Hey there! So this is my first fic for Hetalia: Axis powers and while it is kinda weak (at first at least I think) I assure you it gets better and I have far more original ideas on the way! To my other readers who are probably all "Wtf? This isn't Death Note/ and anime we know!!11!!" 1) you should go watch and/or read Hetalia RIGHT NOW because it's amazing. And 2) I am getting the next chapter of "Fictionally Impaired" together but, and this is no lie, Synonymousbrian is in China right now so I just need about a week more *looks anxiously at angry mob*. So anyway, I hope this hold everyone of my readers over who watches/reads Hetalia and breathes life into the severly lacking fan fiction comunity cetered around this series which seems to have only taken over the fan art part of the internets.
Enjoy!
It was the night after the war ended, and all the heavily built up tension of the last four years had broken, giving way to exhilaration that was quickly drowning in drunken merriment. For one crystalline moment it seemed as if no difference could separate anyone anymore, all the allies and their friends shared the same pain and the same joy all together as one that night. England's house was abuzz with the party of epic proportions that had somehow made its way to his doorstep, and for once in his life he actually allowed himself to loosen up a bit and show that he was truly happy. It didn't take him long to find his way to the liqueur, he was England after all, and through the thin fog of gin and vodka that was beginning to obscure his vision he could make out the shape of America mixing with the crowd formed around him. Even though he still couldn't completely control his urge to act like the hero, this was one night where that idea wasn't entirely untrue. Yes, England thought, it was a fact that every one of the allies was a hero tonight, but in the end if it wasn't for America they might all have failed. Still, the island couldn't help but roll his eyes at his former colony striking heroic poses and recounting tales of bravery at each of the battles he had fought in.
England felt his stomach tighten for some reason as the taller country made his way closer towards the side of the room he was standing on, but didn't look up to see him. What the bloody hell was that all about? England never felt like this when he was even the slightest bit drunk. Yet as the spectacled nation walked closer and closer towards him, England felt the knot in his gut twist tighter. The smaller country was sure he could easily remedy this by walking out of the room, and out of America's sight, but he was also sure it was the last thing he wanted to do. Oh god, not this again! England had started to feel this way during the war when America had been spending so much time at his house. It was easy to pass it off at the time as being nothing more than the rekindling of friendship between two estranged nations that had once been brothers to each other, but now the war was over. They were mostly friends again, so why was the feeling still there?
England put his glass down on a nearby table, and tried to clear the gin from his head as he found his balance and strode up to America to formally thank him for helping the allies win the war.
"Hey America," England called as he walked up to the taller nation.
"Hey look its little Brittan!" America shouted, cutting him off. "Come here and let me thank you!" The larger Country leaned forward to pat England on the back, causing him to loose his footing and tumble forward into the taller country's suddenly outstretched arms with a small gasp of shock.
"Heh, sorry there. I should have anticipated you being drunk like everybody else."
England looked up to say something, but forgot his words as his eyes met with America's. As his former colony looked down there was a change in his eyes too, but England thought this was probably just his somewhat worried reaction to his former sovereign not being able to generate a response, much less stand up straight. Bollocks why was he acting like this?
"Well…" England tried to formulate a conversation through the alcohol that was beginning to make his stomach churn. "Don't act so high and mighty just because you tried to quit drinking!"
In retrospect, this was probably not the smartest thing to say, but to his surprise America laughed "I never really quit drinking, that was one of the biggest jokes in history. To be honest though, I'm still not really that crazy about alcohol, but I like it fine!"
England assumed this was funny and gave a sort of half meaningful laugh.
"Is that a smile?" America said leaning forward "Could it be that I've made the mighty United Kingdom show emotion??"
"Oh shut up you Yankee hick!" England snapped back, and tried to walk away while tripping and falling into nearly everybody en route to the exit. When he did finally reach the hallway and fell onto his knees on the hard tiled floor, he felt a warm hand on his back. Looking back over his shoulder England saw the face of America once again, his face filled with concern.
