I'm Still Here

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A hero is never afraid of anything, no matter the plight.
Nightmares are a hero's simplest dilemma; in fact they usually never have any effect on the brave warrior.
And that's why, Alfred F. Jones, or the personified country of America, was a hero. Because he didn't let simple complexities like nightmares scare him.
Or so he thought.
He wasn't exactly sure how England had wedged his way into his nightmare, he just knew that England was the main character of the dream.
And...even though he had always said he wouldn't care that England died, I mean, he even cheered that one time when he thought he was gone, he oddly felt like his life was over when it happened in his nightmare.
And...even though the nightmare was now over, he still felt an overwhelming sorrow and an urge to hug England and never let him go.
England.
America knew it was just a frivolous nightmare, but, he couldn't help but wonder. Was England still alive?
'Of course he is,' America thought to himself. 'He's in the room right next to me.'
America tried to reassure himself that yes, England was still alive, but no matter what he thought his notions always went back to his nightmare and an England that wasn't alive.
Unable to calm his steadily-rising heartbeat, America began to panic. The constant repetition of, "A hero doesn't get scared," in his head wasn't helping at all, for the tears that were beginning to pool in his eyes were proof that maybe he wasn't as heroic as he thought.
When his heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest and he couldn't fight the urge to run in to England and squeeze him in a tight embrace any longer, he jumped out of bed and crept out of his room.
He reached the pitch-black hallway, and paused. Enigmatic shadows slithered out of every crevice, taunting him with their ghostly presence. He trembled, whimpering slightly when a sudden noise made him jump.
England's door was only a few feet away, yet it seemed like acres.
America practically sprinted to England's room, reminding himself to keep it down as he twisted the door knob. If he woke England, he'd have to endure an onslaught of yelling and scolding. That was the last thing he wanted at the moment.
Silently entering England's room and closing the door, America tiptoed to England's bedside.
England had the covers pulled up to his head, the only thing visible being his blond bedhead. America smiled wide, having trouble resisting the urge to reach out and ruffle it.
Instead, he pulled the covers back slowly, eventually uncovering England's sleeping countenance.
America's smile grew wider; it seemed as though the only time England was smiling and looked at ease was in his sleep.
America continued to pull back the covers, revealing what he was mainly looking for.
The steady rise and fall of England's chest.
The sigh of relief that America emitted was so loud that England stirred slightly, and America had to slap a hand over his mouth to quiet himself.
England sighed deeply, and returned to how he was situated before.
America was glad to see that England was a heavy sleeper, for he figured that it would be easier to climb into his bed unnoticed.
America crept to the other side of England's bed, and ever-so-silently pulled back the covers.
America felt his heart beating in his ears as he silently climbed into England's bed. Once he had achieved his goal, he breathed a sigh of relief, and relaxed.
He glanced at a slumbering England next to him, assuming that that was all the reassurance he needed to go back to sleep.
But a gnawing feeling in his gut told him to rest his head against England's chest, make sure his heart was still beating, that he was still alive.
Inching closer, America felt his cheeks warm up. He was quite embarrassed to be acting the way he was, yet he had a strong and unknown feeling of needing to be reassured that England was still there.
America reached England's side, and couldn't hold back any longer. He couldn't be next to England and not hug him.
America practically grabbed England, wrapping his arms around the smaller male's waist, and squished his head against England's chest, hoping more than anything to hear a heartbeat.
He achieved what he was aiming for, for England's heartbeat shot up as he was startled from sleep. He screamed, and instinctively pushed America away, causing the American to tumble backwards, falling off of the bed and smacking his hand on the bedside table before fully landing on the floor with a leaden thud.
"Oww," he groaned, rubbing his impacted hand.
"WHAT IN THE BLOODY BLAZES ARE YOU DOING?" England shrieked, furious. "YOU SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH, YOU TWIT!"
Hearing England use the words, "you scared me half to death," made the nightmare resurface in America's mind, and he wasn't sure if it was the words England had spoken or the pain in his hand or both troubles that caused him to feel overwhelmed, but the next thing he knew he became a puddle of tears on the floor.
England's expression softened, and he feared that his tone of voice may have been the trigger to America's tears. He switched on the lamp that was situated on his bedside table, adjusting his eyes and focusing on America.
"America," England started softly, then stopped. He wasn't exactly sure what to say, for he still hadn't the slightest idea as to why America was in his room in the first place.
"What's wrong?" He questioned, keeping his voice soft.
America looked up at him, then unexpectedly broke out into more tears and louder sobs.
The soft, soothing voice that England had spoke in had somehow made the nightmare stronger in America's head.
England sighed, and held his hand out to America.
America's sobs dwindled as he peeked up at England again, and gratefully took his hand.
England hoisted America up onto the bed with him, and sat across from him.
"Now, can you tell me what's the matter without breaking into a fit of tears?" England grinned slightly.
"I...had a bad dream," he admitted quietly, gazing down at his lap.
"Oh, I see," England stated, placing a hand on America's leg. "What about?"
