Hetalia x Abused!Child!Reader: Britain

“Go ahead und choose, (Y/n).”

You reached into the bag, tiny hands grasping something hard like a rock. You pulled it out to reveal some…well…black rock.

Arthur, still behind you, sighed in relief. “Scone! That’s mine!” He was secretly hoping you would get the scone.

You smiled some, face still red from the earlier tantrum. At least you knew this man more than anyone else. But what kind of rock was called a scone? Is it like coal? Cuz’ it’s black and charred like coal.

The crowd of people began to murmur amongst themselves, most conversations not necessarily about you, but they were free now that the meeting was basically over. You thought you heard several complaining, but wasn’t sure if it was about you or not.

Germany nodded, reaching into the bag and withdrew his own item, passing it back around. “If you still vant vatever you put in ze bag, take it now vhile you still can. Meeting adjourned!”

Alfred stood as another man with long blonde hair, across the table and a ways down, began to head your way. He was . . . pretty. For a man, he was very pretty.

Alfred was already next to you two, but went to take your new father’s hand. “Yo, Bri—Arthur! Congrats, man!”

“Oh, Arthur~!” The pretty man called teasingly, from across the room.

Arthur picked your shivering form up in his arms, letting you wear his jacket. He could dry-clean it later. “Alfred, I’ll let you visit as often as you want if you keep Francis away from (Y/n)…”

He laughed. “Dude, I’m already her uncle! Of course I’ll visit as often as I want!”

“H-huh?” You asked.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Arthur went on, already walking towards the exit with you in his arms. “She needs a good bath and warmth right now, not a game of ‘pass the child’ around the so-called new uncles and whatnot…” Especially to that frog.

“Dude, I’ll totally go get her more clothes and some lunch!”

“Wait, it’s four in the afternoon—”

But your new uncle was already gone, with the pretty man getting closer and closer.

“Angleterre!”

“Oh, not right now you bloody frog!”

Now Bloody Frog (what kind of name was that?) was walking beside you two out into the hallway. “But I just—”

“Ar-Arthur?” You were shivering violently, even under the jacket. “Can I-I have a b-bl-blankie?”

Both pairs of eyes softened.

“I’ll be back later to properly get to know (Y/n)!” The man took your hand and kissed it, also taking the black rock from you and throwing it in the waste bin—Arthur made a huffing noise at that. “You call me Oncle Francis, oui?”

“Alfred’s already gone to get her new clothes and lunch, but perhaps you could accompany him and make sure they’re appropriate? Please?” He prayed, just once, that France would actually behave. This was an abused child, for the world’s sake, and she needed proper caring! 

“Oui! I promise!” He nodded, jogging ahead.

~~~~~

Britain laughed as (Y/n) splashed around in the bubbly water. She was definitely an intelligent little girl, who had been through too much based off of her scars he saw all over her little body when she took off her clothes for bath time. What looked liked scratch marks were scattered around her back, with very fresh bruises on her ribs and one on her stomach. But they were bruises—nothing appeared to be broken, and she claimed nothing hurt enough to be so. Perhaps her other father was actually intelligent enough to go easy on her? If the fully-grown man had truly kicked her as hard as he could, she would be dead.

Okay, focus. Either way she was hurt, and he was caring for her now. But he had only seen such injuries on countries, scars from wars…

“What happened?” He had asked quietly.

“Father s-says I’m a bad girl,” (Y/n) had answered. “He kicked me h-here,” She pointed to each bruise, “because I wasn’t i-in bed. That w-was the night I ran away, be-because I couldn’t breathe after he d-did that! But these,” she motioned to her hands, "we-were from tripping ye-yesterday..."

He took a good few seconds to absorb that—and how he’d kill her father, if he ever came to England (but America had already promised to keep an eye out for him, as (Y/n) told them his name)—and got her in the tub. Because America and France were still out shopping, Britain sent her dirty clothes and bunny to be cleaned and sent back to their room (hopefully) before tonight. A white T-shirt he brought would suffice as an almost-dress temporarily, and she had the other hotel bed all for herself for a nap.

“You’re not a bad girl, (Y/n). Your so-called father is just a bad man.”

Right now, he was just finishing cleaning her (h/c) hair of the grime that set in last night, and of extra bubbles. She looked so innocent he had to smile and laugh himself.

Especially with that bubble beard.