"Look, are you ok? Let me take you to your room." England made many cries and protests as America hoisted the smaller nation onto his back and carried him all the way to his room. Laying him down on top of the sheets, he frowned as England's face of hard anger washed away into one of pitiful defeat. America sat down next to England on the bed and unbuttoned his military jacket, so the nation could breathe a little easier. "I guess it's just the festivities that have you feeling like this." The younger country whispered.
"…No its…no." England whispered after a long pause.
America leaned in closer "Then tell me what is wrong."
"You don't care. You never care about anyone but yourself!"
"That's not true! If I didn't care about anyone else then why would I save you and everyone else? Tell me what's really wrong because I-"
America found himself unable to complete his thought, as he found his lips sealed shut by England's. His mind became a complete blank, and couldn't even think of an accurate or witty response when his former master slipped back down on the bed sheets and turned his head towards the window, not wanting to see what kind of look America might have on his face.
"That's what's wrong."
America touched a hand to his lips in a kind of blind shock, while his mind tried to put the correct words together "England, why didn't you tell me?"
England's head snapped back like a cobra as his whole body stiffened "Why? Why, you insolent little child?! Maybe because I'm supposed to hate you! Maybe because you left me and humiliated me before the rest of the world like some old nanny! Maybe because you were the worst bloody thing that ever happened to me, and your very existence is a constant reminder of how weak, and pathetic, and useless I've become nowadays! I shouldn't love you; I should hate and despise you! And if anyone else ever found out about me and how I feel I would never live it down! So that's what's got me so fucking upset you little wanker, are you happy now?!"
America said nothing for a moment, he simply looked down at the older nation with half closed eyes that England thought for a moment seemed far older than his barely 170 years. Then, removing his glasses and placing them on the nightstand, he leaned in again and this time planted the kiss on England's lips.
That was the first night they made love, America had to be so gentile because of all the scars and bruises England had etched all over his body. Afterward they simply stared at each other, neither saying nor doing anything else for what seemed like an eternity. America was first to break the silence.
"I don't think either of us thought it would come to this."
England gave a slight smile and let his eyes droop down halfway. "So you felt the same way too? This whole time you-" His lips swallowed the words, as if saying them might break some fragile spell that hung in the air.
"There's no doubt that I love you." America said so relieve England of his burden, while allowing himself to steal a kiss from England's lips. "To be honest I always knew I felt something towards you, but until tonight I don't think I've ever admitted to myself that it was love."
England closed his eyes, he supposed it was true that he always wanted to hate America a lot more than America disliked him, yet somehow these words played on fears that had been at his core for what seemed like ages now. He looked at his pillow briefly and thought if it was even worth mentioning on this night when everything seemed to be going so right for him, America saw this quick faltering however, weak as his eyes were.
"What's wrong?"
England rolled on to his other side so that his back was facing America. "This isn't just for tonight, right? I mean, I hate being rude and all but," he took a deep sigh. "I see the way others are around you, like the way France kissed you tonight. I know I shouldn't be jealous over someone like France acting like that but it's not just him, people like you and some would kill to be in my place right now. I just don't want to have to share you."
England closed his eyes, expecting America to get all upset and say how it was typical for England to do something like this and then get all flustered and worried about it, but instead felt the larger country's hand rest reassuringly on his shoulder and his lips softly plant a kiss on the back of England's neck.
"I'm sorry you feel that way." America whispered, turning England over to face him. "But listen to me, no matter what others may try to do to us, what we shared tonight and what we have here is special, and no one will be able to touch that." Having said that, America proceeded to kiss every scar, burse, and cut on the older country's face and chest.
"How do you keep yourself together when you've been through this much?" America asked, full of amazement.
England smiled up into his former colony's face. "Aw come off it, you big baby! These aren't that bad!"
America smiled and decided to drop the subject, instead deciding to let his blue eyes lock into England's green and watch as they slowly drooped down into sleep.