4th July, 2010.

Today's not a good day. It never has been. Why do they always have to make such a fuss over one day?

Alfred was gleaming to himself. Yes. Yes. Today was a good day. It was a day of fireworks and hot dogs and patriotism and love – a day that he always planned for from the fifth of this month. As much as he knew certain people would call him incredibly sad for it, but to Alfred, it was goddamn important!

The day started as usual. America woke up, bright and early (earlier than usual, for some reason he could never sleep well on his birthday) and had jumped downstairs. The weather outside was bright and sunny, something almost typically cliché for such a day.

Alfred grabbed the curtains and threw them apart, in as dramatic fashion as possible. Tony had his head peeked in from the doorway, before he disappeared to do more… alien stuff.

"Great day!"

As he turned around to start up some coffee in the kitchen, he hummed Star Spangled Banner under his breath and headed back upstairs to get himself ready.

I suppose he'll be expecting me to turn up again and be all happy-cheery grumpy and hand him a present. Always the present. Why is it always material gifts with him?

He pulled on some clothes. Red white and blue, check. Stars and stripes, check. Brilliant dazzling white grin? Check-check-check.

Today was his day. Today is a great day.

The door was shut gently behind him, of which Alfred set off down the hall. He couldn't wait for later – usually Matthew would be the first one about, and he was always the one to jump about and help him on things that he never quite would have managed to finish in time without him there – namely the cooking.

Soon everyone would be filing in, giving him the general greetings – kisses from France, a creepy smile off of Russia, a high five off of Prussia (who shouldn't technically count, but he was a good friend of Alfreds); and then finally, Japan, with his bow and formal holding out of the gift. It was usually some sort of games console off the nation.

Yet…

Everyone else knew. Everyone else could see he was always waiting for someone else to appear, time after time.

Maybe I shouldn't go this year. But I say that every bloody year, and what happens? I don't even know why I do go. Francis always gives me looks and I know what he's thinking - I care about the bugger really, I can't just let things go. Not when he meant so much to me in the beginning. It's a stupid theory, really.

"A-America?"

America looked from the window.

"Hn?"

"The fireworks. Are they ready to go yet?"

America beamed.

"No but the cake is! Lessgoooooo!" He sang, grabbing the Baltic by the arm and dragging him out. The house had been filled with music, laughter and chatter all the afternoon, right until the sun had started to fall softly in the sky. It was always like this at the American's house on this date. Filled with nothing but laughter and music and pure joy, at least for those few hours.

Why does he bloody have to have a party anyway? I do without one. Why does he have to make such a big deal out of this one day? Did he want to torture me like this?

I remember the first time I was invited to his party; it was just after the Second World War. I made excuses up about being busy with the war, trying to patch myself up and really not being okay to travel so far. I did send him a card – it was polite after all, wasn't it? He complained about the lack of present. My home had just been torn inside out from a war and he says that? The bloody cheek!

Alfred found himself glancing outside again. The cake he had was awesome – of course it was, he'd actually gone to the effort of making it himself – and just had lots and lots of icing piled up and more than enough for everyone. America always went to lengths like this. Why couldn't he?

With the candles lit on top in a cake-shape, Alfred did thumbs up to everyone before taking a big deep breath.

I've managed all this time without a party. Sure, maybe it was because I made an effort when he was a child to have someone to celebrate that I never did – god forbid, I did a lot of things so he could enjoy things I never had the chance to. And then what does he do? He fucks it all up and claims independence, eats all his resources and becomes one of the world's biggest superpowers. What an idiot. I'm not bloody jealous, in fact, by what I've seen Alfred go through lately, I'm glad 24 hour television wasn't invented.

"FOOD FIGHT!" A voice was yelled. Food flew up, Food came down. The so called birthday boy held a smirk as he dived under a table, nations scattering behind furniture as world war three broke out in all its consumer glory.

But I suppose that him inviting a lot of people for his birthday for the first time back then like that was the start of a new era. Because of that, nations decided to bugger about and talk to each other without trying to conquer each other… most of the time. Well, this was mainly because of the downright crap we got out of after the war, but I… I think that if America hadn't pushed people into it first, it wouldn't have been done as quickly.

"I propose karaoke!"

Germany pulled a face, swishing the American beer around in its bottle. Poland leapt up at the chance, dragging a disgruntled looking Lithuania up with him.

"I like, know the most fabulous song!"

A button was pressed, and Alfred looked at the clock.

Not to say that the idiot hasn't made his own mistakes in time. The worst one probably had to be the Iraq war. I know he'd had to put up with crap from people for.. no real reason, if I'm being honest. But the Iraq war is what gave people a reason to say things against him. But… ugh, bloody hell. Didn't people see what he was truly like on that day in September? He was a wreck. A downright, bloody wreck. No nation should have to go through crap like that, even though many countries may have been through a lot more tedious crap, Alfred was still scared.

I always knew he was still such a kid…

No one believes me. No one believes me in anything, do they?

It was a good job that Alfred's birthday was in the middle of summer, otherwise a lot of the nations would have problems with being huddled outside, waiting for the right moment as night fell. Some seemed to be basking in it, no matter how cool it had become. Iceland and Russia were smiling to themselves.

Just as America was about to shout as the countdown grew to the start of the fireworks, there was a tug on his sleeve. Alfred looked down.

China looked back into the house.

"Someone's at the door, aru."

The bugger is still confusing though. I know he at the least doesn't hate me – heck, the bugger irritates me all the time – so why? Just… why? If he can't hate me he clearly can't hate bloody anyone, can he. Why don't people see this? I'm a downright hypocrite but for once in my life, I wish I could do what I did for him all those years back when Francis tried to take over him with the Indians…

The door was opened, and a present was stuffed into the American's stomach. Arthur looked expectantly at him for a moment with a severe, disapproved frown, as though he was being blinded by nothing, before he just stepped Alfred aside and walked in.

"Traffic." He muttered.

The streets were empty.

This is his 234rd birthday as an official nation. It took him under that time to become the largest country in the world with resources, become the strongest military, become one of the biggest country's in the world, invent aeroplanes, create the most powerful weapon in the world, put a man on the moon, single-handedly help country's in their time of need, govern the world, be the top athletic country in the world without any appraisal, any affection, any encouragement whatsoever.

Yet…

He's still a kid.

Still a child.

A teddy bear gazed up at the American.

They gazed at each other.

Alfred smiled, and held it to himself for a moment, inhaling the scent and letting the fur from the bear tickle at his nose.

He knew…

Happy Birthday, you big softy.

They never spoke words.

Never had to.