, triumphant.
England looked down at the picnic in horror. “Oh my god, you squished my first task!” he shouted.
“It’s okay. There’s still two more to go. Majority rules, right?” America said to him as they continued on walking. He had been rather abashed after England explained what had happened, and now he was walking along, subdued, carrying the picnic basket with the remains of the food.
England didn’t think he had to go to any particular place since the fairies were the ones setting up the tasks, and they kept hovering around them. England was enjoying the peaceful nature and sunshine of the day, though, so he elected to stay out in the countryside instead of returning to his house.
They followed a meandering path through the hillside and the trees, and England had almost managed to put the abrupt and murderous end to the first task aside, when America spoke up.
“Um, sorry about that,” America said. “I didn’t know.” He rubbed the back of his head.
England sighed. “It’s fine,” he said because obviously America was going to suffer his failed hero complex until England alleviated some of his guilt. “I should have expected that when I brought you along anyway.”
He looked over and found America staring back at him, a sheepish smile on his face, one hand tucked in his pocket, and the other swinging the picnic basket. The thing was, as much trouble as America got into and caused for everyone else, he meant well. He always had the best of intentions going into things, which was why, England, who had gone through his long history making alliances and betraying them, fighting wars and winning them, working with outlaws for his own benefit – it was why England had fallen in love with America from the start of his existence and why even after two hundred years, he still was.
“It’s all right,” England said and nudged America with his elbow, turning red.
“Hey, England—” America began when they heard the bird.
“Help!” came the call from down below again, and England prayed that America hadn’t accidentally stepped on anyone else.
It turned out to be a very small bird caught in a very big spider web suspended in a short bush.
“Please help me,” the bird said pitifully. It was a plain brown and struggled weakly, its wings folded up and caught in the webs.
England’s heart went out to it and he gently plucked the bird out.
“Your animals talk here?” America asked, eyes huge as he stared.
“No, I told you, these are tasks for me,” England answered as he cleaned off the spider webs still caught on the bird’s wings so it would be able to fly.
Some ten minutes later, he was done and the bird was walking along, digging little talons into England’s palm. “Thank you, kind sir. You have saved me,” it chirped.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to fly?” England asked, running his fingers along the wings of the bird. It fluttered weakly.
“I should be able to,” the bird said.
“Hey, I can help,” America said. “I’ll give you a push-start,” he said, beaming.
Then, before England could protest, America grabbed the bird in one fist, wound up his arm, and let it fly in a perfect fastball. The bird disappeared into the distance with an echoing squawk.
England stared at America in disbelief.
“You killed it, you steroid-pumped stupid fucker,” England shouted.
“What? No I didn’t. I helped it fly. You can’t even see it anymore,” America said, guiltless and cheerful.
“Why…” England moaned. He should have been present for more of America’s childhood and maybe America wouldn’t have turned out this way. It was all his fault. He was a failed guardian, England thought morosely.
“So what’s the next task then?” America asked, grinning as he tossed one heavy arm around England’s shoulders. It jostled England out of his justified mope.
“Just don’t help this time, okay?” England said, trying to hold onto his annoyance, but it was difficult when he could feel America’s arm shift with every step, warm around him.
“Aw, but I—”
“No,” England cut him off. At his crestfallen face, England sighed and added, “It’s supposed to be my quest, right? If I don’t do it, it doesn’t count.”
America brightened up. America never managed to stay down for long. “Ah, I see. Gotcha,” he said and winked.
It was such a cheesy thing to do but England felt stupidly liquid inside anyway.
The third task, it turned out, was a classic.
About two hours later, wandering around nowhere, an old lady appeared at the side of the road.
“Are you serious?” England said out loud.
The fairies who were still following them around, giggled.
“Could you spare a poor old woman a bit of food, laddie?” the old woman said, holding out one trembling, wizened hand.
England rolled his eyes. “We have leftovers,” he said to her. “You have the basket?” He elbowed America in the side.
America held it out to the old lady. “Here you are! England’s bad cooking,” he said.
England glared at him.
The old lady took it and began shoveling down food as fast as she could to England’s astonishment. It was just that, he’d never seen anyone go at something he’d cooked so enthusiastically before. Even back when America still liked his food, he’d never eaten with such voracity.
“See? My food isn’t that bad…” England trailed off when the old woman stopped as abruptly as she’d begun.
The old woman blinked twice, gave a loud hiccup – and then fainted dead away.
England stared.
America’s mouth dropped open.
“You killed her with your cooking!” America shouted a long, shocked silence later.
“I-I didn’t!” England grabbed the old woman, pulling her upright and pounding her on the back. “Breath! It wasn’t my fault – she’s old, it could’ve been anything,” England said.
