Author's Note: This is just a short oneshot I really wanted to write when I read the "Make a British Food" strip in the Lazy Comic Country series. I've taken a liking to little America and England's relationship as "brothers" back before the events of the Revolutionary War (the "Cleaning out Storage" strip).

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers.

Baked Scones

The scone on his plate was so burnt that America couldn't even tell it was food anymore. He tentatively poked at it with his fork, trying in vain to scrape off some of the black crust that had been baked – no, scorched – across the former pastry. Cold, sickening dread settled in his chest when he realized that it was darker still underneath that initial layer.

America swallowed past a lump in his throat, gripping his fork with a small, white-knuckled hand. Aw, geez, England burnt it again. I…I can't eat this. France is so much better at making food, too…

"What's wrong, America? I thought you liked scones."

America's head snapped up at the sound of his older brother's voice. England was sitting across from him at the little white breakfast table, a soft but expectant grin spreading over his lips.

"I do," America insisted, the frown melting from his face. He couldn't disappoint England – not when he looked like that.

America looked back at the black pastry on his plate with a quiet sigh. He timidly stabbed it with his fork – part of him was afraid it would try to move or crawl away when he did that – and held it in front of his face. He took another quick breath before he shoved it in his mouth.

America didn't think it was possible, but the scone tasted even worse than it looked. It was too crunchy and hard – the strange texture alone was enough to make his belly churn. He chewed the pastry as fast as he could and swallowed it down; it took every ounce of willpower in his tiny body to keep the smile on his face. The scone hit his stomach like a brick, and it was all he could do to keep from gagging.

"D-Delicious!" he said when he thought it was safe to open his mouth again. "This is really delicious, England!"

England's grin widened. "Really? You liked it?"

"M…Make some more, please!"

England reached forward to gently pat him on the head. "I see. I'm glad! I'll bake more when I come to see you again."

The young America nodded eagerly. His older brother's happiness – his approving smile, the joy in his tone when he promised to visit again and make more scones – was almost enough to make the growing ache in America's stomach disappear.

His brother had the worst cooking he had ever tasted, but America was glad that it was England who had taken him in when he was lost and alone.