Home (English fam angst) [•Discontinued•]

*~Chapter^1~* ✅

New Holand(Australia)'s POV

1801 8th January Thursday

4:02am

SMASH!

New Holland had stopped putting on his alarm at this point because he'd always be woken up by either his body clock at 4am or an infuriated kingdom smashing a bottle she used as an escape from her head. New Holland was so glad his kids weren't in such an environment.

He silently creaked open the door to see if any of his sibling's room doors were open. He had kinda just taken responsibility as a "medic" when his siblings or Great Britain got hurt. He scanned and saw North America(Canada)'s room door wide open, a small piece of glass glimmering at the door. Being honest, they were lucky to have their own rooms because their mother would find it humiliating to have it look like she's raising prisoners. Though, that's exactly how she treated them. Chaining them, beating beating, starving starving... and those fucking closets...

New Holland grabbed the first aid kit he has hid in his room so his mother wouldn't take it away as a punishment. Then headed off to North America's room.

Every step he took his stomach didn't seem to favour, he hadn't eaten in 3 or 4 days anyways. Usually countries are about the average height of their citizens, but New Holland was malnourished so he was a couple inches shorter then his citizens. Great Britain picked on him, for the starvation punishment sometimes, even for not noticing something or talking to a friend a minute longer then said.

New Holland reached North America's room, the North American looked horrid. His arm was cracked, blood streaming through the glass that was placed involuntarily into his arm.
North America was curled in a ball shivering in the pain and presumably fear.

New Holland walked over to him a couple of shards taking home in the sole of his feet.

It hurt.
.
.
.
It STUNG.
.
.
.
It was unbearable, but...
.
.
who was he to cry?

I'm meant to comfort my siblings, not worry them.

North America was a red skinned country, he said when we were younger, before New Holland could even talk, that when he would gain independence, he'd make his flag white with 2 red stripes on the side and a maple leaf!

And he still wants that.

New Holland tapped North America on his shoulder getting into a defensive position, and not in vain. North America threw a hard punch the younger but since New Holland was prepared, it hit his arms that were already in a defensive position, they bruised and felt like he cracked it. New Holland didn't bother checking. He proceeded to assuring the North American that everything was alright, Great Britain's gone to bed probably passed out from her hangover, she can't hurt him now. Atleast he hoped so.

North America  had calmed down enough for New Holland to fix up his injured arm. He looked at the floor probably having memorised every crease in the floor from how often he does that.

"It's fine, Syro, I'm not hurt, and it's not your fault." New Holland tried to reassure him, but he gave him the fakest smile in all histories combined. "It will take more then that fake ass smile for me to believe you're not eternally beating yourself."

"Fine, fine, I get it, but I can't be hitting you every time you help me." North America sighed.

"But it's fine, I'm fine! You hadn't hurt me!" New Holland said knowing fully well that was a lie, his arms hurt like fucking hell, but North America isn't even conscious of his actions when he's like that, New Holland couldn't tell him. This time North America gave a better smile, still a bit sad, but genuine. New Holland could not begin to imagine how he'd react to all the scars he's given him. But that will never happen. He won't let it happen.