The boy dashed into the room again. He couldn't wait to get started! This was going to be so awesome! He dropped his bunny and crawled up on the bed. He might not be as old as England had meant for him to be, but he was sure it would be ok once England saw what a good shaver he was! America was going to prove that he was big enough for this!

From the bed, America could easily climb on to the top of the dresser. Once he had reached the check point, the youngster surveyed his equipment. He saw a shave brush, a cake of soap, a bowl of water, and the jewel of the entire set: the coveted razor blade. America picked it up by the handle with care. He could have sworn that he felt a tingly sensation all over when he touched his big brother's shaver. He couldn't believe he was actually holding it! He felt more grown up, already.

As the excited colony examined the instrument in his hands, he noticed that it was still a little dirty. America took a big breath, puffed up his cheeks, and blew on the blade a few times to try and get the tiny bits of hair away. Only a few hair shavings departed. Most of them remained stuck to the metal. America huffed at the stubborn hairs and decided to wipe them off with his hand. The razor didn't look very shiny, anyway. It needed a good rubbing to restore its former glory. A small hand moved dangerously close to the razor's edge.

Just then, America heard a noise behind him. He jumped and retracted his hand just before it was about to rub against the dangerous utensil. The guilty squirt instinctively dropped the razor, but feared it was too late. It was all over. He just knew he had been caught red-handed.

Downstairs, England had nodded off completely. Unfortunately, he had slipped right into his sweet nap without knowing it. And he was in no hurry to awake, for he was having a very convincing dream. It was one of those dreams which make the sleeper believe they are fully awake and carrying on with normal activities. In the dream, he was still reading the paper, and America was still playing sweetly in front of him. The blonde empire sighed blissfully in his slumber. It was a wonderful dream…but terribly inaccurate.

Back in England's room, the startled America had whipped his head around; afraid the noise had been England come to look for him. He looked up with the expression of a trapped and frightened animal. He was fully expecting to come face to face with his displeased older brother. To the colony's surprise, he saw…no one.

America waited for a moment with his breath held in, just in case. When nothing happened, he let his breath go. That had been close! The noise must have been his imagination. Or maybe it had been the wind, or something. The house creaked sometimes. Whenever strange sounds had scared America late at night, England always told him that it was just the wind. The noise the young American had just heard was probably nothing to worry about, after all. Still, America figured he shouldn't waste anymore time. He had better do his grown-up task quickly, before England showed up to tell him that he couldn't!

America faced his small workspace again and grabbed up the razor. With luck, England would stay in the living room until his hour of peace was up. How much time had passed, anyway? America had no clue. Time always seemed to go so slowly to children, but for some reason, the little one was now having the strangest feeling that time was moving faster on him. For all he knew, the hour could be over in the next few seconds! Perhaps America was feeling more rushed by the time because he knew deep down inside that he shouldn't be doing what he was about to do.

But America ignored all inner warning signals. His mind had been made up. It would be alright. Things always worked out for him! After the boy considered what he had to do, he ended up setting the razor down for the time being. First things first. He had to get that white stuff all over his face! He remembered that England did that by scrubbing the brush on the soap and then rubbing it on his face. Quickly, greedy hands snatched up the brush and the soap. The boy put the two together and scrubbed the brush on the soap, just like he had seen England do on so many mornings. However, after some good effort, America was a little surprised to find that it did not seem to be working. No foam was forming. So the child scrubbed harder. He tried scrubbing so hard, that the brush smushed against the cake. But regardless of how hard he scrubbed, nothing ever happened.

At last, America abruptly stopped what he was doing and tried to figure out the problem. He looked at the brush in one hand and the soap in his other. Oh! Maybe the soap needed to be wet? Happy at his clever analysis, America dipped the soap in the bowl of water. Now it would work for sure!