~~~~~

You giggled again and jumped as he helped you with the big shirt (you pulled up your panties all by yourself, thanks!), accidentally tickling your side.

“What’s funny now?” Arthur asked, smiling.

“It—it f-feels weird!” You honestly didn’t know how to describe the odd sensation that made you laugh, having never really felt it before.

“Oh does it…?” A mischievous gleam in his eyes told you to run, but he had already picked you up, holding you with one arm and tickling your belly with the other, careful to avoid the bruises. “Ever been tickled before?” It was something he had done with America when he was still a few colonies old to get the boy to cheer up, or (especially now as an adult, despite the super-strength) to do him a favor.

You squealed in delight, laughter rising as you twisted and squirmed, not sure if you liked this new feeling or not. “N-NO!”

“Really?” A surprised look crossed his face before the grin set back in, placing you on the bed. “Well then—prepare for the attack of the tickle monster!” He dug into your belly and sides, causing real laughter to set in—something you had never done so hard before. It was when he moved on to the feet, holding them in a head-lock with one arm and tickling the small limbs with the other hand, that you lost it.

You squealed and cried out, “Stahp! Ple-HEASE!”

“Nope! There’s one last trick up the tickle monster’s sleeves!” He lifted one foot, seeing as to how you laughed hardest when he tickled there, and blew a raspberry right on a freshly cleaned sole.

You squealed, throwing your head back in laughter.

 Chuckling, he showed mercy and let your giggles die off. “Alright, but the tickle monster will be back!”

You giggled again as he leaned over you, both smiling widely. “No!”

He wiggled his fingers teasingly above your body, laughing as well. “Don’t be so sure…”

More giggling as he poked your side once more.

“Fine then, we’ll just have to find other ways to make you smile,” A poke to your belly, “And laugh,” Another poke with the other hand, “And forget about your troubles…” A boop to the nose.

You sneezed and began to shiver again. He sat on the bed beside you, lying down and pulling you on top of him in a nice, warm hug. You definitely didn’t want to go back to Father. Arthur was nice.

“You’re still cold, aren’t you?”

“Mm-hm,” You nodded.

“It’s okay, Alfred and Francis will probably be back soon with warm clothes . . . hopefully they won’t be stupid American clothes only Alfred would pick out…”

“He-He’s really b-buying me clothes?”

“When that man sets his mind to something, he won’t let go of it…”

You gasped, scooting yourself up to his face and kissing his cheek, and giggled when both turned red. “Thank you! Th-thank you, thank you thank y-you!”

Arthur grinned again, flashing teeth, before kissing your forehead that was hovering above his face. “Thank your Uncles Alfred and Frog when they get here. Now lay back down, this is the best way I can think of to keep you warm. Unless you want another tickle-monster attack..”

You giggled, wiggling your still-tingling toes and lying back down on his chest. “No!”

Your laughter and smile was beautiful to him, and contagious to the normally grumpy gentleman. “Alright, fine. But maybe w—”

The door burst open. Both of you jumped, and you shrieked and jumped off of Arthur to cower beneath the bed as a familiar voice called out, “The hero’s brought food and clothes for my new niece!”

“And mine!” Francis’ voice echoed.

“(Y/n)?” Alfred asked.

“Oh, you bloody idiots scared her!” Arthur’s smiled faded into a scowl as he stood, and you peeked up to see the two men holding shopping bags (and something in a different bag than the rest that smelled delicious!) in heroic poses.

Your eyes widened at the smell of food, but you remained quiet under there. Father burst through your door like that, and you couldn’t help but tremble at the fear that still gripped you—at first you had thought that was Father…

Francis’ smile drooped, and Alfred dropped his arms with the bags. “Huh?”

“You twats, you kicked the bloody door open with your foot like you were breaking in!”

“Ou contraire,” The Frenchman said, “I unlocked it and America kicked it down ze momen’ I turned ze knob!”

“I’m Alfred!” The American nudged his side, looking more annoyed than anything at that and turning back to Arthur. “Where did she go?”

He sighed. “I think under the bed?”

“Aw, hey little dudette!” Alfred kneeled down in front of you and the bed, grinned, and shoved his arm out with the bag as an offering.

You winced and jumped again, crawling backwards ever so slightly and whimpering.

The hero, seeing as he caused this evident fear, was heart-broken. He cringed, then cooed, “Aw, hey. I’m really sorry! Seriously, we didn’t mean to scare you! C’mon! Hey, want a bag of cheeseburgers? It isn’t on the menu from McDonalds, but I’m a special regular so they made an exception!”

