So, as a warning, this is my first song fic and I don't read them very often, so I'm not entirely sure how they're supposed to look. Not sure how it compares to others, but I'm pretty proud of it. It was inspired by and features 'Little Talks' by Of Monsters and Men, which I don't own. If you've never heard it you should go listen to it now because it's a fantastic song. Actually you should probably just put it on a loop on Youtube as you read this. Nor do I own America and England. You could probably say this is USUK if you really wanted to, but that's not at all what I was going for. Enjoy!

America sighed as he stepped out into the bright sunshine and heat. It was late June so the dog days of late July and August hadn't set in yet, but it was still far too hot and muggy for his tastes. Not for the first time America wondered what had possessed his people to build their capital in the middle of a swamp.

The summer weather only depressed America's mood more as he made his way to his car. He had just gotten out of a very long and unproductive meeting with England, discussing some new economic measure or other, and he was exhausted. It was important of course, but America knew he shouldn't have bothered and he was now wishing that he hadn't tried. England was always unmanageable this time of year.

America unlocked his as he approached it and took his suit jacket off before getting inside. Turning the car on he rolled the windows down and cranked the air up to try and make it feel less like an oven. America headed out of the parking lot and turned the radio on as he pulled into the DC traffic. He was quick to tune the music out as he caught the closing bars of the latest pop song, but he found himself being drawn in as the next song started.

He had just started to tap his fingers against the wheel when he recognized the trumpet in the opening. Ah yes, they had been playing this song a lot on the radio recently. America liked it- it was a good song- but somehow it always brought some very odd memories to the surface. And after what had just happened with England, America found himself drifting deep into the past as the music washed over him. It was another hot and muggy summer sometime in the late 1600s. He had been living with England in what would become Williamsburg at the time…

Hey! Hey! Hey!

I don't like walking around the old and empty house.

So hold my hand, I'll walk with you my dear.

"What's wrong America?" England's infamously thick brows knitted together over his green eyes as he turned away from the documents he had been reading by the flickering candlelight to look at his young charge.

America, who was gripping the edge of the desk with small hands, his bright blue eyes just visible beneath his unruly wheat-colored hair, fidgeted. "I don't want to go to bed," he muttered petulantly.

"America," England replied sternly. "It's late. You need to sleep to be ready for tomorrow."

"But I don't wanna go up there," America protested, his eyes shifting nervously towards the stairs in the corner of the room. "There's a ghost up there."

Startled silence followed America's quite announcement. America waited anxiously, certain the England would laugh or scoff and send him up to bed with a slap on the bottom as punishment. So America was quite surprised when England smiled at him.

"Oh, come on then," England said standing. "I'll walk with you, how about that? You'll be safe from the ghost then."

"Ok!" America exclaimed, pleased he would have his older brother's protection. He took England's offered hand without hesitation and allowed himself to be led upstairs.

The stairs creak as I sleep,

It's keeping me awake.

It's the house telling you to close your eyes.

America's enthusiasm waned, however, as the reached the top of the steps. The house was old- it had been standing since the settlement was first established- and so the floorboards squeaked and creaked with age. America drew closer and closer to England as the walked towards his room, his grip on England's hand becoming vice like.

"Now, now America," England said, trying to keep his wince out of his voice. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"I-I know," America replied, trying to sound brave, but his voice gave away his fear.

England pushed the door of America's room open and the boy raced for the safety of his bed. England chuckled lightly under his breath as he walked over and tucked the sheets around America. "Goodnight," England said, turning to leave.

Suddenly the wind kicked up and the house groaned, it's old eaves and roof complaining about the strong breeze. "W-wait!" America cried and England was surprised at how frightened he sounded. "That's the ghost! I-I think you should stay here. You know, so I can protect you from it."

England did his best to hide his smile as he turned around and looked at America. "I see. I suppose you may be right," he replied, walking back over to America's bed and taking a seat on the foot of it.

"Exactly!" America said, nerves lessening slightly as he grinned widely. "Cause I'm the hero!"

