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heroescutiesTitle: Alfred Jones and the Lost City of Gold 5/? [FF.Net Link] [Previous Chapters]
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England, Poland/Lithuania, Tony
Word Count: 2,800
Summary: Sequel to Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh. America and England are back again on yet another adventure when they head to South America to search for the legendary Incan Lost City of Gold. But they're going to need more than luck, and perhaps a little help from some friends, to get through the strange magic that has hidden the mysterious city for centuries.
Chapter 5 Summary:
About to ask how a bloody bundle of plants was going to help any, England froze on realizing that it wasn’t vines that he’d been handed. It was a collection of colored cords with intricately spaced knots. A khipu. The only form of known Incan “writing” to exist.
He narrowed his eyes on the bear.
“Who are you?” He asked.
Notes: Thank you to those of you who comment! I'm trying to get better about updating this, so here goes:
--------------
England was woken up by America shifting in his arms and a loud rumbling noise. Being as the two happened almost simultaneously, he quickly surmised that America must be hungry.
Sure enough, he felt America gently extricating himself from his hold and going over to rummage through their bags. Just about to crack an eye open and give America a light-hearted taunt about midnight snacks, England started as he suddenly felt America’s weight over him and a warm hand brushing over the nape of his neck.
“A-America?” He queried, blearily opening his eyes.
He was met with a worried set of blue eyes, as America leaned in closer. Stroking the side of England’s face with his thumb, he pressed a kiss to England’s temple before speaking.
“Hey. Don’t want to alarm you but…”
That loud rumble sounded again and this time England realized it wasn’t America’s stomach.
A horrid thought struck England and he quickly reached up to place his hand on America’s neck. Sure enough, much like his own, America’s hairs there were standing on end.
“Electrical storm,” England rasped out, as if he could suddenly distinguish the approaching noises as thunder and rain.
The world seemed to come into sharp focus at that and he was suddenly awake with every fiber of his being. His hairs were on edge, as were America’s, there was a high-pitched crackling just under the din of the rumbling, and…he gulped.
Just visible around the edges of America’s glasses was an unearthly glow of blue. A glow England was far too familiar with from his seafaring days.
Snatching the glasses off, England’s mind hastily went to work.
“St. Elmo’s fire on the tips of your glasses, we haven’t much time. We’ve got to get out of this tree; we’re in great danger here.”
America nodded, but as he moved to grab up their bags and his whip, England couldn’t help but see just how stiffly the younger nation carried himself.
“No worries, England! We’ll just swing down and make a run for it,” he remarked as if nothing was wrong.
But England knew him far too well to believe otherwise.
“You will be doing no such thing, idiot,” England reprimanded, shifting in their leafy bed to pry the whip from America’s hands. “Your back is bloody killing you right now…”
“No it’s…”
“No point arguing,” England hushed him with a finger to his lips. “I can see how awkwardly you move. Let me handle this one.”
With a sigh, America relented the hold on his whip. “I guess…” Picking up his hat he plopped it down on England’s head. “Let’s see what you can do, Stodgiana Kirkland.”
England’s retort was cut off as a very loud clap of thunder sounded right above them.
“Right. Let’s get going then.”
They decided amongst themselves that lowering down their bags and then picking them up at the base of the tree once they were down would be the best idea. America began clamoring at that point, as loudly as he could over the torrential rain and thunder that they had to help Mr. Bear as well.
Needless to say, England was not amused.
“These sorts of storms are common here, America. I’m sure your bear friend can take care of himself.”
America pouted and looked up into the tree branches to where Mr. Bear was peering down at them.
“He looks worried, England.”
England sighed, “He’s probably as worried as I am that you’re going to get yourself hurt insisting on helping a creature capable of helping himself.”
The bear gave a low grunt at that, and America looked even more concerned.
“Are you sure?”
At that, the bear nudged a bundle of vines down to America. He blinked, but took it and handed it to England.
“To keep you safe, he said.”
About to ask how a bloody bundle of plants was going to help any, England froze on realizing that it wasn’t vines that he’d been handed. It was a collection of colored cords with intricately spaced knots. A khipu. The only form of known Incan “writing” to exist.
He narrowed his eyes on the bear.
“Who are you?” He asked.
But the bear just gave out a low keening whine and America pulled England away. “Come on England, we’ve got to get out of this tree.”