You gasped, eyes wide and mouth forming a perfect ‘O.’ That was what you were trying to buy from yesterday, on the street!

“Of course she doesn’t want any of your food! Right (Y/n)—(Y/n)?” Arthur looked under the bed, watching you practically drool over the delicious smelling food. He sighed again. “Is a bag of cheeseburgers all you got?”

“Pft. No!” He took out another bag, “I got cookies too, yo! (Favorite cookie type)!”

“I got sandwiches for the two of us,” France sighed, taking out said meal. “But le petite fille is still American, I’m sure she would love an American meal before turning to your cooking…” He shuddered. He would definitely have to send over an actual cook for the two of you if you were going to survive…

Your stomach growled, but you remembered your money was in the pocket of your shorts. You slowly crawled out from under the bed, looking up at him sadly. “I—I don’t have any money now…”

“Aw, kiddo!” Alfred opened the bag, taking out a wrapped burger and offering it. “Just take it, you don’t need to pay for anything! I got it for you especially! And if you don’t like cheeseburgers, I also got some (favorite McDonalds meal other than cheeseburger) somewhere…And don’t forget the cookies!”

“Oh, thank you!” You took the food, unwrapping it and eating hungrily. You were lifted and placed beside Arthur, snuggling closer for warmth.

“Heh, anytime dudette!” He took one out, eating too. “I got dinner while Francis went shopping, but I owe ya some Captain America and Superman shirts, kay?!”

Arthur mumbled something about “poisoning her already,” but you were too busy eating and savoring the meal to pay any attention. You decided to forgive Alfred for the sole reason of this food, as the four of you ate.

“Who’re they?” You hesitantly took a cookie from the bag, done with the (burger/other).

He mock gasped, and sweat-dropped. “You haven’t heard of superheroes?! What, have you been living under a rock?!”

“F-Father never let m-me leave our house.”

All three of them stared at you.

“T.V?” Alfred tried again, softer this time.

You thought for a second, chewing another cookie slowly. “Father l-liked that thing where people f-fight.”

“Wrestling?”

“Yeah. Th-that’s all he ever w-watched when I was around. Or the news.”

“Well, prepare to be amazed!”

While America ranted and told you what superheroes were, Francis took a seat on the opposite bed and finished his own dinner. “She is very cute, no?”

“Yeah, she is. Especially now that she’s clean,” Arthur smiled, then glared at the shopping bags. “For your sake, she better have appropriate clothes…” He wondered idly how he could fit all of that into his suitcase, then decided to just buy one tomorrow.

“I promise that le petit fille ‘as ze most beautiful clothing any American store could offer! Namely Wal-Mart,” He added. “But, that should suffice until you get back home to Britain, oui? I might ‘ave bought a few more shirts zan necessary, but I thought she would look so cute with’em on! An' they are my gift to her, so no need to pay me back!”

Arthur sighed, wrapping an arm around you as Alfred continued to speak nonsense (at least, in his eyes it was nonsense—you on the other hand had a look of pure amazement on your face that the Brit had to smile at as you learned about heroes). He decided to lay down the ground rules while you were distracted: “Well, thank you. Listen, (Y/n)’s just a little girl and has been through a lot, so I would really appreciate it if you weren’t a giant pervert around her. Or visit without calling first, or especially drink around her.”

Arthur knew even he would have a hard time not drinking, but from several answered questions about your father he knew the bottle would have to go for a long time. Except on special occasions, maybe. Or he could allow Canada to babysit every once in a while so he could go out . . . Ah, but not for some time yet. He wanted to get to know you.

