I'd like to thank those of you who reviewed my other two Hetalia fics. It helped me further sink my teeth into writing for this fandom. (Of course, I'm grateful to all my reviewers!)
Disclaimer: I may live in America, own some things made in China, and speak German, but I don't own Hetalia.
Title: Hearken Unto the Tales of My Younger Years
Synopsis: A story time fic, where America tells what it was like growing up with Britain as a big brother. Well, it's mostly America talking; Britain chimes in here a couple times too. It starts out a little weird, just to let you know.
The clock on the mantle piece chimed the ninth hour of the evening. However, the tiny noise went unheeded as the laughter and conversation below the clock continued. A conference had ended a few hours ago, and after a trip to a local bar, America had suggested they continue the good time back at his place. So, with some of their party slightly inebriated, they piled into their cars and followed the American back to his comfortable abode. That had been over two hours ago, and there was not a single sign of things winding down soon. Not that America minded; he'd just have Tony help him clean up in the morning. The little alien could be annoying at times, but when he cleaned he never missed a spot.
Blue eyes roamed over the room, surveying the surroundings. Japan was playing with America's cat, China was telling Russia a joke, Germany was lecturing Italy about something, and Britain and France were arguing yet again. America just had to laugh whenever those two argued. It was usually over the stupidest of things: hair, food (boy did that push Britain's buttons), and once over who was better at chess. China had raised an eyebrow at that one when the debate had heated up, and America had been rolling on the floor in laughter. By the time he had gotten his giggling under control, America had been the subject of everyone's staring. He had had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing again when he noticed Britain's hands were still around France's throat. America wiped tears out of his eyes, and chuckled.
"Wow, really? Arguing about who the better chess player is? Jeez, and here I thought China already had everybody beat at chess."
Of course, he'd gotten a tongue lashing courtesy of a peeved Brit. Smiling, America shook off the memories as curiosity bade him to focus in on the new argument cropping up between the two rival countries.
"What? How dare you say Charles I was an unfit ruler!"
"Oh come on, it's not like it's not true. He believed in divine right."
So did Louis XIV!"
"Oui, but he reformed France. Your first Stuart ruler only managed to piss people off and get himself killed."
"You bastard! Shall I remind you of the French Revolution? Robespierre, the man who incited the whole bloody thing or was one of its forefathers at least, was killed with the guillotine after rising to power, and pissing a great many people off!"
" Robespierre did not keep the people under a crushing Catholic rule, mon ami."
"This coming from a former Catholic himself!"
France smirked, "This coming from the man who still can't figure out if he's Catholic or Protestant. Of course I can understand why. After the religious toleration of your former queen, the crushing Catholic fist of the Stuart dynasty must have left you so horribly confused."
"You disgusting wanker, I'll not have your filthy French tongue condemning my former rulers any longer! Have at you!"
A tap on America's shoulder made the sandy-blond turn around. Behind him, Japan's worried face scrutinized the fighting. America had to stifle a chuckle as he noticed Japan was still holding the cat.
"Are you not going to say anything to them? It isn't right for them to be fighting in your house."
America smiled back at his friend. Truth be told, he enjoyed watching Britain and France argue because it reminded him of his younger days. It was so much fun to see Britain's face turn red with anger and France dangle him from his paw like a cat toying with a mouse. However, that mouse had sharp teeth, and it was equally amusing when Britain got the upper hand on France, and the long-haired man began to flounder for a rebuttal. Japan was right though. They shouldn't be fighting when they were guests in someone else's home. Besides, America was worried they might break something if the fighting escalated.
From his right, he heard the gruff voice of Germany cut in, alerting America to the fact that it was now just more than him and Japan watching the verbal lashings between countries.
"I think you might want to step in now, lest they start doing some major damage."
America nodded. If Britain and France just kept yelling things would be fine, but no. Soon they would trade fists, then kicks, and inevitably object would start flying. Breakable objects. Expensive objects. Aware of the older countries watching him, America strode up to the arguing duo, and put a hand on Britain's shoulder. America had studied a bit of British history. Growing up with Britain as an elder brother, it had been a requirement to know, inside and out, the history of how his elder brother came to be so powerful. Throughout the many lessons he had been given as a child, he'd often wondered why Britain had chosen to stay loyal to some of his peoples' rulers even though they did things that were obviously not right. Like when Queen Mary I had burned three hundred Protestants, Britain had bitten his tongue and kept silent. This fact had fascinated the young colony. For Britain not to say anything, did that mean that Queen Mary was truly terrible? Little America couldn't imagine Britain not demanding his queen to tell him why she had done such a heinous act. And so, in the fashion in inquisitive children, he had asked Britain just that. In reply, he had received a smile, and been pulled up into Britain's lap, where he was given the explanation.
