It never used to rain so much in London, but now here England sat, steaming tea in hand, staring out at the water which poured down from the Heavens in buckets. It never used to rain so much. Not since his little brother abandoned him.
He still remembered that day. The Sun shone brightly and hotly without fail, like it did every other day. The Pirate had landed on a foreign land he had heard of from the Spanish, and France had caught word and traveled the long distance in competition with the Brit. The grass tickled his hand as he trailed his fingers across the vegetation, the lands were fertile and soft, and the climate seemed ideal. He was about ready to claim the land for himself, but first, there was something else he needed to do. Finland had claimed to see a young child running around, seeming to be a new nation, and England was determined to make the kid his little brother. Being the youngest of four boys who had often times picked on him throughout his life, naturally the blonde wanted a younger sibling for once, and now was his chance.
A small giggle and rustle of the leaves gripped the attention of both pirates, and it wasn't long before the brown haired child came bursting out of the plants like a bat out of Hell whilst he blissfully chased around a butterfly, nearly given the Frenchman a heart attack. The little boy displayed innocence long since passed for England, an innocence which reminded him of younger days, sitting by the river waters near the church. An innocence that would never return to him.
After a long struggle with France, England held the toddler in his arms, cradling the sleeping America. With a smile, he returned to his ship and planned to build a little house on the new found land for the boy to stay in. The waves lapping against the wood and gently rocking the boat lulled America to sleep anytime he awoke in the night. It was around midnight, when the brunette noticed his big brother snoring loudly and deeply next to him, and naturally, the child snuggled against the pirate's chest as he travelled off to dreamland again.
But now his little brother would never come crying to him again, never snuggle against the crook of his neck, never hold his hand fearfully when they trudged through the rough terrain, would never call to him when he feared the thunder crashing outside. When did it happen? Where did he go wrong?
"You're leaving again?" a brown haired teenager with sadness in his blue eyes questioned, as he watched his older brother begin to slip out the front door.
The man never even alerted America of his departure anymore, he simply left and America wouldn't notice until late in the day when Britain was halfway to his own home. It seemed as though the older country didn't even care for the boy anymore.
"Yes, I'm afraid so America. Don't forget to work on your studies while I am away, you know I will be checking your work when I visit once again. And I expect better this time, America."
"Kay." America sighed, dropping his head down.
"Proper English, boy." America scolded, "Do not disgrace the Queen's language."
"Yes, Britain."
"Farewell, America."
England's hand shook until he was forced to set down his saucer and cup, lest it come crashing to the ground. That had been the last time he had seen the boy before, on his seventeenth birthday, the Revolution began, and all the man was greeted with in those liquid eyes was hatred and angst.
"Britain," America had called across the battle field, "all I want is my freedom!"
No, you can't.
"I'm no longer a child,"
Yes, you are.
"-nor your little brother."
You have to be.
"I won't allow it!" he had roared, tears spilling down his cheeks as he charged at the child nation he had once lovingly looked upon.
The island nation stood quickly, his arm swiping against his tea cup and causing it to clatter to the floor, amber liquid seeping into the floor boards He rushed outside into the grey, depressed streets, staring up at the dark sky and the water which fell from it. Was it the rain tracking into his cheeks, or the liquid leaking from his eyes.
"I am sorry, America." England had once told little toddler America after yelling at the boy pestering him, "I did not intend to shout."
"I won't allow it!" he had screamed at an older, teenage America after being told that the boy was going to leave.
"I did not intend to."
"I won't ALLOW IT!"
"I am sorry, America," England sobbed as he closed his eyes and saw the face of his beloved sibling, "I did not…I did not intend to shout."
It never used to rain so much .