And as much as England wanted, no needed, to know more about this strange sign, he knew America was right. The longer they stayed in the tree, the greater their risk of being struck by lightning.
The rain had picked up and the thunder was growing closer by the moment. As England prepared the whip to swing them down from the tree, he could hear America counting out seconds behind him.
A flash of lightning. “One, two, three, four, five.” A clash of thunder.
“Divide by five, it’s only a mile away now, England.”
“I know, I know.”
He let the whip go, watching in the flash of lightning as it coiled around the lower branch. He pulled it snug.
“Right,” England turned to America, “hold on to me, love.”
Tucking his glasses into his pocket, America wrapped his arms snuggly around England from behind. He kissed the shell of his ear and whispered to him, “Ready and waiting.”
Clutching onto the whip and just about to drop, England heard the crackling in the air heighten and the hairs on his arms prickled to stand up on end. The deluge of rain was starting to permeate the dense canopy of the forest, cold water splashing against them.
But worst of all, England got this horrid feeling in his gut that perhaps this wasn’t a routine electrical storm after all.
England swung them downward right as a deafening crash of thunder sounded overhead. Blue crackles of lighting skipping between clouds and racing towards their tree with excessive speed and, England noted out of his peripheral vision, exact precision that normal lightning would never have.
As they hit the ground, he quickly picked up his bag and handed the other to America.
“It’s after us,” he gasped out, heart hammering in his chest. “We’ve got to run!”
Another roar of thunder clapped overhead, and England started pulling America along with him, trying to distance themselves from the tree.
But, to his horror, America let his hand go and turned back.
“America, don’t! This isn’t a normal rainstorm!” He yelled, voice hoarse, through the downpour.
But through the gloom of the night and the storm, even England could make out that glint in America’s eyes he got when he was damned and determined to go do something heroically idiotic.
“Yeah, I know. You’re freaking out real bad,” America said, a wan smile on his lips. “But that means Mr. Bear might be in trouble after all.”
Pushing his rain soaked bangs out of his eyes; America dropped his bag and began to run back towards the tree.
“America!” England called out, but it was too late.
Above them, the clouds shone blue for a moment before an earsplitting thunderclap shook the whole area, a surge of lightning heading directly for the patch of trees they’d been in.
Squinting against the rain, England could make out America’s form and was just about to make a run for him when he saw a large black blur descending from the tree.
It was the bear.
With an aura about the creature that England swore was magical; the bear hit the ground beside America and quickly urged him away from the tree. And they would have made it to safety, if it wasn’t then that the lightning struck.
The tree erupted outward, as if someone had embedded a large bundle of fireworks inside the tree’s trunk and lit it. The crack of the wood echoed throughout the clearing like a gunshot and the shards of the exploded tree flew like shrapnel outwards.
One of which, was headed straight for England.
“England, get down!” America called out, sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him and knocking England to the ground.
He then turned to the bear, and on seeing that the animal was in the path of yet another piece, he jumped up to cover him.
They both went down, the bear safely protected by America, that git of a hero, as he took the blow for him.
England rushed over, the fact that the lightning was systematically destroying the two neighboring trees to the one they’d just been sleeping in but a mere background thought as he reached America’s side.
“America, America,” England shook him but he merely groaned in pain.
Feeling around the back of his head, England felt a large bump and a bit of stickiness. He swallowed. It was blood.
Looking helplessly to their two waylaid bags, America’s blasted hat that had fallen on the ground from when England had ran forward, and to America’s prone form, England took a deep breath.
He needed to get America to safety, first and foremost. The rest could wait.
Crouching down, he gathered America up into his arms. The poor dear had been thoroughly abused due to his insistence on heroics, back all bruised and now unconscious with a literally bloody head injury.
That’s when England noticed he wasn’t the only one gathering up the fallen.
The bear had gotten up and after giving what England honestly had to admit was a rather concerned look to America, began to nestle himself under one of their packs as if he was trying to lift it up. Finally, the bear managed it and he went over and did the same to America’s fallen hat.
With the pack on his back and the hat on his head, England had to admit the bear looked right friendly. In fact, a twinge of a smile tugged at his lips despite his worry.
“Just like Paddington, aren’t you?”
The bear grunted and nosed his head under America’s limp arm.
“Right, you want to help him, don’t you?”
