Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.
11:11
The Englishman's tea nearly spilled entirely out of his mug as he heard a sharp rapping on his front door. What the bloody hell? Who could that be at this ungodly hour? He thought bitterly to himself, trudging toward the door. It was 10:44 at night, and the last thing he desired was company.
Unlocking several latches on the door and thrusting it open, he inwardly groaned at who stood before him in the doorway. Donning his usual tan uniform and his dark brown bomber jacket, Alfred F. Jones beamed down at his old mentor, who frowned morosely in return.
"What the bloody hell do you want, America?" Arthur Kirkland mused, crossing his arms. America simply strode past him and inside of his manor. "Hey! Don't just barge in! Didn't I teach you better than to–"
"A man can't visit his old friend once in a while?" Alfred teased, ignoring Arthur's reprimanding demeanor. "Man, this place hasn't changed a bit since I left you all those years ago, huh, Iggy?"
At the mention of… that time, England visibly stiffened, glad America's back was turned on him. "Don't call me that, you git," Arthur murmured, avoiding Alfred's original comment.
"You know you love it, Iggy," America retorted obnoxiously, turning to face England with a smug smile dancing across his lips. England's scowl returned with haste just glancing at Alfred's face.
"Might I ask what the bloody hell you're doing barging into my house, uninvited, in the middle of the night?" Arthur demanded, gripping the handle of his front door. He was fully prepared to throw America out of his house if need be.
"It's like I said before– a man can't visit his old friend every once in a while?" America offered.
"I know there's something else to it, Alfred; the last time you were here was–" England choked back on his words as the memories flooded thorough his mind.
"Of course I can't shoot! Fool!"
"You used to be so big back then..."
"Yes. Back then." America stated firmly, his face emotionless. Suddenly, a warm smile emerged. "But I want to break that habit of me never visiting you, so I thought I'd start today!"
"At ten o'clock at night?"
"Better late then never, Iggy!" America called as he made his way to England's kitchen. Arthur sighed, releasing his hand from the doorknob. I suppose the git might have a point… agh! No! He doesn't! He followed after Alfred into the kitchen.
"How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Iggy?" He huffed, furrowing his bushy brow at his newly ajar pantry door.
"However many times it takes for you to actually mean it." Alfred smirked, emerging from the pantry with nothing in hand. What the bloody hell was he sifting around my pantry for? Perhaps it's better not to ask.
England utilized the moment of silence to his advantage, trekking out of the kitchen and into his den, picking up his tea mug. Sitting on the love-seat sofa with his back to Alfred in the kitchen, he sipped his tea noiselessly. Not a moment later, America came striding into the room, plopping down next to England.
"Well?" He asked.
The British man gave Alfred a glance before replying, "What do you mean, 'well'?"
"I'm a guest, so as the host it's your job to entertain the guest!"
"I don't ever recall inviting you to my home; last I checked that doesn't make me the host, it simply makes you a trespasser."
"But you never did shove me out the door, did you?"
Silence. Damn it, he's painted me into a corner.
"I thought so." Alfred leaned back on the sofa, placing his hands behind his head. They sat in a somewhat comfortable atmosphere; Arthur nearly forgot Alfred was sitting next to him. It was then when America turned to England. "You really don't like talking about back then, do you?" Arthur knew immediately the time period he was referring to.
"No, I do not like talking about... then, Alfred." England choked out, his eyes finding the floor.
"Can I ask you… why you hate talking about it so much?"
Because that day was the day I lost someone very important to me. His mind urged for him to say.
"Why would I enjoy talking about the day I lost a colony?" England remarked, almost as if the event meant nothing to him. Alfred shrugged, continuing to watch Arthur as emotions swam through his eyes– regret, sorrow, anger, pain.
Arthur, on the other hand, was struggling, trying not to cry, trying not to remember those bitter days. But the memories wouldn't stop flowing.
The rain poured over him in sheets, soaking him through to the skin and making his matted blond hair stick to his face. The air was humid and warm, but his body felt numb. He faced his younger brother, gaping at the dozens and dozens of adherents congregating behind him, and at the gun pointed in England's direction.
"Hey, England," His younger brother began to say, his tone of voice full of what England could only call malice. It wasn't the younger brother that he knew before this; then, his eyes were filled with curiosity and innocence. Now, they were brimming with flames. "I realized that I want independence after all." He cringed at the word. Independence. Such a simple concept, but England couldn't see why America desired it so greatly. "I am no longer a child, nor am I your little brother."
Ouch. That one hurt. England's fists clenched his musket tighter, his eyes slamming shut in a futile attempt to hold back the tears that were arising.
"Say it! Say it, England! I'm independent now, my own nation!"
He couldn't. He charged at America, bayonet pointed forward. He slammed the bayonet tip into the butt of America's own rifle with such a force that caused it to fly into the air, leaving America utterly defenseless. He could end it all now, but would he? Never; killing his former colony would get him nowhere.