Francis’ face reddened, and eyes went white. “Of course I will not! Have I said one single dirty joke or thing about sex or alcoh—” He stopped and sweat-dropped as you and Alfred looked at him, and Arthur glared as your little eyes widened. Francis laughed nervously, “Hononon…(Y/n), do you want to see your new clothes? I tried to size you as best as I could, but some of the shirts might be a little big…”

~~~~~

The clothes were some of the prettiest you had ever seen. You sat there, awestruck, by the multiple colored shirts “Uncle Frog” got for you. Blue, red, white—one was a beautiful shade of (f/c) that was also sparkly! And there was a set of matching button-up cotton pajamas that were the same color! He also bought soft pants to keep your little legs warm on the plane ride home, and several other pairs. He didn’t know what shoe size you were, but Arthur agreed to take you out tomorrow and shop. Basically, a whole new wardrobe.

Unshed tears formed in your eyes at the sight, clinging to Arthur and shivering. “Th-thank you…s-so much! Thank you!”

“I think you should change into your new warm, fuzzy pajamas now, oui?” Francis smiled, handing you the nightwear and happy to make you so joyful. “They will keep you warmer zan a little shirt.”

“I think it is about bedtime, isn’t it?” Arthur smiled softly, turning to the two men with the smile freezing on his face as you went into the bathroom to change. “For all of us.” His tone changed at that last part.

~~~~~

It was the middle of the night now. America and France had said goodbye quickly, leaving the two alone. There would be plenty of other times to get to know each other, but today (Y/n) needed rest.

But she wasn’t getting any. Arthur put her in one bed with some extra blankets, and he slept in the other. (Y/n)’s breath hitched in her sleep, having a nightmare about her Father, and her little eyes snapped open.

“Arthur!” She whispered, too scared to move and too cold to speak any louder. “Ar-Arthur!” (Y/n) was freezing now, shivering. She put her arms inside her shirt in an attempt to warm them and began to cry. “Arthur!”

Britain, meanwhile, was slowly waking up at his human name being called. He grumbled and rolled over, moaning.

But the quiet, shaking voice got more desperate, like a helpless lost puppy wailing for its owner. “Arthur!...Arth-thur!...Arthur…”

Now the half-asleep man could hear a strange sound along with his name being called. A few more seconds passed before he remembered (Y/n), recognized her voice and sobbing. “Oh, God! (Y/n)!”

Britain jumped out of bed, immediately turning on the light and going to hers and helping get her arms through the shirt sleeves so he could pick her up.

Holding (Y/n) tightly against his chest, Britain gently rocked her as she cried. “Love, what’s wrong? You’re freezing!” He went to the heater in the room, turning it up with one hand.

Sniffling and shaking, she cried, “I-I had n-nightma-mare an’—an’ couldn’ move when I w-wo-oke up! F-Father,” She sobbed, “H-he c-came back an—an . . . S-started kicking m-m-mm . . . ” She couldn’t speak anymore, bawling.

Arthur held her against his chest, rocking her gently. “Sh, love. Hush now, you’re awake and fine. Do you want to sleep with me?”

Sniffling, she nodded and blew into the tissue he handed her.

Britain took the blanket from his bed and put it on hers with one free hand, for extra warmth. “Okay,” He smiled, lying back down with her on his chest and covering them both with the heavy set of blankets. “Once we get back to England, it’ll all be fine.”

“B-but when I woke up I-I c-couldn’t move! I-it was l-like Father was ki-icking me again!”

She must have meant the sickness melded with the nightmare, he decided. (Y/n) was freezing to the touch and wouldn’t stop shivering; she probably woke up numb. Fever chills were what he originally thought she suffered from, but now it looked more like early signs of hypothermia.

Way to fucking go, Britain. First night with my new daughter and she’s sick as a dog. I failed as an older brother and now I’m failing as a father too…

“I swear upon my life that he will never hurt you again. I promise you.” Britain kissed her temple gently, wrapping his arms around her. “We’re leaving America to go to Britain tomorrow, (Y/n). I doubt he can follow us there, right?” He smiled, rubbing her back, “You’ll be safe with me, love. I promise.”

She nodded, shivering violently.

“Goodness, you are freezing!” He rolled the two over to the side, putting his chin on the top of her head as she buried it in his neck, before wrapping his arms around her back fully. “Is this better? You’re as close as we can get now.”

“Y-yes…”

“Do you want anything? Water? I can get a cup if you want.”

“It’s okay,” That would involve getting up and leaving the warmth.

“Are you sure you’re warm enough love?” He considered casting a spell for her health.

She nodded into his neck. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Sleep tight.”

He couldn’t help but rub her back and arm soothingly, a paternal side emerging he hadn’t felt since taking care of America. Britain wanted to soothe her, make her healthy. Heal the scars inflicted by her father and make her smile again. There would be troubles along the way, trauma and damage that would take a long time to get better, he was sure. But he would take care of her.

Britain made a vow to protect (Y/n) from harm, and he meant it. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—make any mistakes raising her like his other wards. Like America.