The bear nodded, the hat flapping a bit on his head as it did so. He gave America’s cheek a lick and England’s hand where it rested protectively on America’s back, a nuzzle.
“We need some place safe; safe enough that whatever this magic is that is following us can’t hurt us.”
And after walking over to lift up the second pack to carry, the bear started walking off at a steady pace towards the nearest mountain. England pulled America up into his arms, carrying him bridal style, as he trudged through the rain-soaked landscape after the bear.
A bear in a hat, carrying the two packs with ease.
Matching the bear’s pace, England queried.
“You don’t happen to come from deepest darkest Peru, do you?”
And for some reason, the twinkle in the bear’s eyes seemed to let England know that the answer was ‘yes.’
--------------------------------
America woke up to the sound of someone singing softly, or at least he thought it was singing. In fact, he was actually very disoriented. He was lying on a smooth surface on his stomach, and outside ice packs placed on his back and head, he could tell he’d been bundled up as if someone was afraid he’d catch cold.
Then there were the gentle fingers threading through his hair as a familiar voice sang.
giefan unc hlēo. hālian his sār. lǣtan unc ādrēogan hāl. giefan unc hlēo. hālian his sār. lǣtan unc ādrēogan hāl.
Groggily, he cracked open his eyes.
America could see a slight glow of purple in the air and realized England was casting a spell over him, his head resting in England’s lap as he sang the enchantment.
They were in a dimly lit (courtesy of their lantern) cave mouth that was on the side of one the mountains in the area. He was, as he suspected, covered in several blankets and lying on his sleeping bag. As he moved his head slightly to try and see the rest, England stopped singing.
“You’ve had us both worried sick, I’ll have you know!” He snapped, but with a certain fondness to it.
America blinked. “Both? Did Tony call?”
England huffed. “No. I meant Pastuso. He insisted on draping that khipu over you the moment we got settled here.”
At that, America saw a blur of black move out of his peripheral vision and within seconds a large bear tongue was lolling against his cheek. “Mr. Bear, you’re okay!”
“Thanks to someone’s ridiculously over-the-top heroics, yes,” England retorted.
America slowly pulled one of his arms free from the blankets. Shivering, he stuck it out into the cool air, and he patted the bear on his head. The bear let out a pleased whine and nuzzled into his touch.
“Who’s Pastuso?”
“The bear, of course. Named him after Paddington’s Peruvian name.”
At first, America was momentarily affronted that England was trying to rename Mr. Bear. But then he realized something else.
“You made friends with Mr. Bear!”
England coughed. “Yes, well. Kind of have to trust the beastie after he helped us out so much to safety. That was a right nasty storm and it was targeting us specifically.”
America gave Mr. Bear one last pat before reaching out and clasping one of England’s hands. He gave it a squeeze.
“Thanks, England.”
“Well if you hadn’t been so stupid and…and…”
America grinned. “Yeah, but I’ve always got you to look out for me when I do get hurt. So it’s all good in the end.”
England blushed. “Git.”
“So where are we? Can I move or is there some like full body-bind curse on me or something?”
The sound of rustling paper reached America’s ears and he could slightly see England pulling a map around to where he could almost fully see it.
“After looking at Guzman’s map, and some of Blake and Chapman’s notes, I think we’re somewhere in these cliff faces. As for your current state, you are free to move but I would not advise you to do so.”
America pulled his other arm free at that and crossed them to rest in England’s lap, pillowing his head atop them.
“You going to take care of me, Doctor Kirkland?” He gave him a teasing grin as he asked this.
England huffed, but he readjusted the ice pack on America’s head as he replied, “Someone has got to and since I’m the only one around, I suppose it will have to be me.”
“Good, because damn my head hurts.”
Green eyes widened at that, but England still tried to sound nonchalant. “Getting hit with a piece of an exploding tree because one has to be the hero would do that.”
“A hero does not consider his own personal safety when the safety of others is in danger,” America said resolutely.
England sighed, “What am I going to do with you?”
“Well,” he raised an eyebrow, “I could use a kiss to make it better.”
If England was off-put by America’s corny line, he didn’t let it show; which, America considered, was rather thoughtful for England. Instead, he just gently leaned down until the space between them was small enough that America could lean up to close it.
