Wake up…

England stirred a little bit in his sleep at the noise, but nonetheless, he remained asleep.

Come on, wake up…

England muttered something as he slept, and his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. He stirred again, and covered his head, trying to block out the sound.

WAKE UP!

England's eyes alarmingly shot open out of shock. His heart raced a bit, but when he realized that no one was there, he let his shoulders relax, and he sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck, and inhaled the warm air that surrounded him. It smelled like…fresh grass?

He rubbed his eyes and groggily looked around at his surroundings. He was outdoors, near the end of a meadow, and he sat against the trunk of a large tree. He must have dozed off when taking a walk through the meadow near his home probably.

England let his vision focus, and allowed himself to take in the landscape better. It looked like it was around springtime, judging by the way the flowers bloomed along the tall blades of grass and how the birds chirped merrily in unison. And how the sun was shining brightly overhead, England figured that it was sometime in the afternoon. When did he get here exactly and how long had he been sleeping outside so carelessly?

With an annoyed groan, he used the side of the trunk to assist him with standing up. He leaned lazily on the tree's great trunk and let his eyes fall again. The relaxing atmosphere around him was taking him back into his trance…

"ENGLAND~!" a high-pitched yet sweet voice called from behind him. England recognized the voice from somewhere. Somewhere that was in the back of his memories. Could it be…

England turned around quickly, not believing what he had heard. Eyes wide with anticipation, his head was repeating the same phrase over and over.

It can't be. It can't be. It can't be. It can't be-

Emerging from a tuft of green grass was a young boy with a bright, cheery face. Dirty blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a piece of hair that bobbed happily on the top of his head. It was definitely him. America. But he was young again. The little boy with no home, but received one when England took him in.

England felt his face flush. It this some sort of an illusion? America had grown up into his own country many years ago. Why was he here, at the age that he was when England first took him in as his own brother?

The British man said nothing as the little America darted at him, face glowing with joy. He was too much in shock to acknowledge the situation. It was only when America jumped up on England and wrapped his arms cutely around the Brit's shoulders when England decided to greet America.

"H-Hello, America." He stuttered, still unsure if this was the REAL America.

"Hi England! I was looking all over for you, and I finally found you out here~!" the small boy chirped, proud of his accomplishment.

England was still uncertain if America was really in front of him, but he smiled gently and decided to play along for a while. When he had America as a colony; that is when he was happiest. He had nothing to worry about, because when he came home, no matter what happened, America would run towards him and welcome him home with his sweet, childish voice. England grinned wider at the bittersweet memory.

America giggled as England held him in a lasting embrace. England took America and set him down slowly from his shoulders and placed him on the grass. America looked up at him, his eyes sparkling innocently.

England took a second to really look at the child. This little America was the true image of purity and innocence. Nothing bad could ever come from him. He was sweet, caring, and was always there when England had needed him. Tilting his head to the side, England smiled at America again.

"Come on, America. Let's go home, shall we?" England offered, kneeling down on one knee and holding his hand out for America to receive it.

America looked at his hand curiously. Then he looked up at England's face, a wide, toothy grin plastered across his face. "England. I'm so happy to have you as my big brother! I love you so much, so don't ever leave me, ok?" he asked the Brit.

England's eyes widened in a bit of shock, but quickly composed himself. "Of course America. I will always be with you. Forever." He grinned at the American boy reassuringly.

America's face lit up again and he gently took England's hand.

Then the moment their fingertips touched, a bit of smoke overlapped their hands. England looked back behind him and saw the smoke that was creeping quickly over the hill. Frantically, he turned back to face America, but saw that the smoke surrounded him from behind.

England blinked and rubbed his eyes, but still, he saw nothing but swirling clouds of gray overhead.

"A-AMERICA!" he yelled as loudly as he could. England's lungs were filled with the deadly toxins of the smoke. He coughed and hacked violently as his eyes were stinging and blurred.

"America!" He shouted again, weaker than before.

Then from the shadows of the smoke, he could see what seemed like a figure of a man racing towards him. England rubbed his eyes and squinted at the figure. Who could that-

England could feel a heavy military boot hit him directly in the stomach. England's breath was lost from the sudden impact of the hit, and he clutched his stomach with a groan. Without seeing the figure, England was forcefully shoved down, and into the mud beneath him.

England was on the ground, on his hands and knees, and saw smoke that grazed the surface of the gray-brown mud beneath him. His eyes widened at the familiar smell of gunpowder and the screams of soldiers. He lifted his hands from the muddy terrain slowly and shakily and noticed the sleeves from the jacket that he was wearing.

It was a red coat. The one he wore from when he participated in the Revolutionary War so many years-

England's heart nearly stopped from this realization. His throat became dry and a lump formed in the middle of his throat as he realized where he was. He lifted his head weakly to look at the figure that had forced him down to the ground.

Standing above him was a grown man, proudly showing off his superiority through his military uniform's colors. Red, white, and blue. His colors. The colors that showed his independence; his desire for separation.

The tears welled up in England's eyes as he was forced to live through this day again. Standing before him was the one person who he could go to for comfort. The one person who kept him happy all of these years when he needed some cheering up. Britain stared weakly, defeated, at his former beloved colony.

No. His former beloved brother.

So. I'm back with more ideas :3

This was actually a request from a good friend of mine, and I decided to give it a shot ^_^

((I still have to finish my GerIta story, soon…))

if you're currently confused on what the heck is going on, it will ALL be explained next chapter :D but I bet you can probably figure it out with the transitions and stuff :O

Ok. Feel free to leave comments ^_^

Ciao!