Hi! I'm applechan53. This is may first EVER fanfiction, so I hope you like it. I don't own Hetalia- Hidekaz Himeruya does (thankfully!). I'm not sure how often I'll update this, since my schedule will be changing soon for summer break. But I'll try to do it whenever possible, so bear with me.
Oh, and by the way, this is just a family story. There may be some minor heterosexual pairings, but nothing huge. I just don't do yaoi and yuri.
Okay, I'm just babbling now. On to the story! \(^o^)/
It's a bright and beautiful morning, same as usual. The birds are chirping as they flit from tree to tree, a little white bunny hops happily through the woods, the colorful, shining fish flop in and out of a giant, winding river snaking around the house. The sky is a brilliant blue, with only a few white, puffy clouds dotting it. It seemed like the perfect day…
"Arthur!" a voice yells out, causing a flock of geese to fly up into the sky in a panic. "You came!"
"Well of course I came, you bloody idiot! You invited me; what kind of a gentleman would I be if I turned down an invitation without good reason?" England answered angrily.
"Yeah, yeah, no kind of gentleman at all. I get it, Artie. Just come in," Alfred says impatiently, having heard the spiel a million times before. His blue eyes glittered in the early morning light behind their gold-rimmed glasses, which complement his light brown hair well, even though it's highly unkempt by Arthur's standards, what with that little piece that always likes to stick up at the end.
"Well, I'll have you know that that 'spiel' is actually quite important; King George himself said it to me. Once," he admitted. His emerald green eyes sharp in contrast to his now-red cheeks.
Alfred rolls his eyes. "I swear you worship that guy too much."
Arthur's thick eyebrows come together under his blonde hair. "I do not! I give him due respect, nothing more. If anything, you lack a reverence for your leaders!"
"Yeah, okay," Alfred says, trying not to laugh. He's heard all this so many times; it's not worth it to get mad over something so small.
"So why'd you invite me all the way out here anyway?" England asks innocently.
Alfred stiffens. Does he really not remember? "No reason…" he says, trying to sound nonchalant and not hurt, like he really is. It's just, you'd think your own father would remember your birthday; the day you left him forever. Do I really mean so little to him?
"Oh… okay," Arthur says, not sure what else to say.
"I'll carry your stuff upstairs," Alfred says, taking the bags upstairs.
Arthur turns his head. What has Alfred so upset? It could be… no. Alfred wouldn't bring him out here for that, would he? It is his birthday, even if it's the day my heart died. England thinks to himself morosely.
Alfred walks back downstairs, a fake-happy expression on his face. "Your room is ready. I made sure there's plenty of room, in case you want to practice your 'magic' or whatever it is you call that stuff."
Arthur blinks, unused to any level of consideration from his- former- son. "T-thank you," he stutters. "I'll make sure to find time to do that tonight."
They spend the day trying to get used to each other's company, which takes a while. Eventually they manage to remember how the other person works, adding new personality traits as they go. By nighttime, things could almost be called normal between them.
Almost.
"'Night," Alfred says, standing and yawning.
"Good night," Arthur corrects.
"Ugh! You know I don't care about all that grammar stuff. As long as you understand me, it's cool," Alfred whines.
"Grammar is not stuff," Arthur objects, "a proper gentleman must know how to use proper grammar!"
"Well, maybe I don't want to be a proper gentleman!" Alfred cries.
"I don't believe that's how I raised you," Arthur says, raising his voice a little.
"Raised me? You were hardly ever there!" Alfred yells, then, realizing what he just said, covers his mouth.
Arthur's eyes go blank as he retreats into his shell. "I see…"
"Wait just a sec; I didn't mean that…" Alfred says.
"No, you're right. I suppose I didn't really raise you if I was never there. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go practice some magic now."
"Wait, please," Alfred pleads, but he knows it's no use.
"Good night," Arthur bows, then leaves.
Alfred buries his head in his hands. How was he ever supposed to make up for this?
When he reaches the guest bedroom, Arthur collapses onto the bed. Being alone forces him to think. Could it be true? If he was hardly ever there, did he count as a father? Did he have a right to miss his "son"?
Maybe I should just end this. England thinks to himself, reaching for his magic wand. But just as he's about to utter the words, he remembers something vital- he can't die.
With a groan, he falls back onto the soft down feather bed. I wish I could go back to the old times. He thinks, remembering how innocent he was, even though the time itself was awful for him. With that, he drifts off, never seeing the light envelop the house and carry it away.