"That's 'because', America," England corrected him absentmindedly. "Now try to get some sleep."

America agreed enthusiastically and snuggled back into his bed. England began to softly hum an old, old lullaby and America drifted off into pleasant dreams.

Some days I can't even dress myself.

It's killing me to see you this way.

'Cause though the truth may vary

This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.

Hey! Hey! Hey!

America snorted lightly as he came back to himself, stopping in just in time for a red light. It was ridiculous now to think how dependent he had been on England back then. He couldn't even fall asleep without England being in the room because he had been so worried about that ghost. Though America would still swear that old house had been haunted.

America sighed again. He truly had depended on England then. But then England had gone away and America had grown up without him. It had been hard at first, but America was strong. Needless to say though England had not been too terribly pleased when he had returned. The child he had left behind had grown into a man who had his own beliefs and ideas.

And then, about a century later, they were at war. The antagonism and animosity that had been building up for decades boiled over and exploded. America and his beloved older brother were fighting each other to the death. America had hated England then. He had faced him and his people on the battlefield without a second thought.

That was, of course, why England was such a prick this time of year. He had never quite gotten over the whole 'I want my freedom' thing.

It was still strange for America to think about.

There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back.

Well tell her that I miss our little talks.

America still remembered the tension between them in 1774. The war had not begun, of course, but it had been fast approaching…

Soon it will be over, buried with our past.

We used to play outside when we were young and full of life and full of love.

"I honestly don't see what you're so upset about!" England shouted angrily, slamming his open palm down on the tabletop. They were both on their feet, glaring heatedly at each other. Outside snow fell silently on the city of Boston as its residents quietly fumed. "The way you and your people have been behaving recently I'd say we're being lenient! There was that whole mess about dumping tea into the harbor last year and now you're drilling your militias? What on God's green Earth are you thinking?"

America was trying to stay calm, but his blood was boiling. Things had been getting bad between him and England for the past several years now. Neither he nor his people liked the way the British were trying to push them around after ignoring them for so long. But this…this was the final straw.

"You really don't understand?" America began quietly, his hands trembling as he clenched and unclenched his fists. "You alter Massachusetts's charter and say our assemblies can't meet. Any British soldier that commits a crime here will be sent over to England and tried there. You shut the harbor down and then you have the nerve, the nerve, to forcibly quarter British troops in American homes?" America was shouting too npw. He slammed his own fists down on the table, threatening to break it, and let all his pent up frustration out. "And you wonder why we're upset?"

"You are a British colony!" Britain roared back. "You have a duty to your crown to do as you are asked!"

"Not like this! You have no right to pass these laws without our say!"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"I'm not being ridiculous! I'm not a child, you can't tell me what to do anymore!"

Suffocating silence fell between England and America as they both glared at each other, panting. Suddenly England smirked, the look in his eyes so infuriatingly superior that America wanted to punch him. "I understand now. I see what this is about." America's only response was to glower. "This is just a phase. You're upset with me because you haven't gotten everything you wanted recently. I've left you alone for too long and now you think you can make decisions on your own."

America saw red. With a cry of pure rage he swept the table aside, sending everything on it flying. He crossed the intervening space between him and England and in a flash had the other man pinned against the wall by the collar of his shirt. "A-America," England gasped, true fear flashing through his eyes.

"You're wrong," America growled lowly, his eyes flashing with anger and something that looked terribly like hate. "This isn't some phase. You've betrayed me and my people, England. You no longer have the right to rule us. And we will not stand for this for much longer."

America dropped England and stepped away, running a shaking hand through his hair. He then grabbed his coat from the back of the only chair still standing and, throwing it on, stalked to the door.

"What're you going to do then? Revolt?"

America turned to see England standing where he had left him, his hand absentmindedly fingering his now ruined collar. England still had that smirk on and the tone of his question had bordered on mocking. This only made America angrier.

Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right.

Your mind is playing tricks on you my dear.