"You see lad," Britain replied, patting America on the head, "even though she was a queen, she was still human, which meant she made mistakes from time to time. That's not to say I'm completely perfect, but that's not the point. She knew that she was not well-liked among the people, and so I think knowing she had me, her country, standing beside her… I think she could rest a little bit easier. It's that very reason that I swear complete loyalty to whomever is in power at the time. Being a ruler is hard, even more so when you're doing it without the support of your people. Knowing that your country still stands beside you no matter what, makes everything easier for them."
The passion in the older country's voice warmed the young colony's heart. It was not until much later, after he had gained his independence, that he'd learned that the country is as much a subject to the rules of its leader as the people are. However, Britain was not lying when he had told America that because they were only human, and yet had to deal with so much, he would swear undying loyalty to make things easier for them. In fact, America knew that better than anyone. Had seen it with his own eyes how Britain struggled with himself during the reign of George III. Loyalty to the crown ran deep within Britain's blood.
Britain jumped and stopped in mid-sentence when he felt the firm hand clamp on his shoulder. Smoldering green eyes turned to glare at the imbecile who would dare to interrupt a soon-to-be sparring match with his nemesis. His eyes took in a pair of sea blue orbs staring back at him, framed by soft, dirty-blond hair and set behind a pair of glasses. America. He should have known.
"What do you want, git? Come to back up this bouquet-scented bastard?"
"I'm going to quote Marc Antony on this one in regards to Charles I: 'The evil men do lives after them, whilst the good is oft interred with their bones.'"
Britain stared back at him, mouth slightly open. He took a breath to say something, then let it out when he could think of nothing to say. America moved his hand from Britain's shoulder to the back of his own head.
"Yeah, I know it's weird, but I think it kind of fits the situation right now."
For a moment, not a word fell out of Britain's open mouth. His bright eyes continued to gaze at his former charge until the ability to talk crept back into his throat.
"You remember Shakespeare…" The words came out dipped heavily in an incredulous tone. Green eyes, alight with shock and wonder, stared at the young country. "By God, you actually remember some Shakespeare."
"Uh…yeah. You practically beat in into my head when I was a kid…" America trailed off. Why was Britain acting so weird? Was it too much alcohol? No, he had been sober when they'd left the bar. Which had been quite a shock, seeing as how the British man was always the first one under the table whenever the drinks got passed around. His musings came to an abrupt halt when Britain clapped his own hand on America's shoulder.
"Oh that makes me so happy! Looks like some of my good teaching did stick with you after all!"
Confused beyond all belief, poor America could only stare at his former brother. He had to be somewhat intoxicated if he was acting like this, right? Right? From the back of the room, the quiet voice of Russia snuck under the raucous laughter of the Briton.
"You had to learn Shakespeare when you were younger, America?"
America shook off the hand of the laughing Britain and nodded.
"Well yeah. I mean, I grew up with Britain, so it's a given I would have had to learn Shakespeare."
"If I may ask," Japan said, lowering the cat to the floor, "how much did you have to learn?"
"All of it." Was the matter-of-fact reply. The response was met with confused stares.
"What do you mean 'all of it'?" Germany asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, okay maybe not all of it, but I had to learn a heck of a lot."
"Such as?" Germany questioned. America smiled, and plunked down on a nearby chair.
"Since this is probably going to take a while to explain, why don't you guys draw up some seats, and I'll tell you all some stories of what exactly I had to deal with, living with that guy." America said, jerking his thumb over in Britain's direction. 'That guy' bristled when the topic of stories from the past came up.
"America…" The voice was laden with a warning.
America waved a hand, dismissing the Briton's disdain. "Relax. I'm not going to bring up any pre-Revolution. Just some stories about what I had to learn when I was a kid."
Britain huffed. "Fine, but you better not tell them anything embarrassing."
America responded by laughing. "Tell you what Britain, if I tell one on you, you can tell one on me. Sound fair?"
Britain grinned, and America wondered what trap he'd sprung on himself. Too late to back out now. America sighed, and told himself that he'd save the funnier stories for some other time. Preferably, when Britain was no longer in the room.
"Okay, so basically, this guy had me learn almost everything in accordance to Shakespeare. I can't keep track of all the sonnets, plays and whatnots he had me go over. Of course, I think that worst part was learning the plays. We went scene, by scene, by scene. Good grief, this guy took a two hour play and made it into a three week study. No kid should have to be put through that kind of hell."
