I don't own Hetalia.
England slouched in his seat, the dim corner obscuring the bottle of rum on the table before him. The quiet hum of the rest of the bar drove him nearly to drowsiness, and he laid his head on his arms, preparing to spend another night in the seedy establishment.
"England?"
A young voice jerked him out of his reverie, and he glanced up to see America standing beside his table. America, the young, insolent little brat who had dared stand up to him. Well, now, see where they both were.
"America."
"What are you doing here?"
"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm forgetting."
"But why?"
"Because I don't want to remember." Groping blindly for the bottle, England put it to his lips and gulped down another mouthful of the stuff. "You're not old enough to know what I mean."
America clenched his fists, glaring at the other country. "I'm plenty old enough! I-"
" Ah, shut up, will you? It's always this with you, and now you want to bring it up again, now, now…you horrid little country."
"I'm not little, either."
"I said shut up."
"England, I came-I came to help you."
"Help me? With what?" England groggily gestured to the table vaguely. "Apparently no one wants to help me anymore. No one ever did. They just left ol' England alone and friendless while the rest of Europe laughs at him, scorns him, ignores him-everyone ignores him."
"You're not being fair, England."
"Oh, really!" England stood, swaying, and laughed half-heartedly. "Not being fair? It might have something to do with the fact that I'm half-drunk! I wonder! And why am I drunk? Because I want to forget everything and everyone you've ever done to me-that didn't come out right-"
"I didn't do anything. I deserved my independence."
"Sure you did. Brat. I gave you everything and you spat it back in my face. So I conceded. Let America have his way, there are plenty of other colonies that will support you, help you when you need it. But no, India had to follow little America, and Canada and the others-"
"India was wrongfully seized in the first place. They-"
"They only did what they did because of you! You started it all, with your bloody revolution! You!"
"Me."
"You-America, I-I hate you!"
England stumbled and clutched his chair for support as America cautiously approached. He helped England to the floor, crossing his legs to sit beside England as the other country collapsed against his shoulder.
"You…"
"England, what happened to you?"
"I used to be great, huh? Is that what you're going to say? Do you really want to-"
"No, no. Quiet." America patted his head as if to soothe a child, then continued. "I looked up to you as a child-this, you never did this, even when things got rough. Even with all of us living in your house, when you were your most stressed you simply chuckled and kept on. This isn't anything like the England I used to know."
"He's gone, America. You stole him."
"Stop accusing me. You never became violent or angry with us, or turned to-this, but…Even as I broke ties with you, I admired you. You were so stately and proud-how can you throw all of that into the dust? Forge onward."
"That's your department, isn't it? Manifest Destiny and all that?"
"Stop. I mean it. I admired you, England…I still loved you. You were my brother, and you still are. And for that, I still love you. That's why I came. You need to stop this, stop pitying yourself, stop torturing yourself-" A movement against his shoulder made America stop, and he looked down to see England asleep against him. America smiled, unsure of how to feel, and slowly reached around the other country to lift him up. Clutching England to his chest, America exited the bar and headed for England's estate, allowing the other country to rest soundly in his arms.
Not intended to be slash or any kind of pairing. Also not based on any factual historical interaction.