The old woman still refused to gain consciousness.
“You killed her,” America kept shouting.
“Shut up and help! Aren’t you supposed to be hero?” England snapped.
Apparently, that was the right thing to say because America suddenly straightened up and grabbed the old woman. “Right! To the hospital to get her stomach pumped!” he declared.
America tossed the old lady over one shoulder, grabbed England’s hand, and took off sprinting back down the road.
When they finally got back to his cottage, it was late and England was feeling rather discouraged about the whole deal. Two days were fruitless and who knew when China and Russia might come knocking on his doorstep – which would be infinitely worse than just France and America.
“Hey, it’s okay. The old lady will live,” America said, clapping England on the shoulder as they stood by the gate.
“I know,” England said. That wasn’t the problem, and in accordance with his usual, oblivious self, it flew right over America’s head.
“Then what are you so mad about?” America asked, going strangely sincere and looking intently at England. It was so rare that America wasn’t being a happy idiot that it surprised England into telling the truth.
“Russia and China,” England admitted. “And the fairies…”
“Kiss him! Kiss him!” one of them cheered in the background.
“…are not helping,” England finished, gritting his teeth.
He was still thinking about which was the best way to torture the fairies – that had been a fun time during the Middle Ages what with the racks, head crushers, Judas chairs, and all – so England didn’t notice when America suddenly tugged him forward until he was already being enveloped in a warm embrace.
“No worries, tomorrow we can try again,” America said. “If Russia and China come, I’ll hold them off for you.”
England could feel America’s voice vibrate beneath his hands. “America…”
“Besides, what’d you expect when you try to do a hero’s job?” America asked, almost but not quite entirely ruining the moment.
“You. I don’t know what I did wrong raising you,” England said, shaking his head as America let go and backed up.
America grinned. “Nothing. I’m awesome, aren’t I?” he answered. “See you tomorrow!” He waved and then started down the road towards his car.
England sighed and went into his cottage.
“Nothing, huh…”
An enthusiastic pounding on his door woke England the next day. He managed to drag himself up to answer the door, and was still yawning in his bathrobe when America bounded in. America always got up inhumanly early what with his overabundance in energy, and England didn’t understand a word of what came out of America’s mouth as he yawned and tried to blink himself awake.
“What?” England muttered, squinting at America.
“What are we doing today? Questing again?” America asked as he bulldozed his way through the kitchen, helping himself to the coffee again, and then going through England’s refrigerator. “You have nothing normal to eat here for breakfast here. You should get cereal,” America said. “Or build a McDonald’s close by so you can buy their breakfasts,” he said.
“Breakfasts should be healthy,” England muttered as he got out the bread to make toast. A cup of tea and a good breakfast later, he felt much more himself.
“So why are you here this early?” he asked, watching as America helped himself to another piece of burnt toast, spreading a grotesque amount of blackberry jam onto it.
“Well we should get an early start, right? You said the fairies are giving you three clues to find the Holy Grail,” America said nonchalantly. “Pass the butter.”
England handed it over to him and looked around for the fairies. The fairies were gone this morning, but the gnome was hovering behind the stove. “You there,” England said. “What’s the task today?” he asked.
The gnome shuffled out, tugging his beard. “Em… it’s a riddle,” he said. “Em…”
“Just say it,” England said.
The gnome cleared his throat several times in anticipation before he recited: “Where land meets ‘twixt the sea and sky, the king’s great birthplace, you must find.”
England waited.
The gnome coughed again. “Em, em… that’s all,” he said and fidgeted again before darting back behind the stove to hide.
“Did they say?” America asked through a mouthful of toast and jam.
England recited the riddle though he doubted America would know what the fairies were going on about. “Why on earth did I agree to this…” England muttered when he finished, massaging his forehead. At this rate, he’d be invaded by the time he figured out what the fairies were talking about.
America laughed. “Oh, that’s easy,” he said.
England stared at him. “You know what they’re talking about?” he demanded.
“Of course! I know all my great heroes,” America answered confidently. “It’s talking about King Arthur. That’s the only great hero you have, isn’t it? …that’s sort of sad, huh? We’re in modern times with comics and cartoons and graphic novels – I mean, I’ve come up with dozens of cool heroes and you have what? Doctor Who?” America said.
England ignored him. “King Arthur’s birthplace,” he murmured. It figured the fairies would come up with a riddle that was so obvious that only the truly simple like America would understand. “I can’t believe you’re actually right for once,” he said.
“Hey!” America said, offended. “I’m a genius.”
“You’re touched in the head,” England answered. “Let’s go. We have a long drive.”