"I don't recall you complaining." Britain remarked from his position behind America's chair. America turned around and stared at Britain, shocked.
"Are you serious? You don't remember all the times I griped during Romeo&Juliet?"
The shorter man put a finger to his chin and tried to recall those bygone years. After a moment, he snapped his fingers. "Oh, yes I remember now. Romeo, according to you, was a love-sick idiot. You thought Juliet should have spent her time doing other, and I quote, 'girl-related things' because her father made the comment that she was a bit too young yet for a husband. Oh, and how you hated the Friar."
"Well duh!" America said, "If it hadn't have been for his idiotic poultice, then they never would have died. Of course, it wouldn't have killed the friar's messenger to be a little bit more punctual."
Britain smirked. "I thought you were happy when they died."
"In all seriousness yes. It meant that that overdone, romantic trope was finally over, and we could move on to Macbeth."
"Why am I not surprised that a brainless git like you would be bashing such wonderful literature?"
America leaned over to Italy, who was kneeling on the floor beside the chair. " 'He picks at scars that never felt a wound'."*
"So you're admitting you're brainless?"
"No, I'm just saying I hated that play, and nothing you can say will make me like it. Macbeth, The Merchant of Venice, and Julius Caesar on the other hand, now I did like those. Oh, and Taming of the Shrew. I enjoyed that one too."
"What else did you have to do?" Germany asked, interrupting America and Britain. America grinned. Britain groaned inwardly. Since when did this become Tell on Britain Night?
"Okay, dude, get this. No kidding, I had to write essays over most of the plays. And I'm not talking little five paragraph, twenty minute written hack-outs, I'm talking long, drawn out responses on every aspect of the play. Stuff like 'How did Instance X in Act II cause this happening in Act III?' or something along those lines. Mostly, it was just doing a, and I quote, 'well-thought out synopsis and analysis of the entire play, act by act'. I'm telling ya man, if I end up going to hell, the first thing they'll do is hand me a pen and some paper and ask me to write a five page analysis over the events of Midsummer Night's Dream, or Othello."
Japan blinked. His eyes moved from America to Britain. Such a harsh teacher! Japan had never had to go through that kind of learning. China had been quite lax as a teacher, but then again, eastern philosophy told people not to question. What was, was. Western ways of learning sure were strange. Behind America, and off to the left, France was staring at Britain.
"You made him do all that?" he asked, shocked. Poor America! "Not everyone loves Shakespeare you scone-stuffing twit."
"Oh, and have him be like you, an ignorant fool without a sense of decent literature?"
"The essays aren't all France," America cut in, "I also had to memorize certain parts of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, had to read Erasmus' Praise of Folly and Judas Excluded from Heaven, and explain their impacts on secular Europe, and note key differences between Hobbes' and Locke's Social Contracts."
The more America named off, the wider everyone's eyes became. America had to have been no more than a young boy when Britain made him do all this. France stared at Britain.
"You horrible brute, how could you do that to him? Children should be running around free, not stuffed up inside with boring British books. Oh America! Why couldn't you have picked me? I would never have done that to you!" France swooped down and embraced America. Needless to say, the latter was quite creeped out. However, he managed a grin, and a comment that made Britain beam.
"Simple: although living with the stuffy, boring dude was mentally numbing, living with you would have been mentally scarring."
France leapt back as if he'd been hit. "And what right do you have to say that?"
"Canada tells me things sometimes."
All eyes were now on the stuttering Frenchman. America and Britain had the pleasure of seeing an embarrassed blush deepen the more the seconds ticked by on the clock.
"Why is everyone looking at me?" France asked, trying, and failing, to play innocent.
Silence met his inquiry, then from the back, China muttered, "Poor Canada."
America snickered in response. He remembered the tales Canada would tell him concerning all sorts of strange women France would bring home, and the even stranger articles of clothing he would find while helping the maid out with the laundry.
"Once," Canada had told him, "I found this really weird thing in an old box of France's stuff when I was helping him go through some of it." It was here Canada had shuddered. "It wasn't until years later I found out it was a gag ball."
His teeth let go of his tongue, and he turned away from France, who was more than likely either thinking of ways to make America pay, or thinking of ways to build back his reputation, what good of it there was.
"Anyway," America continued, "it wasn't all bad. I mean, my biggest complaint was that Britain wouldn't let me read Dante's Inferno."
"That book was far too mature for someone your age." Britain replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
"And Othello wasn't? With all those crude, sexual jokes?"
Britain didn't grace America with a response.
"I have a question," Russia said from his spot near China, "with all those taxing lessons on Literature, how was Britain with other subjects? Like math for instance?"