And it just might have, if the soap hadn't slipped out of America's hand. As soon as the boy pulled the wetted soap out of the bowl, it flew out of his grasp. America tried to catch it, but the pesky thing had the nerve to evade him and slip down behind the dresser! America gasped! He crawled over to the dresser's edge and peered into the dark space between the dresser and the wall. Great! Now how was he supposed to put the white stuff on his face? There was no way he could reach the bar of soap from where it was now!

America tried to think fast. He could always move the dresser. Then he would be able to get at the soap! Only problem was, England didn't like it when he moved furniture around. America had done that a few times in order to retrieve trapped toys, but that had always ended badly. See, for some reason, England liked to collect very fragile things. And for some reason, those very fragile things always seemed to be placed precariously on the tops of the exact furnishings which America needed to transfer to a temporary location. And somehow, those very fragile things, always placed precariously on the tops of those certain furnishings, usually ended up smashed on the floor during the course of move. Thanks to a few honest accidents, it was now a house rule that America was not allowed to rearrange the furniture in any way and for any reason. The clumsy little boy had been instructed to call upon his brother's capable (and less destructive) aid if he ever needed anything to be rescued from under, or behind, a piece of furniture.

But obviously America couldn't call England for help, in this case! Like the elder would help if America politely asked for him to get the soap he needed to secretly shave his face. Oh, wouldn't that go over well? No, America would have to think of some way to handle this, himself.

The only breakable things on the dresser were the matching bowl and pitcher. America thought about getting those off the dresser before trying to move it. But they were both filled with water. What if he spilled some of it? Or what if he accidentally dropped them while he was in the process of moving them to a saver spot? Even if the tot succeeded in moving the delicate items, moving the dresser itself might cause a lot of noise, especially if it tipped over. England would be in there in a heartbeat if he heard suspicious, loud crashings coming from his room. America pondered what to do over and over again. Suddenly, the colony heard another noise.

Back in the living room, England was snoring.

America decided that he had wasted enough time! England could show up at any minute! If he was going to do this, he was just going to have to do it without the soap. It would only be for this one time. The lad was sure that he would be able to use the soap for the next shave. He would be able to shave as much as he wanted after England saw how grown-up he was!

Quickly, America dipped his hands into the pitcher. He wanted to at least use some water on his face. He would have used the water in the bowl, but it looked murky. Plus it was filled with more hair stubs. America wanted to do this right and use clean water on his face, just like England always did. After patting his face with the leftover water from the pitcher, the boy picked up his brother's razor blade once more. He couldn't resist taking one last moment to admire the sharp instrument with excited and nervous child-like awe. He gulped with anticipation. No turning back now.

America stood up, ready to face the mirror and get to work!

Only…his face couldn't reach the mirror.

WHY? Why did he have to be so short? America stamped his foot in frustration!

CRACK!

America froze. Uh-oh. He looked down, very nervous about what he was going to see. Sure enough, there was a large crack under America's foot. The powerful child grimaced. England was going to be mad. He tried to cover the crack with the bowl and the pitcher, but it was no use. The crack stretched across the entire top of the dresser. There was no way England wouldn't see it! Well, at least the boy hadn't stomped with his full strength. The entire piece of furniture would have collapsed under him.

With a few hard shakes of his head, America decided to put the crack aside, for now. There just wasn't time for it. Maybe once he finished his shave, England would be too proud of him to notice the large crack? And so, America sat up. He got ready for his first shave. So what if he didn't have a mirror? He could shave without one. He knew what his face looked like, right? Why did he need a mirror to show him where to scrape the razor?

The young, American boy looked down at the blade for the final-final time. This was it. He took a deep breath, prepared himself, raised the razor to his cheek, and…

Scrape, scrape, scrape…

The boy worked fast. The deed did not take long. After a few quick swipes with the cool razor, he decided he was done. He set his instrument down and contemplated what he had just done. That was actually kind of…easy! It had taken less time than he had imagined, but then, his head was very small, and the blade was very large. Of course it had not taken long to cover every inch of his lower face with the long blade. But as short as the shaving time span had been, America still felt awfully pleased with himself. He had just shaved all by himself for the first time ever! And it had not been hard at all! He didn't know why England had wanted him to wait until he was older. Shaving was a piece of cake! The boy just wished that he could look at himself in the mirror. He was sure he looked great! He probably looked so much more grown-up and gentlemanly.