He kissed him soundly and as he pulled back, he nuzzled his nose against England’s. A nose that, by America’s standards, was far too cold.
“Are you cold? Why aren’t you under a blanket?”
England glanced away and America knew the answer immediately.
“Oh sure, lecture me about stupid heroics and then you’re over here freezing because you had to be chivalrous and give me your blanket.”
“Y-You were hurt!” He lamely protested.
America, ignoring how much it hurt his muscles to do so, sat up just enough that he could yank England into his cocoon of blankets with him. Pillowing his head back on his arms, he let England finish spluttering out his indignities before saying, “See, much better.”
England shook his head. “Always the hero, aren’t you? Even when you’re hurt.”
America shrugged. “A hero does not consider his own personal comfort when the comfort of certain stodgy Englishmen is compromised.”
At that, England buried his face into America’s shoulder. “Git. Idiot. Tosser. Twat. Imbecile.”
America pressed a kiss to England’s forehead and put the icepack back on his throbbing head.
“Love ya too, England.”
Outside the cave mouth, the rain was still falling with unending ferocity, but they were protected from the elements here. As they settled down to sleep, Mr. Bear curled up beside them and yawned.
And with his bear friend beside him and England’s hand clasped in his, America thought that despite how much he hurt, at least he was safe. Thanks to both of them, he knew he could sleep without any worries at all.
---------------------------
[Notes]
[1] St. Elmo's fire is an electrical weather phenomenon in which a bright blue or violet glow, appearing like fire in some circumstances, from tall, sharply pointed structures such as lightning rods, masts, spires and chimneys, and on aircraft wings. St. Elmo's fire can also appear on leaves, grass, and even at the tips of cattle horns. Often accompanying the glow is a distinct hissing or buzzing sound.
[2] The Inca Empire (1438–1533) had its own spoken language, Quechua, which is still spoken by about a third of the Peruvian population. It is believed that the only “written” language of the Inca empire is a system of different knots tied in ropes attached to a longer cord. This system is called quipu or khipu.
[3] Paddington Bear. The polite immigrant bear from Darkest Peru, with his old hat, battered suitcase, duffle coat and love of marmalade sandwiches has become a classic character from English children's literature. Paddington's Peruvian name is ultimately revealed to be "Pastuso"
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England, Poland/Lithuania, Tony
Word Count: 2,800
Summary: Sequel to Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh. America and England are back again on yet another adventure when they head to South America to search for the legendary Incan Lost City of Gold. But they're going to need more than luck, and perhaps a little help from some friends, to get through the strange magic that has hidden the mysterious city for centuries.
Chapter 5 Summary:
About to ask how a bloody bundle of plants was going to help any, England froze on realizing that it wasn’t vines that he’d been handed. It was a collection of colored cords with intricately spaced knots. A khipu. The only form of known Incan “writing” to exist.
He narrowed his eyes on the bear.
“Who are you?” He asked.
Notes: Thank you to those of you who comment! I'm trying to get better about updating this, so here goes:
--------------
England was woken up by America shifting in his arms and a loud rumbling noise. Being as the two happened almost simultaneously, he quickly surmised that America must be hungry.
Sure enough, he felt America gently extricating himself from his hold and going over to rummage through their bags. Just about to crack an eye open and give America a light-hearted taunt about midnight snacks, England started as he suddenly felt America’s weight over him and a warm hand brushing over the nape of his neck.
“A-America?” He queried, blearily opening his eyes.
He was met with a worried set of blue eyes, as America leaned in closer. Stroking the side of England’s face with his thumb, he pressed a kiss to England’s temple before speaking.
“Hey. Don’t want to alarm you but…”
That loud rumble sounded again and this time England realized it wasn’t America’s stomach.
A horrid thought struck England and he quickly reached up to place his hand on America’s neck. Sure enough, much like his own, America’s hairs there were standing on end.
“Electrical storm,” England rasped out, as if he could suddenly distinguish the approaching noises as thunder and rain.
The world seemed to come into sharp focus at that and he was suddenly awake with every fiber of his being. His hairs were on edge, as were America’s, there was a high-pitched crackling just under the din of the rumbling, and…he gulped.
Just visible around the edges of America’s glasses was an unearthly glow of blue. A glow England was far too familiar with from his seafaring days.
Snatching the glasses off, England’s mind hastily went to work.