Russia's question was met by a snort preceding a flow of giggles. America's shoulder's bounced up and down as the laughter shook his frame. He held onto the arm of the chair so he wouldn't fall out. After a few minutes of uninterrupted laughter, in which Britain continued to get steadily more miffed, America took a breath and sighed.
"This guy? Seriously? Math is not his forte. Not by any means, dude" America wiped a tear from his eye before continuing. "To tell you how bad he is, I mean, he's not completely incompetent, but you know it's bad when the kid you're supposed to be teaching is correcting your math skills."
Seeing Britain was about to verbally lay waste to his former colony, Japan jumped in and spared America. "So what happened?"
"He ended up hiring a tutor." America responded with a shrug. Behind him, Britain huffed, and moved towards the couch, where he sat on the cushion closest to America's chair. He opened his mouth to say something, but America cut him off.
"Speaking of tutors, that reminds me of this one time, and I say this because it wasn't long after the tutor was hired, that I had to chase a wild dog that ran off with some of the laundry."
No one else noticed, but the color drained out of Britain's face. He wasn't going to tell that story, was he? No, he couldn't! Alas, as the short blond tried to convince himself, America kept right on talking. He was however, interrupted by Germany.
"A wild dog ran off with some of the laundry?"
"Yep. Dude, you have to hear this." The smile America had worn earlier now split into a full grin. Britain face-palmed. So he was going to tell it after all. Come on man, stiff upper lip. You can handle this. If worse comes to worse, call Canada some time and ask him for horror stories on France he thought as the melody of America's voice continued to play throughout the room.
"Okay, so, it's a nice spring day, and I've just helped the cleaning lady finish the laundry. She went back inside. I have no clue what Britain was up to, and looking back I don't think I want to know."
Britain pretended not to see the glance France threw at him.
"Anyway, I'm out there, enjoying the sun and the scent of freshly cleaned linens, when this random dog comes up, and for some odd reason, pulls some of the laundry off the clothes line and takes off with it. So, naturally, I chase after it. I can't remember how far I ran, but luckily I was able to get all of the stuff back that the dog stole. When I got back I started re-washing everything, and I noticed a chemise amongst the stolen pieces of laundry."
America would have continued, if not for the fact that he was cut off by a snickering Frenchman. Britain ground his teeth and tried to pretend his face was not starting to turn red. Japan cocked his head in confusion. China looked from the now laughing France to the embarrassed Britain, then back again.
"What's a chemise?" he asked.
America tried to explain, but France tossed in a few snide comments aimed at a blushing Brit before America could open his mouth.
"Oh ho, it seems stuffy Mr. Britain has a few skeletons in his own closet…or should I say chemises? Did you have the wearers gone by the time your little colony woke up?"
In a flash, Britain leapt off the couch, straight into France's face. "You frog bastard! Are you implying that I'm like you?"
"Please, we are not the same. I apparently cover my tracks a lot better than you."
"You son of a-"
Britain would have continued to curse at France if it were not for a stream of water hitting him in the face. His anger melted into confusion as he noticed another stream hit France in the face. The miniature hosing didn't last long, and by the time Britain's hair and face were a good deal damp, America had put down the squirt bottle. Germany tried to hide his smile. Japan raised an eyebrow and looked over at America.
"Hey, don't look at me like that. It worked."
Japan picked up the squirt bottle. "But you have it labeled 'Britain and France'."
"I repeat: it worked."
"You've done something like this before haven't you?" Italy asked.
"All the time."
Britain let out an irritated sigh and made his way back to the couch. The only satisfaction he had was hearing France lament the state of his so-called 'precious, beautiful hair, and delicate skin'. He couldn't resist a snide remark.
"Oh, what's wrong? The 'world-renowned, strong' France can't handle a bit of water to the face?"
Of course, America couldn't resist squirting Britain either.
"Will you stop that?"
"Only of you'll let me finish telling my story."
Britain grumbled under his breath, but sat back down on the couch, drying his face off with his sleeve.
"Okay, anyway," America went on, unfazed, "I went to Britain to ask him what it was. His eyes got big, he dropped the quill he was holding, and just sat there and stared at me for a few minutes. Next thing I know, the chemise is snatched from my hands, and I'm being herded out the door of Britain's study. He was trying to tell me something, but the only words I caught were 'older, other chores, and if not go play'. I found out what a chemise was later on, but man, you guys should have seen Britain's face. It was priceless."
France opened his mouth the say something, but closed it when he saw America raise the squirt bottle. China still looked confused.
"But what is a chemise?"