But (Y/n) wasn’t a country! She was a living, breathing human being. Her life was so short; it was just beginning, and it would be short. Britain was a country, (Y/n) a human. He had so little time with her anyway before she needed to truly live her life as a human! She would move away, go to college, have a career! Hell, one of the reasons why countries didn’t talk to their citizens often was because their lives were so short compared to theirs. A decade felt more like a year, a hundred years was a decade. At least humans could appreciate their short lives. Countries went to war, fought often with one another. Appreciated few things.

But they killed their citizens by sending them to war—Britain winced, recalling the American Revolution and imagining (Y/n)’s little face in place of America’s. That damned war changed everything. They still bickered often, but at least America and Britain eventually made up. Neither would ever really say it out loud to anyone, but they still considered the other a brother. And now, America went so far as to call (Y/n) his niece. He would keep an eye on (F/N) (L/N), (Y/n)’s father in their country, and make sure (Y/n) would be well taken care of in the way of legalities.

But even if he were to cast a spell, which he was absolutely going to do and would have for any other country that she were to live with, and slow her aging, Britain was only prolonging the inevitable.

So why raise her at all if she was going to leave him anyway? Like all the rest?

The answer came from the little snore that escaped her lips as she slept against him. She trusted him. Enough to sleep with, anyway, and hug as she cried. Britain felt himself tear up, feeling a growing warmth spread through his chest. This little girl, snuggled up against his body and nuzzling his neck, was his daughter.

