Hello~. I wrote this for the Fourth of July, or Independence Day, or whatever you want to call it. America's birthday. My second Fourth of July story, actually. This will probably have four chapters at least (starting from July 1st and going to the Fourth of July). It's in England's POV, and rest assured, I don't think I made this as angsty as my other one. I'm trying not to.

Connected to this story is a Canada Day fic, Finding Happiness, staring Russia and Canada.

Title may be changed.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Couple(s): America/England

Warnings: Uh... Possible OOC-ness?

Enjoy~.

The Fourth of July, the day of America's independence. The people celebrated with fireworks and steaks and hot dogs, huddling around bonfires on beaches with friends. America always invited the other nations to his house and had them celebrate and party with him. So it was fun and games for all… except one.

For England, the Fourth of July sucked ass. For the record, it wasn't because it was the very day that his former colony had declared independence, nor was it because the nation himself was an obnoxious, junk-food loving idiot. No, he hated it for a rather simple reason. It made him ill.

And no, it wasn't a "lightly coughing" sick, it was a "on the verge of death, unable to move out of bed, hacking up a lung, barely able to breathe" sick. And worse yet? It lasted for a week. A whole fucking week.

So here he was, on a warm and sunny Monday morning, birds chirping and the wind creating a light breeze, in bed with a fever. England was seized by yet another fit of coughing, forcing him to sit up and try to expel the phlegm in his throat. When it died down, he took deep gulps of air in through his mouth and let it out slowly, slumping back against the pillows. How bleeding wonderful this day was turning out to be. It was a day fit for roaming the streets of London and maybe spending time watering his garden, but instead he was doomed to stay in bed for the whole day, and then some.

He groaned, a scowl on his face from how shitty he felt at the moment. His head felt heavy and clogged, his throat was irritated from the incessant coughing, and his chest felt like someone had dumped a load of bricks on it. Not to mention that he felt both hot and cold, so he continuously kicked off the covers and pulled them back up.

One the nightstand beside his bed, his phone vibrated. Reaching over and picking it up, England stared irritably at the caller ID. Grumbling, he put the phone to his ear and bit out, "What do you want, frog?"

His eye twitched when he heard the Frenchman let out a laugh. "Ohohohon~. Angleterre, that's no way to greet someone. I only called to check up on you."

"It's too damn early to hear your sodding voice, Frenchy." He growled out, expression darkening as his irritation spiked up.

"I take it that you're ill, then?" The smirk in his voice was apparent, and it only served to infuriate him further.

Without bothering to reply, he clicked off and tossed his phone to the floor on the opposite side of the room. He tried to calm down, but his mind wouldn't allow it. All England could think about right now was putting a curse on the frog to make him as miserable as he felt right now. But he hadn't the strength to do so at the moment, so he slid down under the covers and closed his eyes, hoping to sleep away his fever. It wouldn't work, but at least he wouldn't be awake to bear through it.

England dozed in and out of sleep for several hours, tossing and turning and more than once sitting up to expel more phlegm from his throat. Morning had passed into afternoon before he was awakened by his phone ringing again. He grit his teeth. If it's France again… he trailed off, pushing the covers away and trailing over to where his phone sat on the carpet. Without bothering to look at who it was, he answered it, coughing. "Hello?"

"Hello England…" came a quiet answer.

He furrowed his brows, trying to place the person's voice. Maybe it was a wrong number. "Uh, who is this?"

"This is Canada."

"Oh, hello Canada. I'm sorry, I didn't look at the caller ID before answering." He apologized, just now recognizing the voice of America's quiet brother.

"No, it's okay…" The words were barely audible.

Wondering why he was calling, he asked, "So what did you need?"

It was unusual for the Canadian to call him, or rather, he couldn't pinpoint the last time they actually spoke to one another. He muffled another cough with his sleeve and held back a hiss of irritation. He wanted this week over and done with already.

Canada paused, and then made a strange request. "Um, I was wondering if you'd like to spend the day with me… if you have the time."

Pursing his lips, England thought about the invitation. He didn't hate Canada, and he had no reason to because he never bothered England. However, he doubted that it was a good idea to go anywhere, much less on a plane, when he was this sick.

"I'm sorry Canada, but I'm a bit, eh—… well, I'm a bit under the weather at the moment."

"Is it because of America?"

The question came unexpected to England. He went silent, thinking about the loud-mouthed nation. He'd experienced so much grief and pain at the hands of his former colony. Thinking about America made his chest clench painfully, filling him with emotions he wouldn't dare name. He was past this… already, he'd forgiven the brat when he realized that all he wanted to do was be equals (which had been hard to get the American to admit, until he deployed a certain tactic he called "getting America plastered"). Still, England couldn't get rid of the emotions that took hold of him when he thought about America.