Unable to keep the good news to himself any longer, America jumped off the dresser and bounced on the bed. He hastily scooted to the edge and slid off. He was out of the room in an instant, swiftly making his way to the living room. He couldn't wait to brag to England. Wouldn't his guardian be surprised! America was so filled with excitement, that he didn't notice the slight sting on his face as the rushing air made contact with his skin.

"Engwand! Engwand!" the tot called as he ran downstairs.

Down in the living room, England was finally awoken. The sound of America's voice and his loud scampering caused the sleeping blonde to bolt up in his chair. "Who? W-Wha?" he cried out in drowsy confusion. The paper he had been holding flew into his face just as his colony entered the room.

"Hey Engwand, guess what?" America asked as he stood at attention before his elder brother. "I been shavin' all by myself!"

The struggling empire in the chair tossed the paper from his face. England still appeared dazed because of his sudden arousal, but one look at America, and England was fully alert. America watched as England gaped at him for moment. The look on the older land's face was nothing short of pure shock and horror. England's expression silenced America. The boy took an unsure step back. He had thought that England would be proud of him, but the look on his guardian's face was scaring him. Why was he looking at him like that?

America didn't have time to think of anything to say. In the blink of an eye, England was out of his chair and upon America. The colony shrank back, but England snatched him up before he could escape. The oldest brother turned America around and pressed the child's face against his shoulder. America tried to speak, but his voice was muffled against England's shoulder. With a little bit of struggling, America pushed himself up.

"E-Engwand, what…."

That's when time slowed down for America. The boy couldn't finish his question. His eyes were on England's shoulder.

England's white shirt was drenched in blood.

America sucked in his breath at the sight. Then he looked down at his own shirt. It was damp with the red substance, too! That's when America suddenly realized that his face was hurting a little. It also felt wet, but America had thought that was just from the water he had splashed on his face. A very bad inner feeling was overcoming the small boy. Hesitantly, America reached up a shaky hand to touch his face. When he pulled his tiny hand away and held it in front of him, it was crystal clear that the wet feeling on his face was not water!

America went bug-eyed, just as England had done only moments before. Whimpers of fear began to escape from him. Just the sight of a little blood on their person is typically enough to scare any small child to death, but America was staring at so much of his own blood, and it was everywhere! It terrified the American more that he couldn't see his face. He was left to envision with his young, over-active imagination what his sliced face probably looked like!

As soon as America made a sound, he felt England push his head back on the shoulder. America shut his now tear-filled eyes and whined even more in his big brother's shoulder. He was crying more out of fear than pain. His whole body began to shake from the panic. This couldn't be happening! It had to be a bad, scary dream!

England rushed the distressed child into the kitchen. Most colonial farm estates didn't have a functional kitchen attached to the house, but since America loved food so much, England had found a residence with an inside kitchen, all so that his little colony would not have to wait any extra time to receive his meals. The nation had even ordered that an expensive well pump be installed in the kitchen, so that the room would have running water on demand. There would be no lugging around outdoor well water for his little brother. England had spared no expense for America's comfort. Unfortunately, the kitchen was about to bring the furthest thing from comfort to poor America.

England took the boy to the sink. He held America's head under the spicket, and without saying a word, began to pump furiously. America had had no chance to react as he was forced under the open pipe. He was almost too upset to really comprehend what was going on. Soon, water was hitting him in the face. America wiggled uncomfortably in England's arms when it happened. He cried out in more fear and pain. He could feel England tense a little, but continue to hold him in place. After some time, America's pain dulled. The cool water began to feel nice on his burning face. The liquid was soothing to the razor burn and was keeping the cruel air from hitting his open cuts.

