Care

Chapter 1: England and America

"Idiot," he hissed, "damned idiot."

America dug his hands into his pockets and scuffed at the snow beneath his boot.

"Complete, fudging idiot," his breath made a thin noose of wisp around his neck. "If I had spray-paint, I'd graffiti his damn walls."

He leaned back against the random building he found himself in front of, zipping up his jacket to his neck and tightening his scarf until it choked. It was so damn cold and what had just happened back in the stupid Brit's house made everything feel colder. God, what was that guy's problem? He thought bitterly. Was complaining all that guy ever did? America was a laidback person by nature- he'd let a few things slide and a few things go unheard- but he could only bottle so much. Sometimes, things went too far.

All England did was complain- complain, complain, complain. Then, he'd criticize, insult, complain and criticize once more. He called him a barbarian when sauce stained his cheek, called him a ruffian when his collar was uneven, called him an idiot when he laughed too loud-

What was that guy's problem?!

"How the hell did I stomach him?" America felt his coat grate at his skin as he pulled it down with his hands.

Thank God for independence, America thought bitterly, or else he'd be cooped up with the whack-job nut his whole life. Either way, he stormed out the house in an uncharacteristic fit of rage… but looking back, America really didn't understand what happened. All he could hear in his head was his own voice yelling out how much of a cripple you are or you're going to be too backwards to even keep up with the world just like you couldn't hold onto your fail of an empire. Then with a loud hope Spain kicks your ass and Irish beer rules you any day he slammed the door and took off to who-knows-where.

Had that been too far, America bit his lip, the Brit did look a bit surprised… hurt even. Pfft, who cares? Shrugged America, the dude deserved it for shoving a stick down his own throat. England caring for him was the biggest lie of the century, because right now, all he remembered was the shootings of the guns, the downgrading stares and the taxes squeezed out of his pores.

"Sit up, America," England reprimanded, "don't slouch."

America straightened his back and pouted.

"Don't pout, you're not a child."

He pursed his lips and glared.

"Don't be rude, America."

"I didn't say anything!"

"Don't raise your voice at me," England said sternly.

"If I whispered you wouldn't hear what I said," America said obviously.

"Don't act smart."

"Then what, am I supposed to act like an idiot?"

"Don't answer back!"

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?! God gave me a mouth, I have to use it!"

"That's it," England's chair screeched as he pushed it back, "up to your room."

"You just don't want to see me do you?" America hissed, "you just don't want me around!"

"Don't make up scenarios-"

"You just don't want to hear my voice right? You're just being a damn-"

"No bad language," England glared. "another swear word and I'll wash your mouth with soap and I swear it."

America kept his eyes unblinking as he stared at his older brother, never batting a lid and never losing contact. He did nothing wrong and England starts criticizing him- what on earth was that?!

"But I didn't do anything!"

"I'm trying to make you a gentleman."

"Being a gentleman stinks!" America pushed back the table as he leapt off his chair, "I want to be a ruffian- I want to be a pirate- I want to do what I want!"

"If I didn't look after you, you'd be a complete barbarian!"

"Maybe I want to be a barbarian? Ever thought of that?" America pressed, "I want to be a savage little boy and hang off trees and swim in streams and all- you never let me do anything!"

England crossed his arms and fixed him with a mocking look. "I don't let you do anything?"

"Never!" America insisted, "it's always 'America sit up' or 'America sit down' or 'America eat your scones'- I never do anything else!"

"Really?" England cocked a brow, "never let you do anything? Are you sure about that?"

"Yes," America nodded tearfully, "never. I'm a sad little boy."

England bit back a smile, "If I never let you do anything, then who helped you climb the big oak in the gardens?"

America scuffed his feet, but his eyes remained glaring, "You."

"If I never let you do anything, then who helped you with your kite when you wanted to fly it on the Rumbly Hills last Sunday?"

"You did," the fidgeting was added to the scuffling of his feet, but he did not lose eye contact.

"If I never let you do anything, then who took you to the stream for that swim before lunch and let you stay up to catch all the fireflies?"

"You did…" America's voice sounded hesitant as he started fidgeting, a small smile gripping his boyish lips on his flushed face.

"If I never let you do anything," England's voice sounded proud and teasing, "then who let you come aboard the ship and showed you around- even at the crow's nest?"

"You did!" America jumped at the Englishman, wrapping his arms around England's knees and hugging him close in a fit of giggles, hiding his flushed embarrassment.