"Look it up." Britain growled. America chuckled. "What?" Britain asked.
"Nothing." America replied, with a wave of his hand.
"Don't lie to me."
"Just remembering your face. Hilarious."
"Hmph, I'll have you know, that in comparison to that frog over there, I was what you would call a model older brother."
France coughed. China raised an eyebrow. Germany and Japan looked at each other, confused. America grinned.
"Says the guy who lost me in the snow."
"You lost him in the snow?" the other nations chorused.
"Hey! He was little, and there was a lot of snow on the ground!"
"Still," Russia pressed, "how do you lose someone in the snow? Unless they are wearing white, or you are careless, it is pretty much impossible.
"Okay, let me explain," he turned to face a bouncing America with his hand up, "No. I will tell the story. You sit there and be patient. And don't you think about squirting me in the face! I'll tell them some stories on you!" America put his hand down, and did not reach for the squirt bottle. With the threat of aqua assault removed, Britain felt more comfortable continuing.
"In an event, it was the middle of winter and the snow had been coming down hard all day. America was helping me bring in some firewood. As we were making our way back inside, I turned around to speak to him, to find that he was nowhere to be seen."
"Naturally, Britain reacted by panicking." America added.
Flashing emerald eyes spat fire at the American.
"What?" America questioned, eyes glowing with feigned innocence, "you always panicked."
The biting remark on his tongue was forced into the back of his mind. Britain opted for rolling his eyes instead and continued.
"At any rate, I dropped what I was holding, and began to search for him, thinking he'd run off. However, when I started looking around, I couldn't find any foot prints leading away from the back of the cabin. It was then that I heard this tiny little voice calling out to me from within the snow. Apparently, he'd fallen through."
Russia chuckled. "That happened to me once when I was little. It took me quite some time to dig myself out."
"You pulled him out right?" Japan asked.
Britain nodded. "Of course I did. It took a while though because the snow kept falling in the hole, and attempting to bury the poor, little poppet."
America raised an eyebrow at the old nickname. Britain hadn't referred to him as 'poppet' in decades.
"Once he was out of the hole," Britain continued, "we went inside and made sure to get quite warm by the fire."
"You left out the best part." America piped up.
"Pray tell, what is that?"
"The part where once we were back inside, you turned around to put the wood into the fireplace, and realized you'd left it outside." America giggled. "The curses that flew out of your mouth, man! They would have made a sailor drop his jaw. Of course what was even funnier, was when you realized I was in the room."
"What happened then?" France asked, smirking.
"He started spluttering, and telling me that I didn't hear anything he had just said. Then told me to stay put, rushed outside, left the door open might I add, ran back in with an armload of firewood, kicked the door shut, tripped over his own feet, and watched helplessly as the logs sailed out of his arms. Luckily though, they landed in the fireplace. After Britain picked himself up off the floor, I shut the door, made him sit down, and got him some tea." America looked over at Britain and smiled. It was a warm smile, full of tender sympathy. "You just couldn't win, could you?"
Instead of the annoyance he told himself he should be feeling, Britain could only smile back, and feel the tiny stirrings of warmth he had once held for America flicker for a bit.
"No, I couldn't win. But the tea helped. Made me feel like I'd grabbed a come-back victory."
America's smile widened. "I try."
Britain chuckled. "You certainly do. Just like that time you tried to help wax the floor. You-"
The rest of his sentence dissolved into a fit of giggles. Germany quirked an eyebrow. America resisted the urge to put a hand to his head. He knew what story was coming next. The again, he did promise Britain that he would be able to tell on him. As soon as the Briton had gotten himself back under control, he sighed.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be laughing. You were hurt, it's just-" Here Britain began laughing again. America huffed, not amused.
"Are you going to sit there and laugh, or are you going to tell the story?"
The Englishman coughed in a final attempt to throttle his laughter. "Yes, sorry. Alright." Britain inhaled, further quelling any mutinous strains of laughter that might have tried to sneak up on him later on.
"America had decided that he would help the cleaning woman and wax the floor. Don't get me wrong, he did a good job…but he ended up using too much."
"I did something like that once at Mr. Austria's house once! Boy, was he mad." Italy interrupted, grinning.
"That's because you did it in his piano room. A place he likes to frequent." France explained.
"America did it in my study." Britain said.
France blinked. He turned his head to look at America.
"Don't look at me." the blond in the chair stated, determined to defend his pride. Italy snickered. America glared down at him.
"That's-" Italy began.
"If you finish that sentence with 'what she said', I'm going to pop you."
Italy remained quiet. Britain shook his head, and continued telling his tale.