Realizing he'd been silent for too long, England began speaking in a sheepish voice. "Yes." He answered with a forced chuckle. "I can never get rid of the bloody fever that comes about at this time of year."

"Do you still think about it, then? The Revolution, that is."

He raised a brow at Canada's sudden candor. Both he and his brother usually beat around the bush with topics such as this. Well, it was a good thing, anyhow. He answered the question honestly, knowing that Canada wasn't one to gossip. "Well, of course I do. It's a lot of history. But I'm accepting it, and him. It doesn't help with the fever, though, or the nostalgia." That's for bloody sure… "Anyways, I'm sorry again, Canada."

"Oh, it's all right. You should get some rest."

"I will. I'll talk to you later." He felt like there was something else he should say, but whatever it was, he didn't know.

"Bye."

Canada hung up, and England took the phone from his ear and sighed. After another coughing fit, he headed down to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He hadn't eaten since last night, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stomach food right now, so he settled for water and made himself some tea. When he had the two drinks, he collapsed down on the couch and took a sip of the delicious tea, reveling in the feel of the warm liquid running down his throat and soothing its irritation.

Turning the television on, he flipped it to a film channel and settled down to watch what appeared to be a romance film. While he wasn't one to waste away an entire day sitting and watching television, there wasn't much else to do until his fever passed.

This is going to be a long week, he thought morosely.

England woke up with his head resting on the arm of the couch, his empty tea cup teetering in his hand. The sky outside was dark, and the only light in the room came from the T.V. as some random film played. Groggily, he lifted himself up into a sitting position and set the cup down on the coffee table, rubbing at his eyes and trying not to fall asleep again. He felt no better than he had when he sat down however many hours ago. He gave out a dry couch and groaned.

Looking at the clock on the wall, he squinted, trying to make out the time. It was just past midnight. "One day over…" he muttered wearily, "and six more to go."

Picking up the glass of water and the teacup, England slowly made his way to the kitchen and set them in the sink. He turned, intent on heading back up to his bedroom, but loud knocks on his door stopped him in his tracks. Who the hell is at the door at this time of night?

Only one person came to mind. He glowered, walking to the door and cracking it open. Standing at his door, shivering and tugging his jacket closer to him, was just the person he expected, America. Opening the door all the way, England glared at him, trying unsuccessfully to keep his tired irritation out of his voice while asking, "What are you doing here, America?"

"Just wanted to drop by and say hi, y'know?" America laughed, but went silent when England looked at him with a deadpan expression.

"After midnight?"

So far, he was keeping his composure, but he didn't know how long he could keep back the coughing. If there had been any lights on, the flushed color of his face would have been a dead give-away of his fever, but luckily there was only the light from the T.V.

"Aww, c'mon Iggy, please let me in. It's cold out here!" America complained, rubbing his arms for emphasis.

England rolled his eyes, wanting to slam the door in his face, and yet knowing at the same time that he couldn't do that.

"Fine." He muttered, forcing back a cough.

"Sweet! Thanks, dude!" Pushing his way past England, America hurried into the house.

Shaking his head, the Englishman shut the door and sat down on the couch, arms crossed over his chest and one foot tapping impatiently on the floor. "Now tell me, why are you here?"

America turned his attention from the movie (which seemed to be another romance, if the couple kissing on the screen was anything to go by) and took a seat next to him. Face illuminated by the T.V., America's smile fell and he flopped back against the couch.

"I went to Mattie's house earlier, 'cause I wanted to ask for his help in preparing for my birthday… and you wouldn't believe who was there!" Without allowing England to ask who it was, he continued, his voice filled with disbelief. "Russia was there! And Mattie was sitting in his lap! And after I punched the Commie bastard, Mattie punched both of us! I mean, what the fuck was that? He said he'd explain at my party, but it's hard to think about that when I keep seeing the image of them sitting so intimate together in my head!" He shuddered, grimacing in disgust.

"You flew all the way across the Atlantic just to vent about that?" Somehow, that sounded more absurd than Russia and Canada being together. The idea was creepy, yes, but for America to forsake sleeping in favor of visiting him? That was just ridiculous.

America rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, no. I was going to fly over here tomorrow and drag your ass back to my house so you wouldn't skip the party, but since I needed to vent, I came over a bit sooner."

For a moment, England just stared at America, face blank. Then, he sighed. Resting his head back against the couch, he closed his eyes and said, "If you don't mind, I would like to sleep, so go home."

"But Iggy~!" the American whined. "We're past the whole Revolutionary War thing, so you should celebrate my birthday with me!"

