I have read a lot of sad stories about poor Iggy recently, various things about him being alone and/or losing his mind. :'(

So I had to write this story as a response to how the others stories made me feel...I know it's silly of me, but I can't stand to see anyone sad, even a character! :3

Some hints of US/UK if you read it in, but it's not really intentional. ;)

Moving On

England stared blankly at the glass in his hand. How many drinks had it been now? Not that it mattered. Nothing could stop him from reliving the pain of that day. That day...

On that day, England had found himself on his knees in the mud, face in his hands as sobs overtook him. America stood in front of him. "What happened? I remember when you were great..." the new nation had said.

As the bartender walked by, England tugged on his sleeve. "Another one here, please," England grunted.

The bartender looked at England quizzically. With everything that man drunk that night (had it really been two pints and a bottle of rum?), he should have been wiped. Unbeknownst to the bartender though, the nation was no mere mortal. The bartender shook his head and gave England another bottle.

England smiled wryly. The lad was new to the establishment, unused to England's antics. The others knew England quite well, for he came to this pub every time he was around Washington DC. Somehow, he found himself in the city at this time every year, sitting in the same pub. Every year on 4 July, America had a huge birthday celebration at his house. Every year, England came to the United States to make good on his invitation to go to the party. Yet somehow, every year, England ultimately came to the pub to drown out his pain. Of course, it never worked and all England got was a bad hangover, which caused him more anguish.

America had been special, a rare gem. Even when he was little more than a toddler, nations were fighting for his affection. America had chosen England in the end. England had sat on the ground, trying to hold back tears, so sure that France was going to adopt America. Yet the young nation had seen England, alone. For a time following, they had been brothers. How had things gone so wrong?

England took a long swig of his liquor, barely noticing its sting as he swallowed.

America had always been so strong. At the youngest age, he had effortlessly lifted up a massive bison. He had grown so fast after that, too fast. England hated that he often had to leave his young charge for such long periods of time, but his bosses had required his aid elsewhere. One fateful day when England returned to visit his little America, the cheerful boy had become a serious young man. "I want my independence," this young America had said. England originally ignored him, dismissing the incident as a mere phase. Then on that rainy day in 1783, England had lost his prized colony, his most valued partner.

England stared at the bottle in his hand. Why did he always do this, drinking himself into a stupor on America's birthday? He knew he was invited and welcome at his former charge's party. For whatever reason, England could never bring himself to go though. Shaking his head, England finished the bottle, frustrated. The nation was so preoccupied with his own thoughts he never saw the next person that entered.

"Iggy! I finally found you!" The tone of relief in America's voice was unmistakable. "Dude, I've been calling and texting you like all day, but you never answered!"

England regarded America with a pained expression, then turned away. The last person in the world that he wanted to see at the moment was somehow standing right there. "My mobile is turned off. I need to be alone. Don't you have a party to get to anyways?"

America plopped down on a bar stool beside England. "Nah, dude."

England whirled to face America, glaring. Why did the git not take a hint? And was his party already over? That did not seem remotely possible though, considering that the current the time was only about 11:00 pm. The Frog told stories of past birthday parties that had sometimes lasted until dawn. "What?" England managed to choke out at last.

"It's always fun to see everyone and all, but I never see you at my birthday party," America pouted. "I wanted to spend this birthday with my big brother for once!" He beamed at England.

England stared at America as he absorbed what the other nation had just said. America had canceled his party to spend the night with him. And America had called him his big brother. England shook his head. This was all just too much. "How in the bloody hell did you even find me, you git?" England sputtered.

"Meh, it wasn't really that hard considering this is the same place you always come to." The nation shrugged. "So whaddya say? Let's go back to my place and play some video games, watch a scary movie, or something? Someone has to help me finish the cake that France dropped by earlier too!" America looked at England with puppy eyes.

After a long silence, England slid off his stool. "I guess going to your place beats sitting here alone all night. Can't have you watching one of those bloody movies alone anyways." America flashed his trademark idiotic grin and pumped his fist in the air, much to England's annoyance. The two nations exited the pub.

The war had ended over two hundred years ago. England knew that the feelings he had for this time would never completely go away, but perhaps if he tried to move on the pain would lessen.

That night, America celebrated what he would consider one of this best birthdays ever.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please please please do leave feedback! It's ridiculous how reassuring reviews are! How are the characterizations?