"Y..you, well, u..um," America stammered, looking away as his cheeks began to burn red.
England smiled slightly. He felt bad for America. He knew how America got after he had a nightmare. Sometimes the poor thing literally got sick over them.
"You can tell me, love," England said softly. "It's alright."
America relaxed, and took a deep breath.
"You..you died," America started.
England said nothing.
"B..but I killed you," America could feel the tears resurfacing. "I..it was during the Revolutionary War, I shot you...and..and I hated myself..so much," America cried, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Shh, shh," England cooed, wrapping America in a hug.
America hungrily hugged him back.
"B..but you came back, in that little angel costume of yours," America began to explain as England chuckled, rubbing America's back.
"A..and you told me it was ok, but it wasn't, and..and then it was over and I'm so so so so sorry," America blubbered, clutching on to England's shirt.
"Shh, love, nothing to apologize about," England said softly, breaking the embrace so he could look at America.
America hiccuped.
"Now, think about it," England said softly. "Would you really kill me in real life?"
"Of course not," America snapped quickly.
"So, then nothing to apologize or fret about, right?" England questioned, pushing America's bangs away from his forehead.
"I..I guess so," he admitted softly, blushing slightly.
There was a content silence for awhile, before America spoke up suddenly.
"I..I'm sorry I snuck in here, I just wanted to um...listen to your heartbeat to make sure that you were still here."
America's blush deepened, and he rubbed at his still-hurting hand.
"Ah, so you want to listen to my heartbeat?" England grinned. "You could've just said so."
America shuffled uneasily, squeezing his hand tighter, and yelping slightly when the pressure caused more pain to flood into his hand.
"What's the matter, love?" England cooed in a voice that made America's heart flutter. "Did you hurt your hand?"
America nodded, looking at England with puppy-dog eyes.
England shuffled closer, cradling America's hand.
"Would you like me to give it a kiss to make it feel better?" England asked gently, embarrassed at how soft and cuddly he was acting.
He blamed it on being tired.
America's cheeks were officially the deepest shade of red possible. Now that he thought about it, a kiss would make him feel better, he just didn't want to admit it.
He was a hero, and heroes didn't need kisses.
America nodded. Well, maybe this hero wanted a kiss.
England pressed a gentle kiss to America's hand with a soft "mwah."
Warmth rushed into America's hand and to his core, spreading throughout his whole body. The pain in his hand was gone.
"Thanks," he mumbled quietly.
"It's no trouble," England smiled, placing his hand on America's arm.
"So...would you say you're ready to go back to bed?" England questioned, smirking slightly.
America's expression dropped, and without thinking, he stammered, "B..back to bed?"
England raised a gargantuan eyebrow, smiling.
"Um, England?" America started quietly, sheepish.
"Hm?" England hummed, resisting the resolute urge to chuckle.
"C..can I...um," America started, the blush that was just starting to subside returning with full force. "Sleepinherewithyoutonight?" He rushed.
England finally emitted the chuckle he'd been holding back.
"Of course you can, love," England grinned, laying back and returning his blankets over himself. He flipped over the covers and patted the empty spot, motioning America to lay next to him.
America hopped into bed next to England, pulling the blankets up to his neck. England switched off the lamp, and both nations nestled comfortably into bed.
"Goodnight," England whispered, reaching over to stroke America's hair.
"Goodnight," America whispered in return, and waited until England's hand retreated from his head to make his move.
Ever so slowly, America inched towards the Englishman, until he felt his arm touch England's.
He was about to raise his head and gently lie it on England's chest, when England spoke.
"Still set on listening to my heartbeat, hm?" England whisper-giggled into the night.
America blushed so hard that he wouldn't be surprised if England could see it, even in the dark.
"U..um," America stammered.
"C'mere you," England smiled, wrapping an arm around America's back and gently pulling him down, causing his head to land on England's chest.
America wrapped an arm around England's torso, and England arched his back so America could slip his other arm under him.
America pulled England close, making sure his head was still pressed against England's chest.
"Can you hear my heartbeat?" England yawned, the exhaustion taking him over him and causing him to snuggle close to America's warmth and comfort.
America nodded against England's chest, smiling at the affectionate side of England.
The American continued to listen to the gentle beating of England's heart, and began to doze off.
"Goodnight, America, I love you," England mumbled, resting his head next to America's.
America's eyes snapped open. He wasn't sure if England was dreaming about a past hallucination and just happened to speak out loud, or he...really meant it.
"Goodnight England," America whispered. "I love you too."
The smile that lit up England's face as he fell asleep caught on to America, and both nations fell into a sleep filled with dreams of each other, peace and happiness.
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AN: Hello! I'm sorry I haven't wrote in awhile, I'm always afraid to publish my work because I feel like it's really bad! I hope you enjoyed, and I'm sorry if it's really bad! I'm also sorry about the paragraph indentations, I don't know if they just weren't working or what. Please leave a review if you want! That way I'll know if I should write more or not.