Still, America cried. In the sink below him, all he could see was his blood mixing with the water. No matter how much water England pumped, the blood kept coming! The situation was just too much for the little one. He just wanted it to stop! He wanted this to all be a bad dream! He wanted to wake up and run to England's room, like he always did after a nightmare! He wanted to be fine. He wanted the pain in his face to go away. Most of all, he wanted all that scary blood to disappear! He never should have touched his brother's razor blade.

Just when America was getting a little used to the feel of the water on his face, England stopped pumping. America cringed at the change, but that only made his face hurt worse, especially with the absence of the water. He cried more pitifully in protest. Why had England stopped? America almost wished that he could have stayed under the water's flow forever. It didn't take long for America to learn why England had stopped, though. The nation had released the pump handle to pick up a bar of soap.

Before America knew what was happening, the soap was pressed to his face.

America shrieked!

Above him, England winced, but sadly continued to clean his little colony's mauled face.

"Well…I must say…that was quite the adventure, wasn't it?"

England wiped the gathering sweat from his face and looked down at his sniffling boy on the table. That had been the first thing the man had said since America had displayed his "shaved" face to him. In all honesty, the incident had been just as traumatizing for England as it had been for America. Probably more. One moment, England had been resting peacefully, believing that his younger brother was safe and sound, and the next moment, he had been awakened to see the dreadful sight of his precious baby brother standing before him with a bloody face! England had seen blood on children many, many times before. More than he'd like to remember. But today he had discovered that the sight of his child bleeding profusely was one hundred times worse!

The good news was that America's condition was not as bad as it had first appeared. The mischievous tike hadn't skinned himself, only cut and nicked his face in a few places. Nevertheless, the clean razor cuts had drawn out a good amount of blood, and had made America appear more injured than he really was. England was sure he would never get that horrible image out of his mind for as long as he lived! The sight had been so awful, that the old nation had lost all ability to speak until just this moment. He had almost lost his ability to breath, as well.

England was just glad it was all over now and America's wounds were completely attended to. The boy's face had been cleaned, covered with salve, and wrapped in bandages. Looking at the whimpering thing now, England was afraid that he might have gone slightly overboard with the bandages. America's head looked like a mummy right out of Egypt. Only the lad's teary eyes and a little of his mouth could be seen. Those, and a few strands of dirty-blonde hair poking out between a few cracks. America's persistent cowlick on the top of his forehead happened to be one of the stray hairs. That cowlick was the only recognizable clue as to who was under the bandages.

England felt bad for America, but he couldn't help that he had panicked. Once he had seen his irreplaceable little brother in that state, he had acted mostly on instinct. His top priority had been to repair his poor, bleeding colony as quickly as possible. England had known that it was going to be hard on America, but there had not been any way around it. As expected, America had fought hard when that soap had stung him, but England had somehow found the might to hold the super boy down. England didn't know where his own burst of strength had come from. It must have been some sort of special parental adrenaline that surfaced whenever one's child is in mortal danger. The empire didn't even know he possessed that trait, but he must have developed the parental instincts somewhere along the line of caring for America. He noticed that his muscles were starting to throb from the strain of fighting against America. Also, his heart was only just now starting to calm down. England was surprised that he had not experienced a full-blown heart attack.

On the kitchen table, America didn't look up at England. He sniffed and hiccuped a bit before uttering words of his own. "I-It still hurts," he finally stuttered amidst tired breaths that threatened to turn into sobs. The shivering boy was one sorry sight. His tender, upset voice made it worse. His suffering form appeared to be the just about the most pitiful thing on earth. England had held his own up to this point, all things considered. Now, at the sound of America's tiny voice, the outwardly calm Brit felt his overworked heart effectively melt and turn into a sympathetic lump of mush.