During the first hour of the trip, America was mostly bearable – talking about everything from the new space technology he was building to the new television series he’d made in California. During the second hour of the trip, America fell asleep. And during the third and final hour of the trip, America got restless which meant it was absolute hell to be driving a car with him in it.
“I spy something… green,” America said.
“That tree we just passed. Can you please be quiet,” England said. He’d won the short battle about who was going to drive and managed to wrestle America out of the driver’s seat, but now he was becoming increasingly suspicious that America was being as annoying as possible for revenge.
“Guessed wrong. Guess again,” America said cheerfully and started tapping out a beat onto the dashboard.
England gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Can you stop acting like a child?” he asked.
“I’m bored,” America said.
England exhaled. “Deal with it. You’re an adult now.”
“I’m hungry then,” America said.
Sometimes it was truly difficult to tell if America was really this immature, or if he did a lot of it just to get on England’s nerves, so England was actually surprised when America went silent for the last half hour of the drive. When he looked over, half expecting America to be asleep again, he found America staring at him instead.
England went unwillingly red. “What?” he asked.
America smiled. “Nothing,” he answered, which only made England more suspicious.
He was all too relieved when they finally pulled into Tintagel – a town about the size of an American shopping mall – that consisted of one main street littered with King Arthur themed tourist shops and B&Bs.
England hadn’t been to Tintagel since around the 12th century. The tacky shops and arcade were definitely new. He found the parking lot, and America immediately hopped out despite the drizzle that had started up. England rummaged around in the trunk and found one rather beaten up old umbrella. He hoped the weather wouldn’t get any worse.
“Come on,” he said to America who was looking around rather eagerly. “Get under. You’re going to get wet,” he said.
“Man, your towns are tiny,” America said but obediently ducked under the umbrella, his hands brushing England’s thighs as they walked.
“Yours are just oversized,” England answered and began walking down the street towards the castle.
It was a short distance before they got to the visitor’s center and paid for access in. Tintagel Castle, as it was now, wasn’t really a castle anymore, but more the ruins of one. Mostly it consisted of lots of steep stone steps and little squares of grass blocked out the size of ancient medieval rooms.
Once they were in, even more fairies appeared, and they kept urging him up the stone steps, which America was only too happy to start jogging up, ignoring England’s attempts to keep the umbrella over both their heads.
America was waiting for him by the time England climbed to the clifftop that overlooked the ocean where half of the castle, now almost entirely gone, had once stood. It was mostly overlaid with grass, but the view was unparalleled even with the gloom and drizzle.
“This is one crappy castle,” America commented.
England glared at him. “At least I have real castles,” he pointed out. “This one’s older than you are.”
“I’m not that young.” America pressed his lips together. “So where’s the grail?” he asked, changing the subject.
England couldn’t help grinning at America’s sullen face. “I don’t know,” England said. “It should be somewhere around here,” he said and went to hold the umbrella over America again.
“It’s here, it’s here,” the pink fairy said, giggling and trying to get under the umbrella.
“This way,” a new, blue fairy added.
England followed them, and in the end, it was really rather anti-climactic when the fairies unearthed an old wooden cup, buried deep in the dirt close to where the chapel of the castle would have once been.
“…that’s it?” America asked, staring at the cup.
England attempted to brush off the dirt caked all over it as best as he could. It still looked brown, dirty, and plain. “I guess…” he answered.
America looked rather disappointed. “It’s sort of ugly, isn’t it?”
“Weren’t you the one going on about Indian Jones—”
“Indiana Jones,” America corrected.
“Whatever. Those movies – it was a plain cup too,” England pointed out.
“Yea, but that’s a movie. You should know better than to believe anything movies say, England,” America said. He grinned, mischievous.
“Brat,” England said.
“Well… are you going to drink from it?” America asked. “You better wash it first.”
England was surprised as he looked over to America, standing so close to him he could smell America’s wet leather jacket. America was staring curiously down at the cup but had made no move to even touch it yet. England realized that the whole time, he had, deep down, been expecting America to make another move like he had that time during the Revolutionary War – another betrayal and attempt to seize power. He’d expected America to take the grail from him as soon as they found it, and even worse, England had been willing to let him do it so long as he could spend these last few days with America without politics or war or any of those things hanging over them like those days during the early colonies.
His Golden Age really was past, England thought, looking out over the ocean. The drizzle had let up now, as suddenly as it had started, and the sun was breaking out again, tinting the ocean blue.
“No,” England said. “I don’t want it.”
America turned and stared at him. “What?”
England smiled and held out the cup. “If this is what you came for, you can have it,” he said.