"F-fire!" He heard one of the generals declare. Following, he saw long rifles being risen, pointed at him. Almost as if suddenly realizing his position, he promptly stepped back, cursing.
"Of course I can't shoot! Damn it! Fool!" England called out, dropping his musket to the side and collapsing to his knees; his face buried in his hands.
He felt America's eyes burn through his red, mud-covered uniform. "E-England… You used to be so big back then."
England looked up, his flowing tears camouflaged by the rain.
"Say it." America demanded again. "Tell me I'm independent."
"Y-you… you're…" Arthur could hardly believe the next words that staggered their way off of his tongue. "You're independent."
America turned his back on his now former mentor, and walked away from the battlefield, his men following behind. Cheering and whoops of victory echoed across the vast space of the field. England was now alone, his loud sobs being drowned out by various cracks of thunder.
England snapped out of his trance to find Alfred's hand resting gently on his shoulder. Arthur didn't realize it, but he was trembling.
"Hey, Arthur," America started, voice wavering slightly. "Are… are you alright?"
England's eyes met Alfred's at the use of his actual name. "Y-yes, I'm just fine." He lied, shrugging America's hand off of his shoulder.
"No, you're not."
"I don't believe you have the right to make that statement."
"I believe I do. You were trembling."
England's face flushed slightly– he knew he often had horrendous flashbacks, but did he actually start shaking from the memories? Sure, the memories were more vivid with each flashback, but Arthur never found them terrible enough to start shaking at.
"Why?" America questioned, wholly concerned now.
"It's nothing," England persisted.
"You can trust me, Arthur." America's hand found its way back to England's shoulder once more. "Why were you trembling?"
Oh, so he's playing the trust card now?
"I said it was nothing."
"Well obviously it wasn't."
England was growing more and more agitated by the second. "It was only a flashback."
This quieted America for a minute or so, his hand sliding off of England's shoulder and into the pocket of his bomber jacket.
"Hey, it's 11:11," Alfred stated cheerfully.
"What?" England asked, completely baffled by the quick turn of subjects.
"Don't you know? When it's 11:11, you're supposed to make a wish, and it'll come true right away."
"That's rubbish."
"Oh, come on, Iggy, I thought you believed in all that magical crap?"
"Don't call me that. And it's not 'crap', Alfred."
"Do you only believe it to be this so-called 'rubbish' because you've actually tried it before?"
"No!" England denied, feeling his face grow warm.
"What did you wish for?"
"I said that I never tried it!"
"But you're blushing, Iggy– obviously a sign that you lied."
"I did not lie to you."
"Then why are you as red as one of Spain's tomatoes?"
"Oh, put a sock in it."
"So you were lying!"
England said nothing, only looked ahead and crossed his arms. America took this as a sign of defeat and triumphantly pumped his fist into the air.
"I knew it! A hero's never wrong. So, what'd you wish for?"
For you to come visit more often. And it took 6 tries before it worked.
"I wished for a peaceful world meeting," England fibbed.
"No, really, what did you wish for?" America declared.
How the hell can he see right through me?!
"Well, you seem to know everything, so why don't you tell me?" Arthur snarled, glaring at Alfred.
"You wished for me to come visit you, because you can't resist this hero's awesomeness!" America smirked. England tensed, but didn't give Alfred the satisfaction of knowing that he was right. About the wish, that is; not necessarily the reasoning behind it.
"So, am I right?"
Arthur remained silent and still, save for a sip of his tea to hide his ever-growing blush.
"I knew it!" America cried out, suddenly squashing England in a hug. Some of England's tea spilled over the brim of the mug and onto his uniform, but Arthur decided to let it slide for now. He would reprimand Alfred later.
"But of course," America loosened his grip on England but didn't completely let go. "It probably didn't work the first time; if it did, I would've been back here right after we signed the Treaty of Paris of 1783!" Alfred laughed.
"What do you take me for, a sappy teenage girl?" England retorted, moving his arm as much as it would to place his tea on a coaster. "I didn't catch 11:11 for the first time until your birthday last year."
"My birthday, huh?" Alfred beamed, leaning back on the couch with Arthur still in his arms. "How many times did you wish before it worked?"
"The sixth and last time I caught 11:11 was this morning."
"And here I am now; I even made a promise to visit more often!"
"You won't break it, will you?" England murmured softly, resting his head on Alfred's shoulder. It was later than he usually went to bed, and Arthur was profusely tired.
"Why would I want to?" America responded, in a voice just as small. Alfred's skull was perched atop England's; it was later than his usual sleeping hour as well. The two nations stayed in that position, Alfred nodding off before Arthur, who remained in the strong grasp of his former colony.
I missed you, America.
-:-
Author's Note: Well, did you like it? Sorry it's so... OOC. I quite enjoyed writing it, though. It's my first Hetalia FanFiction, yay! It definitely didn't go as I planned it to, but I'm happy with the way it turned out. I didn't think I had that revolution flashback in me, to be honest. Reviewers get to take England's spot and sleep with Alfred. Or the other way around, depending on who your favorite character is. xD