He snorted. "I have better things to do with my time." Like lie in bed all day.

"I doubt it!" America laughed obnoxiously. "C'mon, please!"

Lifting his head up, England once again set his eyes on the blond. "No," he snapped, suddenly irritated, "I'm not wasting my time with your ridiculous celebration. I'll let you stay here for the night, but tomorrow, go home."

America deflated, and he opened his mouth to respond when, without warning, England was taken by a series of wet, disgusting coughs. The force of it was hurting his throat and chest. They stopped for a second and he was able to take in a shallow breath before they started again. He felt his shirt slide up and a cool hand pressed against his heated skin, rubbing gentle circles again his back.

Slowly, the coughs died down and he was able to relax, gulping in air. He settled down with his elbows on his knees, trying to get his breathing under control. The hand on his back kept massaging circles on his back, and when England glanced over at America, he saw the younger nation looking at him with a concerned expression.

"Damn, Iggy. You should've told me you were sick." He said, stopping the movements of his hand and taking it from his back.

England tugged his shirt back down and stood up, waiting until he felt positive that his legs would support him and then walking to the kitchen, America following. "Would it make a difference?"

"I could nurse you back to health!" he exclaimed, flashing a grin at England.

"Sure you could." The Englishman retorted sarcastically, setting a kettle down on the stove and picking out the tea leaves.

He grabbed the pitcher of water and began pouring it when a wave of dizziness swept over him. He stumbled back, the pitcher spilling water onto the floor. He slipped on the water, but before he could fall, a pair of arms steadied him. England blinked, trying to regain his bearings as America led him over to a chair and took the pitcher from his hand. "Let me do this."

For once, he didn't protest; he simply didn't have the energy to. Watching America wipe up the spill with a towel and then fill the kettle with water, he raised a brow. "Do you even know how to make tea?"

America grinned confidently, "Yup! I've watched you do it a lot, so it should be pretty easy."

"Whatever…" the Englishman muttered, no longer caring. It wasn't as if America was going to blow up the kitchen.

The blond hummed happily as he went about making the tea, and England watched him silently. Why was he doing this? It wasn't like America to take care of others. Usually, he'd laugh and offer him a hamburger and then go off. To see this side of him was… odd. Odd, but pleasant.

He was dozing off in his seat when the kettle started whistling, and the next thing he knew, there was a cup of hot tea being placed in his hands. Shaking off his lethargy, he looked down at the liquid suspiciously. It was the right color, and the milk was also mixed in. England took a tentative sip of the tea, and grimaced at the taste. "This is terrible." He frowned up at the blond, who shrugged.

"Hey, it's my first time making tea." He pouted, then placed a hand on England's forehead. "Whoa, you're burning up!" America frowned. "Where is your thermometer?"

England gestured with a shoulder, "In the bathroom."

"Mmkay."

America disappeared into the bathroom, and England took another sip of the tea. The taste wasn't up to par, but nevertheless, it was soothing to his throat. By the time America reemerged from the bathroom, the cup in his hand was empty.

Taking the cup from his hands and setting it on the counter, America ordered him to open his mouth, and he set the thermometer under his tongue. For the next twenty seconds, an awkward silence spread between the pair. It was finally broken when the thermometer beeped, and America took it from his mouth.

"39.8… what's that?" America looked at the device in confusion. Without a pause, the blond took his phone from his pocket and began fiddling with it. "Eh... so about… 103 or 104 degrees in Fahrenheit." His eyebrows shot up. "Holy shit!" Suddenly, America pulled him out of his seat and began dragging him up the stairs to his bedroom. "You need to get to bed!"

When they reached his bedroom, America forced England to lie down in bed and rushed to the bathroom. He heard the faucet turn on and then off, and America came back with a damp towel in hand and set it on England's forehead. He tried to sit up and speak, but he was pushed back down.

"Iggy, just rest." He said softly.

"America…" England murmured, trying to form a thought, but found it to be too much effort.

A hand took hold of his, and the Englishman let out a breath, feeling himself be lulled into slumber by his lethargy and the presence of the blond. On the verge of sleeping, he thought he heard America speak, but he could be sure.

"Good night, England."

Too. Much. Dialogue! I look at this, and all I see is a mass of dialogue. Ugh.

I hope you enjoyed it so far!

This is a belated upload, because this chapter should've been uploaded yesterday, but oh well. I'll be working on chapters two and three (July 2nd and 3rd) tomorrow. :)

Reviews are love and help cure the disease that is procrastination!

Thank you for reading!

Edit 7/3: Thank you to both my lovely reviewers for pointing out the inaccuracy of the Celsius reading. Curse Google, curse it! 'Tis fixed now. ^^