Some Things Cannot be Brought with to Adulthood
Long before the independence of America…
"America?"
England knocked on the boy's room. It was one of the weeks when America was at his place, and America had been playing outside for some time. In the evening England had went looking for him, but found him nowhere.
Therefore, England was now knocking on America's door, expecting some sort of reply. When none came, he carefully tried the doorknob. The door swung open, revealing the room England had learnt not to put his feet in. Things appeared as though they belonged nowhere, dust lay in thick layers on the uppermost shelves, and the writing desk was overflowing with books America never bothered to read.
But America himself was not there.
England frowned worriedly. He had by now searched the ground floor and first floor. He had looked in the basement and the gardens – even peeked into the wing America was not allowed to enter alone.
He closed the door to America's room and headed for the end of the corridor where a set of narrow, steep and well hidden stairs led up to the attic. He did not expect the child to be there, but it was worth a try. He had found America in the strangest places before.
He climbed the stairs and pushed up the ledge. It was heavy, and the hinges appeared to be a little rusty. He would have to take a look at that later.
"America?" he called, peeking into the dusty room.
Somewhere in there he heard stifled sobs.
England pushed the ledge fully up and climbed the last steps, before propping the ledge up so it would not fall shut.
"Anyone here?" he called softly, making his way through the overfilled room. There was only one window there, and a large cobweb covered it. Dust lay in thick layers on everything. Under a white, dusty sheet, he recognized the shape of a chair he remembered he had used to love. And there, on top of some boxes, lay one of his last bows, accompanied with a quiver. Only two arrows were still in it, but it brought back nostalgic memories anyway.
He passed a table that was partly hidden by boxes and other old things. Then he stopped and retraced his steps. He knelt and shove aside one of the boxes. There, curled up under the table, was America, sniffling softly.
"America?"
The boy glanced up, a haunted look in his eyes. For a moment it appeared as though he would flee from England, but then he instead threw himself into England's arms with such force he nearly made the elder topple over.
England quickly regained composure, and wrapped his arms around America. "What's the matter?" he asked softly.
"The other kids bullied me 'cause I'm small!" America replied, before bursting into tears again, sobbing into England's shirt.
England sighed and shifted into a more comfortable posture, taking America in his lap, and carefully whipping the child's eyes. "You're not that small anymore. You have grown very much since the last time you came to visit me! We measured you yesterday, did we not?"
"But they said-"
"America", England interrupted him, taking his face between his hands. "Don't listen to what everyone says. People will constantly try to corrupt you into what they believe, or be mean to you just because you have something they envy or want."
America was quiet for a moment. "What if they bully me again?" he then asked, the tears still visible in his eyes.
England smiled. "Then you prank them."
"Really?" America exclaimed, lighting up as if the sun drove clouds away.
"Yes. Now, shall we go back down?"
"Stay a little longer? I like it here."
Recently…
"Hey, England! You know what day it is today?"
America stood in England's entrance. He was actually a little surprised that the front door had not been locked, but shrugged it off. Leaving the shoes on, he ventured further into the house, in search of the Britton.
At one point he ended up before the heavy door leading to the wing he very rarely had been allowed into as a child, and even rarer as a grown up. Maybe England had hidden in there? He pushed up the door and peered inside.
"Dude?" he called.
"Who's – hic – there?"
America frowned, his gaze turning to the man half sitting, half laying in one of the armchairs. At the table beside him, stood two bottles of beer, and he had a half filled glass in his hand.
"… what?"
America had heard the other countries retell occasions on which England had got drunk, but never actually seen it. The others used to say he did not want to see England drunk. In a way, they probably were right. He had seen England miserable more than once, but this sight was far beyond that. It made him wonder whether he had ever seen England truly miserable.
"America? Hic – is that you?"
Tentatively America entered the room. "Are you… okay?"
England fought to sit up, but then gave up and simply narrowed his eyes on America. "Bloody idiot", he mumbled, before finishing his glass and putting it on the table. Another hiccup escaped him.
America approached a little more, first now noticing a picture standing beside the beer. It was a really old picture of himself and England as they used to be. For a moment he felt like someone had stabbed him in the heart with something particularly paindul.
He did not realize he had been reaching out to pick up the picture, before England's fist hit him in the arm.
"Lay off it!" England cried angrily, before adding, "You bloody idiot."
America stumbled backwards, rubbing his arm. It did not hurt that much, but it did not matter.
England shakily got to his feet, shaking his fist at America. "Why d'you run off like that?! We could've – hic – talked 'bout it… solved it peacefully." His attitude changed, and he collapsed back into the armchair, staring before him as though nothing matter anymore. "Stupid, bloody idiot", he murmured, but whether it was to himself or anyone else, America did not know.
"We were goin' to – hic – have lunch together, no?" England ventured. "Had planned it for some while, too… Idiot."
America took courage and approached England. The elder did not react. He carefully knelt beside the armchair, looking up at England as he had done so many times before.
"Idiot… Bloody idiot…" England's eyes were glazed over. He probably did not even see America.
America reached out and carefully tapped England's forehead. "Dude, you there?" No reaction. He sighed and rose. Tentatively he gathered England in his arms and carried him out of the room, up to first floor.
When he arrived at England's room, it took him a moment to get the door open, but then the door swung up. He entered and placed England on his bed, before straightening and gazing down on the elder.
"And I who just dropped by to ask why you didn't come to my party yesterday", he said. "Guess that'll have to wait 'till you've slept it off, right?"
England's eyes had been close, but now they fluttered open. "Keep me… company?"
"Dude, you're really out of it", America commented, but did sit down at the bedside.
England laughed softly, his eyes closing again. "Just… a little while."