And dammit, not twelve hours after their meeting he already loved her.

~~~~~

*Three week time-skip brought to you by Flying Mint Bunny!*

“Daddy!” You called, smiling widely and waving your little fist in the air, the paper in it swaying. You ran into Arthur’s study—it was the time of day when he took a small tea break, so you knew he shouldn’t be too preoccupied with other things and could accept your gift. You tried to give it to him this morning, but his boss had called him in for a meeting. He came back about an hour ago, and requested to be alone.

Uncle Alfred was called in to spend the day with you, and helped make your Daddy’s present. He opted to stay for a while longer while Arthur got settled back home instead of leaving you totally alone—but he let you go by yourself to see your Daddy.

Arthur, meanwhile, looked up from his book, a small sound escaping his lips as you hugged his legs. You had never called him ‘Daddy’ before. Out loud to him anyway, you usually called him Arthur. “(Y/n)?”

You pulled back, holding the picture you drew up for him to take. “I drew it for you, Daddy! Uncle America told me it was your Happy Birthday! And cuz’ you only got some cards from other countries, we wanted to make you something nice!”

They had decided to let you know about the countries, and you agreed to keep it a sworn secret. Just like Flying Mint Bunny and your other fairy friends were only between you, Daddy, and two other countries you had met once! That was when Daddy said he was going to his “special magic-casting room” with them, and you had to spend the afternoon with your Uncles Canada (Matthew) and France (Francis). They were doing something that involved needing a lock of your hair—later Arthur described it as an aging spell, but you felt just fine.

 And you weren’t “aged” at all.

He now took the sheet of paper from your hands, confusion fading into awe.

In your little three-year-old script (and he assumed America’s hand-writing beneath interpreting what you said, as three-year-old script is incomprehensible writing…), you said, “I Love You Daddy!” under that, besides America’s interpretation, was a doodle of a black stick-figure with a mop of yellow over his head, and a tinier figure with (h/c) hair. Their hands were connected with a black dot, and green grass and pink flowers were beneath their feet. Their faces held black eyes and smiles.

“Oh, (Y/n)!” He breathed, looking at you with moist eyes. Britain knew that, from your uncles’ babysits, you referred to him as ‘Daddy.’ But obviously you were saving that title for a special occasion. “Thank you! This is beautiful!”

He drew you in for a hug, kissing your cheek as America came in grinning.

“Hey Britain, you like (Y/n)’s gift?”

“It’s better than anything I could have asked for,” He said, smiling softly at you.

“Shoot, because…” He held out his own hand, holding a picture and looking a bit awkward. “We were coloring together and she actually saw something that I liked in one of her coloring books…And asked me to draw it for you.”

“Oh?” He was handed the picture as you sat on his legs, giggling at the 'really?' look he gave your uncle. “(Y/n), was this your idea?”

Giggling madly, you said, “Yes!”

“And that’s funny?” A mischievous smile formed on his lips before proceeding to tickle you, a game that you two often played to get a smile. “I’ll show you funny, little girl!”

America had colored in a picture of Lady Liberty—giving her England’s features on her face. Had he not laughed so hard at the outcome of Britain’s eyebrows on his favorite present from France, the country would have declared treason upon himself for putting the caterpillar-sized facial hair there.

All of you laughed as Alfred joined in the tickling, attacking England’s torso until the nation fell to the floor (with you) in two cackling messes.

“Okay! Okay!” He laughed, curling into a ball and using his arms to protect himself when you began poking his sides. “Al—Alfred, (Y/n), enough!”

America looked to you questioningly. “Oh please, he can take some tickling. You decide.”

You pretended to think, “Hm…I dunno, the tickle monster’s never been tickled back…”

He smirked, taking one of Britain’s arms and raising it. “Right under here is his biggest weakness.”

“No!” The nation squealed when you wiggled a lone finger in his armpit, using his free arm to try to protect it and going totally limp against America’s legs, guffawing loudly.

You two stopped and Uncle Alfred let the arm fall, letting him breathe and get the last few giggles out.

“Th-that isn’t bloody fair!”

Britain breathed heavily, actually restraining himself from strangling the younger nation in front of you. It was embarrassing being tickled in front of and by a little girl who calls you Daddy. At least, you call him that now.

Pouting with a red face, he pointed a finger up at the younger man. “(Y/n), his belly is his worst spot!”

America smirked. “Dude. She can barely even reach my waist.”

You attempted to reach up out of curiosity, only to have your hand slapped away. “Ow! Hey!” You pouted, rubbing the hand. “That hurt!”

With a growl of rage, Britain jumped up and tackled him. “Don’t you touch her bloody wanker!”

“Hey—dude, it was an accident! Calm dow—HEH-HEY!” He tried to grab the Brit’s hands that had dug into his belly (instead of strangling the neck, which America was grateful for in front of you), causing a bout of laughter. “Dude, I-I didn’t know I—ha!—I slapped her that hard! Mph-HEE-HEHAHA! St-stop, dude I’m really freaking ti-tickli—I-HISH, ri-right THERE! Gah-ha! O-okay?! STAHP!”

“Daddy, I’m okay!” You poked him on the shoulder, and he looked up. “Thank you. But I’m okay.”

“Ahem.” He stood up straight, dusting himself off. “Right. Good. Sorry about that…”

“Dude, I’m gonna get you back so hard for this…” Your uncle stood, pouting and rubbing his attacked belly. “Freakin’ tickle monster has a rival now…” But he tried nothing. Better to strike when they're least suspecting it.

“Maybe we should just let the tickle monster game go to rest, guys? It’s fun for a laugh, but I think we’ve let it get too fa-HAR!” He squeaked at your poke to a side.

You grinned, “Thank you for protecting me, Daddy!”

He smiled again, this time truly and without the forced mirth of tickles. “Anytime, poppet.”

“Aw, c’mon!” America glared. “I slapped her hand a little harder than I thought, I’m sorry! But you totally had cheer-up tickles coming to you, bro.”

“It’s okay,” You said, “I don’t wanna be tickled either, so I flop around everywhere too!”

He blushed, somehow managing to pout even more.

“Alright, who wants dinner?” Britain exclaimed, changing the subject.

“Is Uncle Alfred cooking?” Usually he cooked on days the real cook, who was hired by France, was off. Like today.

“Aw, (Y/n)!” He leaned down to your level, “Would I really let your Daddy cook for you?”

“HEY!” Britain’s eyes went white.

You giggled as your uncle picked you up, running out of the room and to the kitchen.

Britain sighed, following close after. At least, when it wasn’t McDonalds, America actually did make some pretty good food . . . And it was his birthday after all, he would choose what to make.

~~~~~

Your uncle was staying the weekend for sure. Britain only nodded to America wordlessly when he had something important to say, and you knew that. Usually it was when he had to go out of town, or had a meeting and needed someone to stay with you on short notice (flying Mint Bunny was a good friend, but Arthur didn’t trust his magical, unpredictable and rather naughty friends to be alone with you). But this time was different—America had taken the phone call, nodded to Britain to come talk to him in private after he was done.

Leaving you to eat your (favorite meal) alone.

You were especially quiet, listening to their hushed tones.

“...Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Came Alfred’s voice. “(F/N)’s been…” Muffled sounds.