"At any rate, since I had no knowledge of this, I became a bit concerned when the afternoon drew near, and I still had not seen hide nor hair of America. I went upstairs, and then I heard the noise of a door shutting. I went towards the sound to find America outside my study, with a container of floor polish in his hand. I asked him what he'd been doing, and he'd told me that he'd polished the floor in my study. I was a bit taken back by the gesture, but grateful for it, as it had been quite some time since the floor in there had been taken care of. Then America noticed he'd left the cloth he'd used behind in my study, and turned back to get it. He opened the door, and stepped inside." Britain tried to choke back a snicker. "The minute his foot hit the floor, he slipped, slid clear over to the other side of the room, and smacked right into the far wall."
Britain attempted to say more, but a few snickers found their way up and out of his mouth. America glared at him.
"That's not funny. It hurt when I hit the wall."
"How hard did you hit it?" Japan asked.
"Hard enough to knock a couple pictures off the wall." America replied.
"I know, I know." Britain said after he'd taken care of his snickering, "and I was concerned when you hit the wall with that amount of force, it's just-" A bout of air sailed into his lungs. Damn it, that laughter just wouldn't give up! "Just remembering the way the expressions on your face shifted so fast. One second your were happy and smiling, the next shocked and frightened, and finally you looked so dazed and confused when you'd stopped you five second flight across the floor."
"Yeah," America said, voice laden with contempt, "hitting the back of your head on a solid wall will do that to you."
"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't laugh. But you were fine."
"I remember hearing something similar when I fell out of that oak tree and fractured my arm."
Britain let out an indignant squawk. "Your arm looked perfectly fine! There were absolutely no purple marks on it, and it wasn't swollen either!"
"No, but boy I sure screeched like a banshee when I went to get dressed the next day. I think you believed me after that." America replied, a self-satisfied smirk woven onto his lips. Britain glared at his former colony.
"You wouldn't let me live that down either."
"I still don't."
Britain sighed. America didn't. Occasionally, he would catch America telling that story to some other country at a world meeting whenever there was a break. He still remembered when America had told that story to Sealand. The boy was not supposed to have been at the meeting, but he'd hidden himself underneath the table just so he could be a part of it and listen to what everyone else had to say. After Sealand had gotten tossed out, America had gone and told him that story to cheer him up. Naturally, Sealand had pestered Britain after that, but he soon left the Brit alone after having quite a few frightening threats aimed at him. He opened his mouth to fire off a verbal missile, when, like it had done so many times in the past, the loud voice of America cut him off.
"Woah! It's almost eleven o' clock!" he exclaimed.
Eyes of various shades and colors sailed up to the clock on the mantle to confirm the statement. Sure enough, the minute hand of the clock hovered just underneath the fifty-five mark while the hour hand stuck it out in between the ten and eleven. America's eyes still bugged out on his watch, almost begging the tiny thing to be playing a trick on him.
"Wow," Italy said, "I didn't realize it was getting so late."
"Neither did I." China remarked.
"Well, I think we all should be heading out now." France stated, turning towards the door.
The other countries nodded, and began rising from the respective sitting positions. America stood and turned to look out the window.
"You sure you want to head out? It's awful dark outside, and with the way things are looking and the recent weather reports, this area's going to be socked with some pretty heavy rain. Are you guys going to be alright driving in those conditions?"
Right on cue, a rumble of thunder sounded from overhead. Seconds later, a flash of lightning cracked open the sky and unlocked the floodgates of the downpour the weatherman had been predicting all week. Italy squeaked when the lightning illuminated the clouds, and ducked behind Germany. The taller nation rolled his eyes at his friend's incompetence. It was just a thunderstorm. Then again, Italy was afraid of his own shadow, it's not like he should be expecting anything grand from the Italian. Britain smiled. Seeing Italy like that reminded him of when America had been young. Whenever a storm had torn its way, growling and snapping across the land, he would always have a tiny colony sleeping with him, terrified by the loud sounds outside. He looked over at the nation that the colony had become. America stood by the window, watching the rain fall and give vitality to the ground and foliage surrounding the house and the areas beyond. His gaze followed the rain as it came down in a steady pour; he didn't flinch when the thunder snarled or when the lightning shrieked. Rather, he took in the storm with a curious, some-what awed silence. The smile on Britain's lips tugged harder. America had come a long way from cowering from a simple act of nature.
"I'm not afraid of driving in these conditions." Russia said. "After all, I drive through horrible blizzards, a little water won't scare me."
America turned from his vigil at the window and nodded. "Just be careful. The roads might get a bit slick."