“St. Elmo’s fire on the tips of your glasses, we haven’t much time. We’ve got to get out of this tree; we’re in great danger here.”
America nodded, but as he moved to grab up their bags and his whip, England couldn’t help but see just how stiffly the younger nation carried himself.
“No worries, England! We’ll just swing down and make a run for it,” he remarked as if nothing was wrong.
But England knew him far too well to believe otherwise.
“You will be doing no such thing, idiot,” England reprimanded, shifting in their leafy bed to pry the whip from America’s hands. “Your back is bloody killing you right now…”
“No it’s…”
“No point arguing,” England hushed him with a finger to his lips. “I can see how awkwardly you move. Let me handle this one.”
With a sigh, America relented the hold on his whip. “I guess…” Picking up his hat he plopped it down on England’s head. “Let’s see what you can do, Stodgiana Kirkland.”
England’s retort was cut off as a very loud clap of thunder sounded right above them.
“Right. Let’s get going then.”
They decided amongst themselves that lowering down their bags and then picking them up at the base of the tree once they were down would be the best idea. America began clamoring at that point, as loudly as he could over the torrential rain and thunder that they had to help Mr. Bear as well.
Needless to say, England was not amused.
“These sorts of storms are common here, America. I’m sure your bear friend can take care of himself.”
America pouted and looked up into the tree branches to where Mr. Bear was peering down at them.
“He looks worried, England.”
England sighed, “He’s probably as worried as I am that you’re going to get yourself hurt insisting on helping a creature capable of helping himself.”
The bear gave a low grunt at that, and America looked even more concerned.
“Are you sure?”
At that, the bear nudged a bundle of vines down to America. He blinked, but took it and handed it to England.
“To keep you safe, he said.”
About to ask how a bloody bundle of plants was going to help any, England froze on realizing that it wasn’t vines that he’d been handed. It was a collection of colored cords with intricately spaced knots. A khipu. The only form of known Incan “writing” to exist.
He narrowed his eyes on the bear.
“Who are you?” He asked.
But the bear just gave out a low keening whine and America pulled England away. “Come on England, we’ve got to get out of this tree.”
And as much as England wanted, no needed, to know more about this strange sign, he knew America was right. The longer they stayed in the tree, the greater their risk of being struck by lightning.
The rain had picked up and the thunder was growing closer by the moment. As England prepared the whip to swing them down from the tree, he could hear America counting out seconds behind him.
A flash of lightning. “One, two, three, four, five.” A clash of thunder.
“Divide by five, it’s only a mile away now, England.”
“I know, I know.”
He let the whip go, watching in the flash of lightning as it coiled around the lower branch. He pulled it snug.
“Right,” England turned to America, “hold on to me, love.”
Tucking his glasses into his pocket, America wrapped his arms snuggly around England from behind. He kissed the shell of his ear and whispered to him, “Ready and waiting.”
Clutching onto the whip and just about to drop, England heard the crackling in the air heighten and the hairs on his arms prickled to stand up on end. The deluge of rain was starting to permeate the dense canopy of the forest, cold water splashing against them.
But worst of all, England got this horrid feeling in his gut that perhaps this wasn’t a routine electrical storm after all.
England swung them downward right as a deafening crash of thunder sounded overhead. Blue crackles of lighting skipping between clouds and racing towards their tree with excessive speed and, England noted out of his peripheral vision, exact precision that normal lightning would never have.
As they hit the ground, he quickly picked up his bag and handed the other to America.
“It’s after us,” he gasped out, heart hammering in his chest. “We’ve got to run!”
Another roar of thunder clapped overhead, and England started pulling America along with him, trying to distance themselves from the tree.
But, to his horror, America let his hand go and turned back.
“America, don’t! This isn’t a normal rainstorm!” He yelled, voice hoarse, through the downpour.
But through the gloom of the night and the storm, even England could make out that glint in America’s eyes he got when he was damned and determined to go do something heroically idiotic.
“Yeah, I know. You’re freaking out real bad,” America said, a wan smile on his lips. “But that means Mr. Bear might be in trouble after all.”
Pushing his rain soaked bangs out of his eyes; America dropped his bag and began to run back towards the tree.
“America!” England called out, but it was too late.
Above them, the clouds shone blue for a moment before an earsplitting thunderclap shook the whole area, a surge of lightning heading directly for the patch of trees they’d been in.