"Come here," England gently pleaded as he scooped the boy up in his arms. America buried his covered face in the kingdom's shoulder and gave into his new set of tears. England did his best to hush the crying child. He rocked America back and forth and patted his back with empathy. Throughout it all, England was also desperately trying to stop his own tears from flowing. He wished to heaven that he could undo what had just happened! He never should have fallen asleep on his charge! He should have known better than that by now. Wracked with guilt, England felt as if he should have just played with America like the boy had wanted. Then, this entire nightmare could have been prevented.

With all the plain mistakes England felt he made so often, the empire sometimes was afraid that he would never make a good "parent" to the boy in his arms. But he really was trying! He couldn't totally blame himself for this certain disaster, at any rate. America had known that he was not allowed to shave. The child had deliberately disobeyed him. In a way, the scamp had gotten what he deserved for his misdeed, but it all still seemed too cruel an experience for a small child to go through. England could only hope that America had learned his lesson and would stay away from anything remotely sharp for a good while. The Englishman didn't think he could take the sight of blood on his "baby" again. What was he going to do when America got his first nosebleed? Or his first skinned knee? The thought made him feel sick all over! England just knew he would be an absolute wreck if he had to go through something like this again, even if it might be on a smaller scale.

How did real parents do it? Particularly the colonial parents? How did they keep their nerves under control when their children were roaming about in such a savage, untamed land? Anything could happen to them, for God's sake! Well…yes, when England was growing up, his lands had been rather wild, and he had faced up to it all alone…but that was very different, he was sure! He had been made for that harsh, early life! These soft colonials and his little brother simply strolled around in this new, unpredictable world as if they were on holiday! Didn't they realize how many dangers still lurked in America's vast wilderness? England had all but forgotten them, himself. With his colonies now firmly established, England had dismissed all risks that had first concerned him about settling in a new territory. Now, after learning what it was like to see one's own child badly hurt, England was starting to consider these dangers in a fresh light. Everything around England, everything inside and outside of the house, suddenly seemed like a deathtrap. And that started him thinking…what if something worse than a few razor cuts ever happened to America? What if the boy was ever seriously injured? The troubled nation just didn't know what he would do if anything ever happened to America! In his mind, England began to seriously wonder if there was any possible way that he could keep America shut up in some sort of safely padded environment until the lad was fully grown. Maybe even longer than that.

"Shh," England continued to shush his sobbing colony. "There, there. It's alright." This was said just as much for the Brit's own comfort as it was for the toddler's. "It should be all better by tomorrow."

That was true. At least America was a quick healer. Bumps and bruises had never lingered for long on the boy. Like England, America was almost immortal when it came to natural injuries. A mortal wound might be agonizingly painful, but a national personification couldn't technically die from it, and the stronger the nation, the faster the healing process was. The only thing that could truly harm beings like America and England were damages to their lands, people, governments, and economies. Since the cuts on America's face had not been caused by any national tragedy, and since America was the perfect example of a healthy colony, England could rest assured that the gashes would be healed very soon and would leave no scars.

America's sobs eventually died down to quiet weeping. The youngster didn't reply to England for quite a while. When he calmed down enough to speak, America raised his head a little. "You have bwud on your shirt," he stated. The voice sounded remorseful, as if America knew that he was responsible for ruining the nice shirt.

That made England's guilt over the situation worsen. The boy should not be feeling apologetic over soiling his shirt! There was no way that could have been helped. Besides, England didn't care about something as trivial that. He hadn't even noticed the blood on it. America was so much more important to him than an old shirt!

"Hush now," England whispered as he pushed the boy's head back down. "Never mind that. It's alright."

America sniffed and hugged England back. "I'm nevuh shavin' again!" he suddenly wailed.

England actually found himself chuckling, in spite of the situation. "That won't do at all," he lightly chided. "I can't have you sporting that beard you keep going on about."

"But shavin' hurts!" America sobbed.

"Only if one is careless," England said with some more pats and rubs to the boy's back. America only shook his head clumsily with his face in pain and the bandages wrapped all around him. He continued to cry into his brother.