"Please, black ice is way worse than a splash of water."
America had to agree with that.
"I'm going to be head out as well. I have a flight back to catch tomorrow." China said.
"So do I." Japan added.
"Do you want me to see you guys to the door?" America asked.
"That is very nice of you, but no thanks." Japan told him, smiling. However, America was not one to be put down. Sure people accused him of being arrogant, a few cards short of a full deck, and a loud-mouth, but he was polite to his guests. Even if they were former enemies.
"Hey, Tony." America called. The little gray alien peered into the room. He looked at the people gathered there, then at America. "Would you mind showing these guys out?"
Tony nodded and led Russia, China and Japan towards the door. After the three of them were out and on their way, America turned back to the four people still left in his living room. He first looked to Italy, who, while standing, still shook like a leaf in the wind. America smiled.
"I'd take it you'd like to stay here for the night, Italy?"
The happy-go-lucky country perked up his ears. Not to mention his demeanor.
"Really? You'd let me stay the night here?"
"'Course. I used to be terrified of thunderstorms too, so I know what it's like."
"Yay!" Italy cheered, bounding up from his spot to glomp the American.
Suspecting the hug-attack, America side-stepped and Italy crashed into the wall instead. America looked at Britain, France, and Germany.
"You guys are welcome to stay the night too. That is, if you don't have any urgent flights to catch back."
"Not me." said France.
"Neither do I." Germany commented.
Britain stayed quiet. Of course he's not going to stay. America thought. Ever since then, he doesn't like spending more time with me than he has to. I'd like for him to stay, just so I can talk to him, but I can't force him.
"-not?"
"Hm? Sorry, I didn't catch that."
Britain shook his head, but the look on his face was of good-natured understanding.
"I said, sure, why not? Truthfully, it's not like I've got anything pressing going on tomorrow either."
America smiled.
"Hey, how are we going to work out the sleeping arrangements?" Germany inquired.
"Simple: there's a total of three rooms upstairs. My room, and two guestrooms. Germany, you and Italy can share one of the guest rooms, there should be a spare mattress shoved somewhere in an storage closet. France can take another guest room, and Britain can have my room, or vice-versa if you guys would prefer."
"But where are you going to sleep?" France asked.
"Down here on the couch." America replied.
"You sure you don't want to let one of us have the couch?" Britain asked. America shook his head.
"What, and be a terrible host? Besides, sometimes I get tired of sleeping in my bed." He noticed the looks he was receiving. "It's a me thing, don't ask."
"You certainly have a lot of those, don't you America?"
"Oh shove it."
Britain rolled his eyes. Italy raced up the stairs to pick out the room he and Germany would be sharing. Germany trailed behind, telling Italy not to run in other people's homes. France followed, yawning. Once the three were upstairs, and hopefully in bed, America sat on the couch on the opposite end of Britain. The Englishman raised an eyebrow, but did not press him. For a minute or so, the only sounds were the ticking of the clock and nature's cacophony.
"…Say Britain?" America asked in a quiet, tentative voice.
"Yes?"
"Do you…do you ever miss those days?"
Britain leaned back against the soft, yet sturdy back of the couch. He always tried hard not to think about those times, let alone remember them. Those memories pained him to enter, but even more so to leave; because when he did, he had to face the reality that those happy, golden years were long gone, and America would never be his little brother again. But should he tell America that?
He looked over at the younger country. America was slumped over, with an elbow propped up on the armrest and his chin in his hand. His eyes gazed out at the living room, focusing on nothing in particular. Had he been waiting to ask this question? Did he have an idea of what Britain would say?
"Do you?" Britain inquired.
America hadn't been expecting that. A little startled, his eyes came back into focus, only to slip further away into the nostalgia-smeared fog of his grayer thoughts.
"Yeah, I do. I miss those days a lot. Well, to be honest, it's not the days that I miss. It's…" he sighed, "it's that I miss having my big brother around. Whenever I've freaked myself out watching scary movies, or reading ghost stories, and there's no one to tell me I'm being ridiculous and make me feel better. Whenever I'm about to make a decision that could drastically alter my political course, and there's no one to reassure me that I'm doing the right thing. But mostly, it's the times when he's within arm's reach, because I don't get the same smile anymore. I'm not called the same names anymore" A sad chuckle bounced around in his larynx. "I don't even get a pat on the head anymore. I don't have a big brother to give those things to me anymore. And I'm reminded of that whenever he's standing near me. Times like that are when I miss those days and having a brig brother the most."