Squinting against the rain, England could make out America’s form and was just about to make a run for him when he saw a large black blur descending from the tree.
It was the bear.
With an aura about the creature that England swore was magical; the bear hit the ground beside America and quickly urged him away from the tree. And they would have made it to safety, if it wasn’t then that the lightning struck.
The tree erupted outward, as if someone had embedded a large bundle of fireworks inside the tree’s trunk and lit it. The crack of the wood echoed throughout the clearing like a gunshot and the shards of the exploded tree flew like shrapnel outwards.
One of which, was headed straight for England.
“England, get down!” America called out, sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him and knocking England to the ground.
He then turned to the bear, and on seeing that the animal was in the path of yet another piece, he jumped up to cover him.
They both went down, the bear safely protected by America, that git of a hero, as he took the blow for him.
England rushed over, the fact that the lightning was systematically destroying the two neighboring trees to the one they’d just been sleeping in but a mere background thought as he reached America’s side.
“America, America,” England shook him but he merely groaned in pain.
Feeling around the back of his head, England felt a large bump and a bit of stickiness. He swallowed. It was blood.
Looking helplessly to their two waylaid bags, America’s blasted hat that had fallen on the ground from when England had ran forward, and to America’s prone form, England took a deep breath.
He needed to get America to safety, first and foremost. The rest could wait.
Crouching down, he gathered America up into his arms. The poor dear had been thoroughly abused due to his insistence on heroics, back all bruised and now unconscious with a literally bloody head injury.
That’s when England noticed he wasn’t the only one gathering up the fallen.
The bear had gotten up and after giving what England honestly had to admit was a rather concerned look to America, began to nestle himself under one of their packs as if he was trying to lift it up. Finally, the bear managed it and he went over and did the same to America’s fallen hat.
With the pack on his back and the hat on his head, England had to admit the bear looked right friendly. In fact, a twinge of a smile tugged at his lips despite his worry.
“Just like Paddington, aren’t you?”
The bear grunted and nosed his head under America’s limp arm.
“Right, you want to help him, don’t you?”
The bear nodded, the hat flapping a bit on his head as it did so. He gave America’s cheek a lick and England’s hand where it rested protectively on America’s back, a nuzzle.
“We need some place safe; safe enough that whatever this magic is that is following us can’t hurt us.”
And after walking over to lift up the second pack to carry, the bear started walking off at a steady pace towards the nearest mountain. England pulled America up into his arms, carrying him bridal style, as he trudged through the rain-soaked landscape after the bear.
A bear in a hat, carrying the two packs with ease.
Matching the bear’s pace, England queried.
“You don’t happen to come from deepest darkest Peru, do you?”
And for some reason, the twinkle in the bear’s eyes seemed to let England know that the answer was ‘yes.’
--------------------------------
America woke up to the sound of someone singing softly, or at least he thought it was singing. In fact, he was actually very disoriented. He was lying on a smooth surface on his stomach, and outside ice packs placed on his back and head, he could tell he’d been bundled up as if someone was afraid he’d catch cold.
Then there were the gentle fingers threading through his hair as a familiar voice sang.
giefan unc hlēo. hālian his sār. lǣtan unc ādrēogan hāl. giefan unc hlēo. hālian his sār. lǣtan unc ādrēogan hāl.
Groggily, he cracked open his eyes.
America could see a slight glow of purple in the air and realized England was casting a spell over him, his head resting in England’s lap as he sang the enchantment.
They were in a dimly lit (courtesy of their lantern) cave mouth that was on the side of one the mountains in the area. He was, as he suspected, covered in several blankets and lying on his sleeping bag. As he moved his head slightly to try and see the rest, England stopped singing.
“You’ve had us both worried sick, I’ll have you know!” He snapped, but with a certain fondness to it.
America blinked. “Both? Did Tony call?”
England huffed. “No. I meant Pastuso. He insisted on draping that khipu over you the moment we got settled here.”
At that, America saw a blur of black move out of his peripheral vision and within seconds a large bear tongue was lolling against his cheek. “Mr. Bear, you’re okay!”
“Thanks to someone’s ridiculously over-the-top heroics, yes,” England retorted.
America slowly pulled one of his arms free from the blankets. Shivering, he stuck it out into the cool air, and he patted the bear on his head. The bear let out a pleased whine and nuzzled into his touch.
