Prucan OneShots (Requests are open)

Nightmares

Guns, not the ones you would here now. No they were older. Muskets.
Shouting.
He's in someone's arms.
A woman.
She's panting, and scurrying through the town, into the cold forest. The sound of battle behind them, while the sound of dead leaves crunching beneath the woman's feet was heard.

Someone else was in the woman's arms. The purple eyed child turned to look at the other boy in the woman's arms.

He was younger by a few years. A toddler.
He had black hair, tan skin, and was wrapped in a blanket, he opened his eyes, looking at the child with his brown eyes.

Suddenly a gunshot rang through the woods, and the woman fell on the ground, she landed on her back to shield her children.

She didn't prop herself up, instead she saw a tree, and pushed the younger boy in the tree, then the Canadian.

The boy looked through the hole of the old maple tree, his brother beside him.
The woman had long, thick black hair, tied into a braid, that was now over her right shoulder.
She wore a deerskin dress, with a deerskin cloak without a hood, helped to shield her from the cold.

Her tan skin was now scuffed, and a red wound was coming from her shoulder.

Footsteps.

The ground was crunching, the air was tightening around them, and their hearts were heard in their own ears.

Tension was thick, and no one moved.

"Over here Sir!" A mans voice yelled.

The woman didn't look scared.
She looked proud, defiant.

Suddenly two men came from the trees.
The small Canadian couldnt see their faces, but didn't dare to get closer.

He heard the sound of a gun being cocked.
"NON!" A male voice yelled from the trees, as if he was going to shield the woman.

He did.

Canada reconised the man his mother had introduced him too. He had wonderful sweets for him, and his brothers each time they saw him.

"Please." The man beside the boys mother pleaded.
"Please she's a mother, spare her!"

"Why should we listen to you eh?" A British voice teased.
"Please, I beg you sir. Take me instead. I can work, I know your general too!" The name was static when the long haired blonde opened his mouth to speak. "I will gladly go with you without a fight."

No one spoke for a few moments.
The small boys wanted to run out to their mother, and friend. They were frightened.

There was a motion made with the musket, and suddenly the friend of the children was pulled away from the woman.
As promised he didn't fight back. He followed the other man, however their was another gunshot.

Four screams.
One from the woman. This one was of pain.
Two from two small boys who still went untoticed.
One scream from a blonde man, with the word: "No."

The Canadian lurched up in bed. He gasped for air, sweat rolling off of him.

He looked around the dark room, panting.
Rubbing his eyes with his left hand, and with his right he fimbked on the bedside tabke for his glasses.

Once found, and out on. He stays their for a moment.
He knows the memory, and the day.

The room, though he's is growing colder.
The Canadian looks to his left, their his partner lies in a dreamless sleep, the moonlight from the nearby window touhes his features making him glow.

His heart rate is slowing to a normal level as he stares at the sleeping male.
He can't help but remember the events after the shot.

When the men left, his mother was on the cold snowy forest floor.
Bleeding from her stomach.

"Mommy." The youngest boy said sitting beside his mother, he was to young to understand what was happening to his mother.

"Mama.." the Canadan remembers saying, sitting beside his mom.
"My boys." She says softly.

"Look after each other okay?"
She's running out of time, blood is already coming from her chapped lips.
There is so much she needs to say but not enough time.
"I'll be back. Until then know I love you."

"I love you." She says trying to emphasize it.

Like that death takes her. Her eyes blank.
"Mommy." The younger dark haired boy says.

Now the older boy is crying shaking his mom.
"Wake up!" He cried "Wake up! Wake up!"

"We need help!" The older boy cried, tears streaming down his face, snot rolling from his nose.

The younger boy is sitting their in shock only looking at the woman.

"HELP!" the boy is screaming
"HELP! PLEASE!"

There's a noise in the trees, and the boys figit, and are once again scared as a soilder appears from the trees. His coat red.

He looks at the scene before him, and his heart breaks.
He sets down his bayonet, and walks caredukky to the boys.
The soilder in rede squats down, only about seven feet from the boys, and holds out his hand.
"Come." He says softly "Let's find your Papà." His accent is French.

The boys are carried back to the village they came from by the French soilder who left his gun in the snow.

At the village men, are being questioned by the docks.
One of these men is the personification of France.

He of course is in the back of the line.
For the sake of life, the older boys decides to call him Papa. So that him, and his brother are not harmed.

"Papa!" The older boy yells, squirming in the soilder grip.
The soilder lets the boy down, and follows closely behind the speekdng child.

Francis hears the voice, and turns, picking up the boys in his arms.
"Papa!" The boy begins "You have to help Mommy. She-She's not moving! She's hurt! Please!"

The Frenchman looks at the soilder who is holding the other boy, and thanks him.

The Canadian is lurched from his memories by a nearby voice.
"Matthew." The voice is soft and cautious.
"Matthew." It says again.

In the dark room, the Canadian jumps, letting out a gasp, as a pale hand nearly touches his right soulder.

He looks at the hand, then the owner of it.

"Nightmare?" He whispers.
The male can only nod.

Gilbert doesn't ask about it, most nightmares with countries are better left unsaid.
He gets up, and grabs a fallen blanket from the floor, wrapping it around the younger makes shoulders.

"Do you want to call anyone?" He whisperes.
His hand going through the blondes hair, as if he was peting an animal.

"Mom."  The younger male chokes out.

His purple eyes swimming with tears look up at the red eyed male pleadingly, and the older country can see the small, scared boy he met so long ago.