Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia! Himayura-san owns it! Do I look like Himayura-san to you?

Brief summary: It's that time of year again: the 4th of July is rolling around. England feels worse the closer it comes to America's birthday. America, oblivious to this, wants to invite England to his party. Both recieve some advice from their siblings: in America's case, Canada, and in England's, Ireland. (Ireland is an OC. I gave her the human name Erin Hibernia.)

Warnings: Possible swearing and alcohol use in future chapters. NOT YAOI!


It Always Rains In England...

Or Does It?

Chapter 1

July 1st, 2012

1:00 pm

London, England

Rain.

Always rain. Pounding on the windows, pattering on the rooftops, swishing in the gutters.

Arthur Kirkland hates the rain. Being a personification, the weather in his country reflects his mood. He would love to make the rain go away, to be rid of it forever. Feeling cheerful is just too much of an effort, though. Especially now, so close to America's 236th 'birthday'.

Droplets splatter against the windowpane, attracting the Brit's attention. Vibrant green eyes are reflected in the glass. They show a great bitterness, which Arthur refuses to acknowledge. He bears his pain stoically, alone with the rain on this dreary day.

The eyes, like round viridian orbs, are cast away from the window. In a rare, undignified manner, Arthur pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs them tight. Vivid images flash through his mind, as if he is living a nightmare. Why, why, why? Arthur's head rests on his knees. He is trembling, from head to toe. Nightmares. Daytime nightmares of America.


America's knuckles were white from gripping his musket too tightly. "From now on, I am no longer your colony nor your baby brother, England! I am my own independent country now."

England's hands clenched a little tighter around his own musket. His messy blond hair was wet with rain and sweat, plastered against his face in disarray. "No!" the island nation replied furiously. "I won't allow it!"

The rebellious colony could only raise his musket sideways in defence when England charged. Splinters flew as England's bayonet pierced the side of America's musket. A splash echoed as the musket flew from America's hands and landed in a puddle. Fearlessly, the blue-eyed colony stared down the length of the musket. England glared at his colony, green eyes smouldering with rage. His breathing was ragged and heavy.

The two stared at each other for a long time, rain pouring in heavy sheets around them. Gradually, the angry expression faded from the Brit's face. It was replaced by one of immense sorrow and remorse, and the musket was lowered.

"I...I could shoot you, America. I should shoot you! But I..." England faltered.

America didn't blink. "My people and I want freedom, England. Give it to us, and we won't have to fight."

The island nation sank to his knees and hung his head, regardless of the mud and blood that stained the battlefield. "Is this truly what you want, America?"

"Yes," he replied certainly.

There was a long silence, in which England saw something that brought tears to his glittering green eyes. He stared at the reflection that was cast in the puddle that America was standing in. The reflection wasn't of the tall nation declaring his independence, it was...a younger America. The one who always wore that little white nightgown, the one who raced around with no shoes on. The one that crawled into England's bed in the middle of the night because he'd been frightened by a nightmare. The one that had chosen England over France, the one that had whispered, "Come back soon, Engwand."

The silence dragged on until finally England asked, "Do you hate me, America?"

America did not know how to respond. He couldn't exactly say he was fond of England at the moment: they had been locked in a violent war for eight years now.

So the newly independent nation said nothing, suspending the question for centuries to come. As it turned out, the unsaid words were the ones that hurt the most.

England stood up stiffly and turned. "I expected as much from you, git," he spat over his shoulder.

The very next day, the British sailed away. England stood at the stern of his ship, his cold emerald eyes watching America's every move. America had gained his freedom, but at what price?


Thud!

Arthur realizes that he is lying on the floor. He is wearing his green army uniform, not the redcoat from the war. Arthur does a few more reality checks to remind himself that the Revolutionary War—those awful eight years—is over. The Revolution is over, Alfred is gone, and Arthur is alone with the rain.

The Brit sits up and crosses his arms loosely over his knees. What would he give for just one day of sunshine? Tentatively, he recalls the settings on the final day of the war. It was raining then, too. Rain, rain, rain, and more bloody rain. It was raining today, as it had yesterday, and the day before that. It would surely rain tomorrow, and the rain's force would only increase the closer the days came to July 4th. And after the 4th...the rain would settle to a light drizzle, but never entirely go away. Just thinking about it makes Arthur feel sick. Desperately, he forces a smile, but the rain does not cease its relentless torrent because the smile does not reach his heart.


Bwaaaaahhhh! Iggy has too much emotional baggage. I'm really glad I didn't know about Hetalia until after we covered the Revolutionary War in school, because I would have been bawling my eyes out.

Anyhow, hope you liked it. Kind of short, so I apologize. Originally, this chapter included the events of America's life on July 1st, but I cut it out because I wanted to use it as the next chapter. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome! Flames will be used to roast the Allies' marshmallows while England sings his Evil Demon Summoning Song, aka the Infamous Marshmallow Song!

England: Mera mera to, yaki tsukuse...

Arrivederci!