“Who’s Pastuso?”
“The bear, of course. Named him after Paddington’s Peruvian name.”
At first, America was momentarily affronted that England was trying to rename Mr. Bear. But then he realized something else.
“You made friends with Mr. Bear!”
England coughed. “Yes, well. Kind of have to trust the beastie after he helped us out so much to safety. That was a right nasty storm and it was targeting us specifically.”
America gave Mr. Bear one last pat before reaching out and clasping one of England’s hands. He gave it a squeeze.
“Thanks, England.”
“Well if you hadn’t been so stupid and…and…”
America grinned. “Yeah, but I’ve always got you to look out for me when I do get hurt. So it’s all good in the end.”
England blushed. “Git.”
“So where are we? Can I move or is there some like full body-bind curse on me or something?”
The sound of rustling paper reached America’s ears and he could slightly see England pulling a map around to where he could almost fully see it.
“After looking at Guzman’s map, and some of Blake and Chapman’s notes, I think we’re somewhere in these cliff faces. As for your current state, you are free to move but I would not advise you to do so.”
America pulled his other arm free at that and crossed them to rest in England’s lap, pillowing his head atop them.
“You going to take care of me, Doctor Kirkland?” He gave him a teasing grin as he asked this.
England huffed, but he readjusted the ice pack on America’s head as he replied, “Someone has got to and since I’m the only one around, I suppose it will have to be me.”
“Good, because damn my head hurts.”
Green eyes widened at that, but England still tried to sound nonchalant. “Getting hit with a piece of an exploding tree because one has to be the hero would do that.”
“A hero does not consider his own personal safety when the safety of others is in danger,” America said resolutely.
England sighed, “What am I going to do with you?”
“Well,” he raised an eyebrow, “I could use a kiss to make it better.”
If England was off-put by America’s corny line, he didn’t let it show; which, America considered, was rather thoughtful for England. Instead, he just gently leaned down until the space between them was small enough that America could lean up to close it.
He kissed him soundly and as he pulled back, he nuzzled his nose against England’s. A nose that, by America’s standards, was far too cold.
“Are you cold? Why aren’t you under a blanket?”
England glanced away and America knew the answer immediately.
“Oh sure, lecture me about stupid heroics and then you’re over here freezing because you had to be chivalrous and give me your blanket.”
“Y-You were hurt!” He lamely protested.
America, ignoring how much it hurt his muscles to do so, sat up just enough that he could yank England into his cocoon of blankets with him. Pillowing his head back on his arms, he let England finish spluttering out his indignities before saying, “See, much better.”
England shook his head. “Always the hero, aren’t you? Even when you’re hurt.”
America shrugged. “A hero does not consider his own personal comfort when the comfort of certain stodgy Englishmen is compromised.”
At that, England buried his face into America’s shoulder. “Git. Idiot. Tosser. Twat. Imbecile.”
America pressed a kiss to England’s forehead and put the icepack back on his throbbing head.
“Love ya too, England.”
Outside the cave mouth, the rain was still falling with unending ferocity, but they were protected from the elements here. As they settled down to sleep, Mr. Bear curled up beside them and yawned.
And with his bear friend beside him and England’s hand clasped in his, America thought that despite how much he hurt, at least he was safe. Thanks to both of them, he knew he could sleep without any worries at all.
---------------------------
[Notes]
[1] St. Elmo's fire is an electrical weather phenomenon in which a bright blue or violet glow, appearing like fire in some circumstances, from tall, sharply pointed structures such as lightning rods, masts, spires and chimneys, and on aircraft wings. St. Elmo's fire can also appear on leaves, grass, and even at the tips of cattle horns. Often accompanying the glow is a distinct hissing or buzzing sound.
[2] The Inca Empire (1438–1533) had its own spoken language, Quechua, which is still spoken by about a third of the Peruvian population. It is believed that the only “written” language of the Inca empire is a system of different knots tied in ropes attached to a longer cord. This system is called quipu or khipu.
[3] Paddington Bear. The polite immigrant bear from Darkest Peru, with his old hat, battered suitcase, duffle coat and love of marmalade sandwiches has become a classic character from English children's literature. Paddington's Peruvian name is ultimately revealed to be "Pastuso"
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