"Oh yes I did!" England laughed, lifting up the little boy and tickling him from his stomach. "I never let you do anything, eh America? Never let you do anything?" he tickled the boy harder.

"You- you- you-" his words were cut off by the heavy fit of laughter, "-you- let- me!"

"What was that?" England tickled the boy's neck, "I couldn't hear you?"

"You- let me- you let me- do stuff!"

Suddenly America felt that he was falling- his limbs free and his stomach hurting- before he landed on the softness of the pillows on a small sofa. England, his face flushed pink, stood above him with his wrinkled shirt and tousled hair. America's giggled tumbled from his mouth and he curled up like a kitten.

"Good," England gave him a satisfied smile. "Because if you became a ruffian, then I wouldn't think of taking you to the stream today-"

"HU!" America gasped excitedly.

"Nor would I let you stay up to catch fireflies again tonight-"

"No way!"

"Nor would I let you drink hot chocolate filled with marshmallows and cream after your swim-"

"I love you!" America threw himself off the couch and wrapped his arms around his brother's neck excitedly. "I'm never gonna be a ruffian- I'm gonna be a gentleman little boy because gentleman's get to do stuff and I want to do stuff and you let me do the stuff I want to do!"

England laughed and patted the boy's hair, "just go grab your coat- don't want the sunset spoiling your fun."

"Yes! Yes!" America leapt to the ground and sprinted down the corridor, swerving the corners sharply and skidding on the floor. "I'm coming fireflies!"

America lowered his eyes and glumly looked at the faded black of his boots with a sigh. Great, he thought miserably, now I feel like a complete jerk. He pulled his hands out of his pockets- the cold English weather biting at his fingers angrily- and stared at the path behind him. With a nervous bite on his lip, he made his way back to where he had stormed out from, standing by a quaint, soothing house surrounded by a thick forestry of trees and the warm, comforting smell of burnt pastries.

Knocking at the door, he waited nervously before it was opened; staring into the blank, hurt green eyes of his former brother.

"Hey dude," America tried to make his smile as carefree as he could.

"What?" England's voice was flat and unamused. "Forgot to mention something, did you? Got more to add to what you said?"

"No," America shook his head vigorously, "I didn't mean what I said-"

"Sure, sure," England waved a hand bitterly, "right, you completely didn't. I get it. Get out now."

"England, just hear me out for a sec," America said softly.

"Sorry, but I don't really want to right now," England glared, "I've got enough company inside, so get lost because you already proved your point."

"I'm sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't cut it," hissed England. "What am I supposed to do with sorry? You made clear your views, you told me what you really feel and that's that. It's your opinion and I can't change it. What's to say sorry for?"

"You're not making any sense-"

"Then leave me alone," England gripped his door and tried to slam it shut before America's boot intervened.

"I was out of line," America gripped the door with both hands. He knew he could push it wide open even with England behind it, but refrained, "and a gentleman doesn't swear, slouch, pout, disrespect and all that. So, I'm really sorry. I was angry and annoyed and I didn't know what I was saying… I didn't mean it, really. I just wanted to hurt you cuz I felt I was being hurt by all your yapping on my collar and cheek and… I know I sound real stupid right now but… I mean… you know… It wasn't always like this and I know because I stood behind the building and remembered… so I- I kinda had to like… you know- it's-"

"Shut up."

America's eyes snapped up to the Brit.

To his surprise, there was a small, forgiving smile on his face.

"I've got some hot chocolate if you'd like, filled with marshmallows. Get in."

America beamed as the door opened widely and he stepped into the warm interior of the Englishman's home, taking in the familiar scent that took him back centuries to that old rustic house in the country, where the Rumbly Hills were perfect for kite flying, the streams were magical for swimming and the night was filled with fireflies ready for catching.

Hanging his coat and walking to the kitchen he said, "and for the record dude, Spain's churros suck big time cuz your scones are awesome."

AN: No historical references (not any that I know of) just the bonds between brothers. I'm thinking of continuing this (with other characters together such as Norway and Iceland, Prussia and Germany, Hong Kong and (either/both England and China), Spain and Romano and loads more etc (there are loads now that I think about it) but I guess it depends on how popular this story is first to see if it's worth going through with! If you've got any requests, questions, comments, views, corrections etc then don't fret to tell me!

Don't forget to review :)