America didn't know where the future would lead him. But he knew that he was angry and that his people were angry. They would not be willing to suffer under British rule for much longer. Maybe they would revolt. Maybe they would declare their independence as a separate country. He knew that people were talking about it and that the idea was gaining traction. If that was what his people wanted then America was beside them all the way.

America met England's eyes. He was no longer the loving child he had been. Whatever had been between him and England was broken now. There was no going back.

"Maybe I will."

America opened the door and stepped outside into the bitter cold and swirling snow. He heard England call after him as the door swung shut behind him, but he ignored it. No going back.

That was the last time America saw England before he was looking down the barrel of a musket at him.

'Cause though the truth may vary

this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.

America sighed heavily. Remembering what had happened afterwards still shook him to the core. Looking back, America realized that England's utter disdain for the idea of America's independence hadn't just been his own innate sense of superiority. In his own way he had been trying to protect America. Being your own independent nation was difficult- something that America hadn't truly appreciated until after the Revolution.

Hey!

Don't listen to a word I say.

But America hadn't listened. He had been too angry, too caught up in his people's emotions. So the war had begun. And what and awful war it had been. America had been in wars before, but not one like that. It had been bloody and awful. All war was. And while the Revolution hadn't been nearly as bad as the Civil War, it had still torn him apart.

Hey!

The screams all sound the same.

Hey!

Though truth may vary this

Ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.

And then the war was over. Things were still tense after Yorktown, but England never made another move. America had been relieved. His people were weary, he was weary. And though he had never admitted it America was sick of fighting England- sick of fighting the person he had loved the most. America's hatred had turned cold and bitter, and by the end of the war all he had wanted was peace.

That peace had finally come in 1783 with the Treaty of Paris. America had just been glad that the war was over finally, officially over and that life could carry on…

You're gone, gone, gone away

I watched you disappear.

All that's left is a ghost of you.

England looked old and pale and tired. The fire America had always seen in his green eyes had been extinguished. He stood as tall and straight as ever- though America had grown taller than him long ago- but an air of exhaustion seemed to drag him down nonetheless.

America wasn't surprised really. He felt much the same. The war had been hard on everyone.

"Well it's done," England said quietly as their respective representatives exited the room where the treaty had just been signed. "You're independent now. Your own country."

"Yea…" America replied quietly. He had been expecting to feel different. A light from heaven and singing angels or something. But he didn't. If anything he felt more tired, the weight of his new nation's well being settling on his shoulders.

"Well," England shifted uncertainly. They weren't comfortable around each other anymore. In fact it was amazing that they were being so civil. America had expected this meeting to devolve into a fist fight. "Good luck, I suppose."

America looked at the hand England offered him in surprise. He got the faint sense of déjà vu as he remembered all the times England had offered him his hand when he was a child, offering him guidance and security. But this was different. England was offering him his hand as his equal. As a gesture of respect. America was quietly stunned.

"Thank you," he replied softly, slowly reaching out and taking England's hand. They shook once, firmly.

Now we're torn, torn, torn apart

There's nothing we can do

Just let me go, we'll meet again soon.

And then it was over. England let go of his hand and stepped away. America could barely keep eye contact with him. It pained him to see the intense hurt in the eyes of the man he had once looked up to and cared for so fiercely. There was more there than the hurt though. There was also regret and a deep, deep sadness that seemed to say 'I know what you're going to face now. And I'm sorry that I'm letting you face it alone'.

America felt his own expression grow mulish in response to that. He wasn't a child to be coddled any longer. He was an independent nation now for God's sake! He didn't need England to babysit him and he hadn't for a long time.

Now wait, wait, wait for me,

Please hang around

I'll see you when I fall asleep.

Hey!

"Goodbye America."

"Goodbye England."

As England walked away America felt a small bubble of hope blossom in his chest. This was an ending, but also a new beginning. America was strong and his people…well they were Americans! They were all destined for great things, he was certain of it.

And America was positive that he had seen a small smile on England's lips as he turned away. Perhaps things would be ok with them one day.

Don't listen to a word I say.

Hey!

The screams all sound the same.

Hey!

Though the truth may vary

This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.

