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hetalia2009-04-21 04:44 pm
undone-reading.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2009-04-21 04:44 pm
Entry tags:
First Post with a Fic
Title: Bloody Cat
Author: undone_reading
Characters: little!America, England, a wee bit of little!Canada, and some mentions of Asian nations.
Rating: PG
Warnings: There's an injured Animal if your sensitive to that sort of thing
Summary: Young America injures a small cat and England worries about the consequences of how he handles the situation.
I've been lurking around here for a while so I decided to actually do something so here's a fic that I wrote back during Spring Break.
Bloody Cat
Arthur sat reading contentedly on the large bed that he kept in the house of his American Colonies. It was a warm and lazy sort of afternoon, one of the first of that Spring and he was enjoying it to its full extent. A pleasant breeze was blowing through the window and Matthew was snoring quietly on a trundle bed near by; it all made Arthur feel happily lethargic.
It was so relaxing to be away from the rest of Europe. It was particularly nice, because Alfred had gone out to play in the wilderness and so was bound to wear himself out before coming back home. He might even sleep well that night; It was a pleasant thought.
Suddenly, however, he heard the sound of Alfred wailing from downstairs. Arthur was mildly annoyed at first, but grew increasingly concerned as the boy didn’t seem to stop. Matthew sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily; he seemed upset by the noise his brother was making.
“Go on napping. I’ll see what the problem is,” he said gently. The little boy nodded, pulled his little bear even closer, and then rolled over and went to sleep. Arthur smiled at him slightly before exiting the bedroom. He met Alfred at the top of the stairs.
“What are you going on about? You’ll wake the whole world the way you’re crying,” Arthur scolded quietly. “Now calm down and tell me what the problem is.”
“Fix him!” Alfred begged through streaming tears. He thrust forward something orange and fluffy. Confused, Arthur took what he was offered. It was a small cat that was bleeding from its leg and breathing weakly. Arthur hurried down stairs with the hysterical colony following at his heels.
“There’s a bullet in here,” The old country muttered quietly as he inspected the creature, “What happened?”
“I shot him,” Alfred whimpered, “Please fix him.”
Arthur’s voice grew strict, “I told you to be careful with that gun. If you can’t aim properly, you shouldn’t be using it.”
“I didn’t miss,” Alfred insisted, “I was trying to shoot him.”
Arthur stopped in the midst of working the bullet out of the cat’s leg. “Then what the bloody hell did you think would happen?”
Alfred started to wail again, this time louder than before. Arthur sighed heavily. “Go get me some old rags we can use as bandages and a bucket of water. We’ll talk later.”
The child hurried to comply and then was silent as Arthur worked to save the little creature. Arthur didn’t know what was wrong with the boy. Did he not think? How could he get so upset over such an obvious consequence of his actions? Arthur didn’t even know why he was bothering to save the thing. It was just a stupid cat. He sighed again, he just couldn’t say no to those wide weeping eyes.
After bandaging the cat’s leg and placing her gently on a pillow to rest, Arthur turned to Alfred.
“Is he gonna be all right?” the boy asked in concern tugging at the old Country’s shirt.
“I think she’ll pull through,” Arthur said, “But you and I need to talk.” Alfred sat guiltily on a bench beside the injured cat. He stroked the animal absentmindedly and looked up at Arthur shamefacedly. “Why were you shooting cats?”
“I wasn’t shooting cats. I was shooting at that cat,” Alfred said indignantly.
“Well fine then,” Athur answered with short patience, “Why were you shooting that cat?”
“Cuz he- I mean she- was trying to kill a poor little mousie,” Alfred told his caretaker earnestly, “I had to rescue it.”
Arthur sighed heavily and tried to think of a good way to have this discussion with the boy. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say, and he was afraid that if he said the wrong thing he might confuse the poor, simple, boy for years to come.
“Let me straighten this out,” Arthur began, “You shot the cat to protect the mouse from dying, but you don’t want the cat to die either.” The child nodded. “When you turned your gun on the cat, did it ever occur to you that the cat might die.”
“I didn’t really think of it until he was crying on the ground and bleeding. I just thought I had to stop him. I can’t think that far ahead,” Alfred said, as though such an expectation were unreasonable.
“You have to learn to think ahead,” Arthur told him exasperatedly. “If it had occurred to you that the cat would die, would you have shot him anyway?”
Alfred stroked the cat thoughtfully; his little brow furrowed in confusion. “I guess I’d have shot him. I had to let the mouse get away. And if he pulls through okay than there won’t be a problem anyway!”
Suddenly Arthur wished the cat would die. Alfred had to learn a lesson about risks and consequences and thinking things through. He had to learn about life and how things didn’t always turn out the way you wanted them too. He had to learn that he couldn’t always rescue both sides; sometimes something had to be sacrificed.
***
Arthur had been away for a while, and it was good to return to his colonies again. He received his usual welcome upon his arrival, two little boys running up to hug him. Matthew was clutching the usual bear cub, but this time Alfred had an animal with him as well.