"Don't fret over it," England soothingly instructed. "When the time comes, I'll show you the proper way to do it."

By this point, America seemed to be attempting to calm down again. "O-Okay," he quietly agreed.

England smiled to himself. "Stop talking now."

The Brit rocked America until he felt the child's body relaxing against his. As America's breathing became more even, the idea struck England that a nap might benefit the poor boy. Silently the nation toted his colony upstairs. England took America back inside his own room, since the boy's mattress had not been taken inside, yet. Normally, America didn't like naps, so England was a little worried about how he might react to being put down for one. He didn't really have anything to worry about, though. America was already asleep by the time they reached the bed. England carefully laid the little thing down. America opened his eyes briefly at the loss of contact with his brother, but as soon as he hit the bed, he rolled over and shut his eyes again without complaint. The child's recent little ordeal must have truly worn him out.

Since America was acting so beat, England felt that it would be safe to attempt to change him out of his blood-stained gown. As he departed for America's room to collect the boy's fresh long shirt, England noticed the trail of blood drops on the his floor. He sighed as he walked across his room. He would have to clean that later.

England soon returned to his bedside with America's clean shirt. The sleeping boy didn't stir as England ever so gently slipped the old shirt off of him and replaced it with the new one. Only just as England was about to leave, did America suddenly grab onto the elder's arm. The boy moaned in his sleep and begged England not to go. England gazed down at America. For a moment, he wasn't sure what to do. His arm was pretty well trapped. That's when his sharp eyes noticed the stuffed rabbit that had been discarded on the floor, in the boy's hasty pursuit to shave. The English nation picked up the neglected bunny and slowly switched his arm with it. America gripped at the animal tightly, then snuggled up to it and began sucking his thumb.

England stood and watched the sleeping child. With a sigh, he reached down and ran his hand through the boy's hair (or what little hair that was sticking out of his bandages). "What am I going to do with you?" he whispered wearily.

England was certain that this child was going to bring him to an early grave. But even though America was a handful, he was still England's adopted little brother. England wouldn't trade the boy for any more manageable load, no matter how much trouble the imp caused. The man still loved America more than anything else in the world, in spite of the fact that the boy had nearly killed him with worry just a short time ago. England just hoped that America would grow up well, despite all the mistakes he made as a guardian. The nation made up his mind right then that he wouldn't be so careless in the future. He would do his best to protect America from any form of pain these lands could cause. He would also have to keep a closer eye on his little monster, to make sure the boy didn't have another incident like today. With a little more effort, England was sure it would all turn out fine in the end. After all, who could be a better parent for a young colony than the British Empire?

Finished! Whoo-hoo!

So, this story is partly based on something that happened to a friend of mine when he was a kid. He basically shaved himself with water and his father's razor, but didn't even realize that he had cut himself badly, until he proudly told his dad that he had been shaving and his dad flipped out at all the blood. XD

A little history on colonial shaving:

The popular look in Colonial America was clean-shaven. Men could either shave themselves or go to a barber. Shaving brushes were invented in the 1750's. From what I can tell though, shaving soaps were not invented until the 1800's, so I assume that men used regular soap before that.

And by the way, what was mentioned about kitchens in Colonial America was true. Most houses in the country would have kitchens separate from the house because of how hot and smoky they could be. Houses in a crowded city would have to have kitchen, though. Water was usually taken from wells. About the water pump, I'm honestly not sure how common those were in colonial times. I tried researching it, but came up with little to no info on it. I do know that the "technology" for water pumps existed at the time. The best fire engines used hand pumps to pump water on fires. So to make the story work, I was generous and had England provide a house for his dear, little America with the height of modern technology inside: a hand water pump.

I think the any other history mentioned in this fic is self-explanatory and pretty well-known (at least by the well-seasoned Hetalia fan). But if anyone has any questions, they can ask me!