Things between America and England hadn't been much more than genial- and sometimes much less- after that. Their tenuous relationship had been tried multiple times, especially with the War of 1812 and England's mucking about in the Civil War. But the twentieth century had changed all that. Fighting together in two world wars changes a relationship and afterwards America believed that he could call England his friend. Their friendship only got stronger as the century dragged on.

Now, on most days, America was pleased and happy to call England his friend. Sure, they had the tendency to annoy the crap out of each other and argue so much they forgot what they were really arguing about, but if you got down to the heart of it there was now an unshakeable bond between them. America and England were equals now, partners on the world stage with many of the same values and goals. It gave America great pride and joy to know he had a friend like England.

Except…except for the time around July 4th when the ghost of the Revolution reared its ugly head. England was always insufferable this time of year. And there was nothing America could do about it. And he didn't honestly think he should try. It was England's problem not his. It still hurt him a bit that England still wasn't over everything, however. Not that he would ever admit it.

Don't listen to a word I say.

Hey!

The screams all sound the same.

Hey!

Though the truth may vary

This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.

America rubbed his eyes tiredly as he stopped at yet another red light. Silently he cursed the ever-present DC traffic. God he just wanted to get home already, cook up a whole pile of burgers, eat them, and then go to sleep. His was exhausted and wishing, for once in his life, that he would pay more attention to the calendar before he invited England over for a conference.

Just as the light changed America's cell phone began to ring, the tinny, tonal version of 'Grand Old Flag' drowning out the song on the radio. With some difficulty America managed to extract the phone from his pocket. He slipped it open and pressed it to his ear without looking to see who had called.

Summoning up his usual energy America greeted, "Sup dude! You're reached the world's number one hero! What can I do for you?"

There was a pause. And then, "America…" America nearly dropped the phone in surprise as he recognized the heavy English accent.

"England? Dude, what's up?" America was concerned. England never voluntarily called him around this time of year and he never called him, no matter what day of the year it was, with that contrite tone in his voice.

"America, look I…Oh damn it!" America could easily imagine England running a hand through his hair nervously. "I'm sorry I was such a git to you earlier, all right? I…I'd like to make it up to you. My flight doesn't leave until late tonight, so how about I treat you to dinner?"

America was speechless for a moment. England…had just apologized to him? America had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. But when he realized he was awake- the pinch had hurt way too much for this to be a dream- he found himself smiling. Well grinning really. Like an idiot. There wasn't anything America could do to make England less upset around the 4th. But maybe, just maybe, England was finally starting to heal on his own. America suddenly felt so unbelievably happy that he was certain he was floating several inches above the car seat.

"Um, America?"

"Totally dude!"

Though the truth may vary

This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.

Though the truth may vary

This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.

The end! I feel like this was way too long to be a song fic. Also I'm not sure how well I tied the song in, because I could take the lyrics out and it'd still be pretty much coherent. But whatever. So I referenced a lot of stuff in here. I said "in what would become Williamsburg" because Williamsburg wasn't named Williamsburg until 1699 and that scene took place in the 1670s/1680s. The stuff America was talking about that pissed the colonists off so much are the Intolerable Acts, which said pretty much what I said in here. Of course they weren't the only reason we revolted but they were the metaphorical straw that broke the camel's back. Also the Treaty of Paris, which officially ended the war was indeed signed in Paris in 1783. I grew up in the DC area and summers there can be brutal (though not as bad as in some places in the US). And there is also traffic in DC. ALWAYS.

So I realize America might have been a little OOC in this, but I'm inclined to think he's not as much of an idiot as everyone thinks he is (I'm a little biased of course, being American, but eh). Also my goal was to make him thoughtful and introspective and I like to think I accomplished that. And it was good practice for writing dialogue, which I don't think I'm all that good at. I apologize for any spelling/grammar errors. I wanted to post this tonight, so I only read through it once.

And finally PLEASE REVIEW! I would really love to get some feedback on this because it is my first song fic and this is also a lot more serious than the stuff I usually write.

Thanks for reading!

imagination junkie