“Who’s that?” Arthur asked.
“The cat from last time! You remember, don’t you Arthur? She pulled through just fine! Even better she forgave me. We’re very best friends now, me and her! I named her Tabby! She wants to thank you.” Arthur watched absentmindedly as Alfred made the little cat wave at him. He watched the boy smile, as innocently ignorant as ever. He wondered what the child had learned.
***
“Arthur! Arthur!” The sound of Alfred’s heavy booted feet could be heard outside of the Englishman’s door. Arthur got up and sighed; he supposed he owed the other man congratulations.
“I hear you’ve ended things on the pacific front. Not bad.” That was the closest thing to a compliment he could manage.
“Yeah,” Alfred responded quietly, “The whole war’s over now.”
Arthur looked the younger country over carefully, he didn’t seem as excited as would be expected. “What’s wrong?”
“Kiku is a mess! I mean, he attacked me and he’s been absolutely demonic towards Wang Yao and Im Yong Soo, but he just looked so…”
“What did you think would happen?” Arthur asked in confusion.
“Huh?”
“What did you think would happen when you bombed him? That new weapon you developed is a monster; you knew that when you started developing it. What did you think would happen when you dropped it?”
Alfred just shrugged and looked sad.
“Don’t you ever think? What was going through your mind when you decided to drop it?”
“I just figured I had to stop him before anyone got anymore hurt. I couldn’t let it drag on any more.” Alfred said simply. Arthur stared at him, shocked by how simple minded the other country could be.
“And now your upset that he’s hurt?” Arthur asked. Alfred nodded. “That’s how things go, Alfred. Not everyone can come out of a war looking squeaky clean. We’ve all been injured badly in this fight. If he comes off the worse, it’s a trade off for the protections of others. Everyone can’t be happy at once. There will always be sacrifices.”
“I was thinking I might help him get back on his feet.”
“You weren’t paying attention to word I just said, were you?”
“I was thinking I might stay with him until he’s feeling better. Help him recoop, set up a new government, you know, that sort of thing.”
“What makes you think he’ll want you in his house?” Arthur asked in awe of the other man’s foolishness.
“I’m sure he’ll grow to like me!” Alfred said happily. “Thanks for listening Arty!” With that Alfred walked off whistling.
Arthur sat down in exhaustion. He had more important things to worry about than the young fool. He had to get himself back on his feet. He glared at the empty door way for another few minutes before cursing and getting back to work.
“Bloody Fucking Cat.”
***
I hope you liked it. Also sorry if the formatting is wonky, I don't have a clue what I'm doing.
Author: undone_reading
Characters: little!America, England, a wee bit of little!Canada, and some mentions of Asian nations.
Rating: PG
Warnings: There's an injured Animal if your sensitive to that sort of thing
Summary: Young America injures a small cat and England worries about the consequences of how he handles the situation.
I've been lurking around here for a while so I decided to actually do something so here's a fic that I wrote back during Spring Break.
Bloody Cat
Arthur sat reading contentedly on the large bed that he kept in the house of his American Colonies. It was a warm and lazy sort of afternoon, one of the first of that Spring and he was enjoying it to its full extent. A pleasant breeze was blowing through the window and Matthew was snoring quietly on a trundle bed near by; it all made Arthur feel happily lethargic.
It was so relaxing to be away from the rest of Europe. It was particularly nice, because Alfred had gone out to play in the wilderness and so was bound to wear himself out before coming back home. He might even sleep well that night; It was a pleasant thought.
Suddenly, however, he heard the sound of Alfred wailing from downstairs. Arthur was mildly annoyed at first, but grew increasingly concerned as the boy didn’t seem to stop. Matthew sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily; he seemed upset by the noise his brother was making.
“Go on napping. I’ll see what the problem is,” he said gently. The little boy nodded, pulled his little bear even closer, and then rolled over and went to sleep. Arthur smiled at him slightly before exiting the bedroom. He met Alfred at the top of the stairs.
“What are you going on about? You’ll wake the whole world the way you’re crying,” Arthur scolded quietly. “Now calm down and tell me what the problem is.”
“Fix him!” Alfred begged through streaming tears. He thrust forward something orange and fluffy. Confused, Arthur took what he was offered. It was a small cat that was bleeding from its leg and breathing weakly. Arthur hurried down stairs with the hysterical colony following at his heels.
“There’s a bullet in here,” The old country muttered quietly as he inspected the creature, “What happened?”
“I shot him,” Alfred whimpered, “Please fix him.”
Arthur’s voice grew strict, “I told you to be careful with that gun. If you can’t aim properly, you shouldn’t be using it.”
“I didn’t miss,” Alfred insisted, “I was trying to shoot him.”
Arthur stopped in the midst of working the bullet out of the cat’s leg. “Then what the bloody hell did you think would happen?”
Alfred started to wail again, this time louder than before. Arthur sighed heavily. “Go get me some old rags we can use as bandages and a bucket of water. We’ll talk later.”