“—o there’s nothing fo—er to fear anymore?”

“Not except for—e trauma, Britain.”

“Shou—e tell her?”

This part came clearer, as if they were coming closer. “She deserves to know. Closure, you know? After what he did to her?”

You didn’t understand what they meant. Probably important business-stuff. A lot of people are named (F/N).

They both came back in with serious faces.

You looked up, dropping your fork. “Di-did I do something wrong?”

“No, sweetie,” Uncle Alfred said. “I just got a call from my boss. You…You know how we told you my government would keep an eye on your, ah, Other Father?”

Your heart froze.

Your Daddy, Britain, quickly sat down next to you. “He isn’t going to hurt you, (Y/n). Not ever again.”

“W-what?” You asked. Daddy said this often. But this time felt far more serious. What was going on?

He pulled you onto his lap, rubbing your back. “Your Fath—(F/N) (L/N)…he died last night, (Y/n).”

Your mouth dropped, eyes widened in horror and relief. “Wh…What?!”

“He can never hurt you again.”

“(Y/n)?” America asked, Britain shushing him and drawing you close to his chest as you began to cry.

The American was afraid to tell her how exactly her biological father died: in a bar fight. (L/N) filled out the missing person papers for you, but never seemed to really care enough to do anything else. He was arrested once, and held in jail for two days before bailing himself out for pulling a knife in another bar. America knew this because he kept regular tabs on the bastard. In the fight that killed him, (F/N) (L/N) had a knife pulled on him.

He obviously lost that fight.

The countries shared a look. Slowly, America got up to go to one of the guestrooms, where he would spend the next two nights, and left you two alone.

Britain held and comforted you as you cried, both of you relieved to live without fear of being found. After all of those nightmares you suffered, scars you would have mentally and physically, your Other Father was dead. You didn’t know how, but now everything would be alright.

Finally.

~~~~~

You were showered, dressed, and ready for bedtime. It wasn’t often at all anymore you came into Arthur’s room; most of that occurred the first month you lived with him and had fever chills. After you were healthy again, it was terrible, horrific nightmares that no three-year-old should have. These slowly dropped in numbers, and you found it really wasn’t so bad to stay alone in your room.

Well, alone with your stuffed bunny.

But tonight, as he was laying down, Britain wasn’t surprised to see you come in through the open door.

He smiled, picking up your little form and placing you beside him. “Come here, darling.”

You two laid down, and he let you snuggle closer before wrapping an arm around your side. “Love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, (Y/n).”

“Happy Birthday. Sorry I cried…”

“Thank you poppet, and you don't need to apologize for that. Are you alright?”

“Uh-huh.” You nuzzled your head into the crook of his armpit (causing a poorly-stifled giggle to escape his lips), holding both the bunny and a handful of the Brit’s shirt.

“Are you sure?”

“I am now.”

“Do you want to talk?” He tried.

“About what?”

“Your Father.”

You shut your eyes. “You’re my Daddy. Not Other Father. He didn’t love me like you do, he didn’ even like me.”

Britain’s heart was touched that you were finally able to acknowledge that fact. That he loved you, that is. You both knew (L/N) held no love in his heart.

“I don’t need to be scared anymore. I’m your daughter. I have been, because you’ve taken care of me. So you’re my real Daddy.”

Well. There were still the legalities and paperwork, such as who the hell you were to the world—his daughter, yes—and with the aging spell, your life was extended for a long, long time. Like Britain’s own human persona, you would have to be “taken care of” for government employees checking identities. None of the members of the Magic Trio realized how well the spell had worked until the magical creatures told them you had stopped aging almost entirely.

They could feel the magic in your body.

Britain would have your child-like form for perhaps centuries, before you even began to look like a teenager. Even if you were an old woman in a young form like he was an old man in a young body, he would have you as a daughter and love you. So long as nothing were to happen to you…But he would protect you, even when you were old enough to want to travel - he couldn't leave you alone in the form you were in now, but Britain could certainly let you travel with him! He could home-school you, introduce you to the other countries. Maybe the micro-nations could befriend you . . . Even Sealand, if it really came to that. So, maybe you would leave him one day. Nothing truly lasts forever. He hoped with all his heart that would never happen, but it did with America because he screwed up.

He wouldn’t screw up. Britain would always be there for you. That was a promise he would always keep.

 “And you’re my real daughter.”