And although he’s prepared himself for it, his stomach still plummeted when America took the cup in his hands, turning it over and around. America was already the world’s one and only superpower right now, though who knew how long that position would last either. England would rather it be America than anyone else.
England waited for America to take it and run back down the steps, out of the United Kingdom, and back to the United States to report success to his boss and his beloved people.
America smiled.
“Nah, I don’t really want it either,” America said after a moment, turning the cup around. “I’m supposed to be a democracy anyways. What would I do with one of your monarchic vessels?” he asked.
America took the cup in both hands, and abruptly broke it in half.
England’s mouth dropped open. “You broke the fucking Holy Grail!” he shouted. “What’s wrong with you?”
America grinned at England. Then he wound up his arm, looked out into the horizon, and threw the two halves of the grail out where they spiraled and fell, tiny brown dots into the blue ocean.
“You…you… what did you do?” England shouted, ready to start hyperventilating. The most important sacred item since Arthurian times had just been broken and lost forever by the idiot with the ridiculous strength standing next to him. Why on earth had he decided it was a good idea to bring America much less hand him the Holy Grail?
America laughed, guileless. “Now you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” he said. “I said I’d keep Russia and China away for you, didn’t I?” He leaned close until they were eye-to-eye and England could feel America’s breath against his mouth.
“Can I…?” America murmured, lips brushing England’s lips. It was like they were kissing already.
“You are such an idiot,” England muttered, and then looped one arm around America’s neck and pulled him in for a real kiss.
Watching America grow up, there had been all sorts of kisses between them. Sloppy kisses America planted on his cheek. Chaste kisses England pressed to America’s forehead. Shy kisses America placed on England’s nose. Comforting kisses England smacked on America’s scraped knee. None of them were like this one.
Even though America had started it, England had wanted this for so long that he still half-expected America to freeze or push him away. But America just pulled England in closer, and in the end, it was England who ended up gasping when America sucked at England’s lower lip and slid his tongue inside, and it was nothing like any of those other kisses before.
England jerked back when the fairies’ giggles turned to laughter and chatter, and then stared around himself, mortified when he found hundreds of pairs of eyes focused on them.
“Finally…” the pink fairy sighed.
America had meanwhile reeled him back and was nipping at his throat in a way that made England’s knees go wobbly.
“The fairies are watching…” England said, pushing America away.
America laughed. “Just pretend they don’t exist,” he said.
“I’m tempted,” England muttered and pressed his forehead against America’s jaw. He sighed and turned to stare out at the place where the Holy Grail had sunk underwater again. America’s arm went around his shoulders, heavy and stinking of wet leather, but infinitely comfortable.
“So it’s really gone now forever,” England said. “Isn’t your boss going to get angry if you don’t bring it back?”
England felt America shift. “He’ll get over it. What kind of a hero would I be if I needed an old cup?” he said.
England took a deep breath and ran his fingers up through America’s hair. “Why did you come here?” he asked. “It wasn’t really because your boss sent you?”
America let out a slow breath and leaned back. He was smiling, soft, a hint of his usual brass grin behind the expression, not entirely contained. “Your cooking is actually crap, you know,” he said.
“You ate it all,” England pointed out.
“Yeah,” America said, going slightly pink.
And as they started back towards the stone steps, America’s arm sliding away but his hand slipping around England’s, England thought maybe he did know after all.
Two days later, Russia got a text message from England.
“What does it say?” China asked.
Russia held the phone out.
Russia and China exchanged looks.
Russia smiled. “It doesn’t matter. Everyone will become one with me in the end…” he said.
China shrugged. “I think Germany was drunk when he told us that legend anyway.”
END.
Hi guys, I am so late to this fandom... Rec me your favorite fics, anyone? :D
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Cute story - I really liked that the fairies were pimping England out - he didn't stand a chance, poor thing. :)
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also: Blowtop&Jackass (http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4962322/1/Blowtop_Jackass) by Rirri
But in general,there's too many good fics to count - just check out community archive and kink meme archive :)
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I really enjoyed reading this! It was a pretty cool idea, and even with the threat of 'invasion' the light-hearted atmosphere suited the story perfectly. Hehe, I had fun reading this!
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(As for fic recs, I would go over to the lj: secretcurrents for liete's stuff.)
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I hope you like it!
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As for recs, this (http://stardropdream.livejournal.com/37037.html) is my favourite fic for this pairing ever. And you should also check out Haro (http://cosmic-dare.livejournal.com/9847.html#cutid1)
and Abarero's (http://hot-ice-hilda.livejournal.com/33848.html)
stuff too! Welcome to the fandom ;)
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<3s you. XD
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