The child hurried to comply and then was silent as Arthur worked to save the little creature. Arthur didn’t know what was wrong with the boy. Did he not think? How could he get so upset over such an obvious consequence of his actions? Arthur didn’t even know why he was bothering to save the thing. It was just a stupid cat. He sighed again, he just couldn’t say no to those wide weeping eyes.
After bandaging the cat’s leg and placing her gently on a pillow to rest, Arthur turned to Alfred.
“Is he gonna be all right?” the boy asked in concern tugging at the old Country’s shirt.
“I think she’ll pull through,” Arthur said, “But you and I need to talk.” Alfred sat guiltily on a bench beside the injured cat. He stroked the animal absentmindedly and looked up at Arthur shamefacedly. “Why were you shooting cats?”
“I wasn’t shooting cats. I was shooting at that cat,” Alfred said indignantly.
“Well fine then,” Athur answered with short patience, “Why were you shooting that cat?”
“Cuz he- I mean she- was trying to kill a poor little mousie,” Alfred told his caretaker earnestly, “I had to rescue it.”
Arthur sighed heavily and tried to think of a good way to have this discussion with the boy. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say, and he was afraid that if he said the wrong thing he might confuse the poor, simple, boy for years to come.
“Let me straighten this out,” Arthur began, “You shot the cat to protect the mouse from dying, but you don’t want the cat to die either.” The child nodded. “When you turned your gun on the cat, did it ever occur to you that the cat might die.”
“I didn’t really think of it until he was crying on the ground and bleeding. I just thought I had to stop him. I can’t think that far ahead,” Alfred said, as though such an expectation were unreasonable.
“You have to learn to think ahead,” Arthur told him exasperatedly. “If it had occurred to you that the cat would die, would you have shot him anyway?”
Alfred stroked the cat thoughtfully; his little brow furrowed in confusion. “I guess I’d have shot him. I had to let the mouse get away. And if he pulls through okay than there won’t be a problem anyway!”
Suddenly Arthur wished the cat would die. Alfred had to learn a lesson about risks and consequences and thinking things through. He had to learn about life and how things didn’t always turn out the way you wanted them too. He had to learn that he couldn’t always rescue both sides; sometimes something had to be sacrificed.
***
Arthur had been away for a while, and it was good to return to his colonies again. He received his usual welcome upon his arrival, two little boys running up to hug him. Matthew was clutching the usual bear cub, but this time Alfred had an animal with him as well.
“Who’s that?” Arthur asked.
“The cat from last time! You remember, don’t you Arthur? She pulled through just fine! Even better she forgave me. We’re very best friends now, me and her! I named her Tabby! She wants to thank you.” Arthur watched absentmindedly as Alfred made the little cat wave at him. He watched the boy smile, as innocently ignorant as ever. He wondered what the child had learned.
***
“Arthur! Arthur!” The sound of Alfred’s heavy booted feet could be heard outside of the Englishman’s door. Arthur got up and sighed; he supposed he owed the other man congratulations.
“I hear you’ve ended things on the pacific front. Not bad.” That was the closest thing to a compliment he could manage.
“Yeah,” Alfred responded quietly, “The whole war’s over now.”
Arthur looked the younger country over carefully, he didn’t seem as excited as would be expected. “What’s wrong?”
“Kiku is a mess! I mean, he attacked me and he’s been absolutely demonic towards Wang Yao and Im Yong Soo, but he just looked so…”
“What did you think would happen?” Arthur asked in confusion.
“Huh?”
“What did you think would happen when you bombed him? That new weapon you developed is a monster; you knew that when you started developing it. What did you think would happen when you dropped it?”
Alfred just shrugged and looked sad.
“Don’t you ever think? What was going through your mind when you decided to drop it?”
“I just figured I had to stop him before anyone got anymore hurt. I couldn’t let it drag on any more.” Alfred said simply. Arthur stared at him, shocked by how simple minded the other country could be.
“And now your upset that he’s hurt?” Arthur asked. Alfred nodded. “That’s how things go, Alfred. Not everyone can come out of a war looking squeaky clean. We’ve all been injured badly in this fight. If he comes off the worse, it’s a trade off for the protections of others. Everyone can’t be happy at once. There will always be sacrifices.”
“I was thinking I might help him get back on his feet.”
“You weren’t paying attention to word I just said, were you?”
“I was thinking I might stay with him until he’s feeling better. Help him recoop, set up a new government, you know, that sort of thing.”
“What makes you think he’ll want you in his house?” Arthur asked in awe of the other man’s foolishness.
“I’m sure he’ll grow to like me!” Alfred said happily. “Thanks for listening Arty!” With that Alfred walked off whistling.
Arthur sat down in exhaustion. He had more important things to worry about than the young fool. He had to get himself back on his feet. He glared at the empty door way for another few minutes before cursing and getting back to work.
“Bloody Fucking Cat.”
***
I hope you liked it. Also sorry if the formatting is wonky, I don't have a clue what I'm doing.