Finished, America sunk deeper into his own buried emotions. How long? Britain wondered, looking at him. How long has he been like this? Why am I just now noticing? A slow sigh sailed out into the still air around the two. Britain looked at America. He hadn't expected his answer to be so…emotional? Was that the right word? He didn't think so. Of all the things America was, emotional didn't fit him, but then again... Britain sighed a second time. Best he speak now.
"I miss having my brother too. When I'm sitting all alone in my house and there's nothing but silence, I try to imagine I can hear his feet thumping away on the wood floors as he runs. I like to think I can hear his sweet, innocent laughter echo throughout the halls. More than anything, I want to see him come bounding around the corner, and have his eyes light up when he sees me, because he's so happy I came home."
No response from the American seated to his right. Thick strands of dirty-blond hair covered his eyes. Britain leaned over to get a better look at America's face, but he still couldn't see anything. Taking America's silence in regard, he continued.
"It hurt when you split from me ."
He heard the sound of America's fist clenching the fabric of the couch cushion.
"But I don't think that pain even compared to the pain I felt after the Constitution had been successfully written and accepted by the public. When I'd heard that, and when I saw the strength that document, along with the faith of your people gave you, I think that's when I felt my heart plunge. The fact that you were right all along hit me pretty hard. I didn't know how to take it."
Still no response. The American beside him was as still as a corpse. Britain couldn't even tell if America was breathing.
"But you want to know something, America?"
Although he couldn't see it, Britain knew America was fighting with himself on whether he should reply. The air around the normally exuberant young country had darkened with the long overdue release of his inner thoughts. The silence around them seemed thick with the tension and heavy with the hurt that had toned America's voice a dark color.
After the clock had ticked off a few more seconds, America conceded defeat and raised his head to look at Britain. Semi-dried tear tracks ran down the length of his face. Unshed tears shone in his eyes, glimmering like solemn crystals. Britain smiled warmly. He reached out and put his hand on the back of America's head and pulled him into his shoulder. America stiffened, shocked and unsure, but he slowly began to sink into his Britain's shoulder, letting the older country run his fingers through America's hair. Like he used to when America had been little. Britain spoke, and his voice came out soft and rich, like black velvet.
"I'm glad I was wrong, because I got to see you become an amazing country. I got to see you spread your wings and soar higher than any of us; I got to see you achieve all sorts of things you might never have done if you had remained my colony. I'm…I'm proud of you for choosing you own path America."
"It wasn't easy." Came the just next to audible reply.
"No, becoming your own country never is, but you were-"
"Hurting you. Knowing my decision hurt you, and having to stick to my guns. That wasn't easy."
"No," Britain heaved a heavy sigh, "I'm sure it wasn't. You never liked seeing people cry as I recall, but you stuck with your decision…and although I may try to not acknowledge it, I'm proud of you for that. Your bull-headed tenacity is one of your redeeming qualities, no matter what anyone else says. That includes me."
From his position of being pressed into Britain's shoulder, America smiled.
"Hey Britain?"
"Hm?"
"I'm glad you decided to spend the night."
"So am I. So am I."
Britain released America and both countries stood up. America wiped his eyes and face on his sleeve. This action elicited a playful rolling of the eyes from Britain.
"You know that's what tissues are for, right?"
"Yeah, but my sleeve's closer." America responded with a grin.
Another eye-roll. Britain yawned.
"You sure you're alright sleeping down here? I'm not going to be woken up in the next ten to twenty minutes because somebody is afraid of a little storm?"
The playful taunt bounced off its target with no effect. Knocked down by a radiant smile.
"Tch, I'll be fine dude. I got over all that a long time ago."
Britain nodded and turned to head up the stairs. America's voice sounded from behind, bringing him to a halt.
"Britain?"
Said country looked back over his shoulder. "Yes?"
"I mean it. I'm glad you're here."
"I'm glad to be here America. Now, get some rest."
"Right."
And with that, Britain turned and went for the stairs. America watched him go. Something inside of him felt lighter, refreshed. He'd been waiting for at least a good century to say all that to Britain, and now he had. The heart-to-heart they'd had only made things better.
He looked out the window and observed the storm. Ever since that day, rain and storms had no longer frightened him; they had merely left him with a hollow feeling in his chest-as if his heart was missing. But now the rain had helped to make him happy; talking with Britain had made him happy. As he walked down to the laundry room, and opened up the cupboard door that held the extra blankets, he couldn't keep the smile off of his face.
Tonight had been a good night.
Holy crap, I'm freaking finished! If there were any historical inaccuracies, I apologize. I thought about editing out the ending, but I kind of like it. Review and offer your (constructive) criticism. It's always appreciated! If they werr a little OOC, I'm sorry.