I Don't Hate You
By: Verin Mystal
Summary: America was so impressionable during his colonial days, soaking up everything like a sponge, be it good or bad. England was sure he'd never forget coming home one day after a long meeting in town and finding America, dressed in his old pirate gear, on the roof of their home. One-shot
Note: Um… I don't know where this came from. Originally posted on Livejournal community for USxUK pairing. I'm a poor college student and own nothing.

"-And make sure you don't answer the door if someone visits. No matter whom they say they are! Understand?"

"I understand…" America nodded, parroting England.

England stared down at his young colony, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Promise me you will follow these rules."

"I promise I won't touch the fireplace, I promise I won't go outside and I promise I won't answer the door."

"-Or go into my bedroom."

"I promise I won't go into your bedroom." Slight annoyance seeped into America's tone.

England nodded, smiling and knelt on one knee to gather America into a warm hug.

"I know you hate these rules but I only want to keep you safe."

America gladly returned the hug, having missed his caretaker dearly during his last absence.

"I know…"

Squeezing him affectionately one last time, England pulled away and stood, making his way to the door.

"Lock this door behind me. As I already said, I should return well before nightfall."

America watched England ride down the road on top his horse, wondering how long this emergency would take. Often he was only gone for an hour, but sometimes it seemed as if he had been gone all day long. Frowning, the small boy heaved a sigh and leaned back to his bed. America wondered why England was always so busy… always in his office with the stacks of paper, the ink well and feather quill… always reading and riding away on some meeting or emergency… always he had no choice.

This is my responsibility and duty to my people; It is a part of being a nation, England would say.

What happened to the time when England would skip meetings and stay longer… just for America? Back when he wore that white gown… back when he barely reached England's knee… all it would take was a frown and some crying, and England would drop everything to gather him up into his arms and tell him the tales of King Arthur and the knights of the round table... or the adventures England had when he was a pirate… those were always exciting!

America rolled onto his belly and stared at his pet bunny, Poppy. (1)

"England doesn't do anything with me anymore. Always leaving and in his office…" America pouted. "Why should I listen to him anyway?"

Poppy blinked and moved to chew the blanket that covered America's bed.

Gathering Poppy into his right arm, America walked from his room, down the long hallway to the closed double doors of Arthur's bedroom. America stood before them and tried opening the door. It held fast, having been locked by England before he left. America frowned, pausing for a moment before placing his hand on the doors and, with a hard shove, forced them open. The lock and wood of the door now destroyed, America stepped into England's room. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, having slept with him after waking from a nightmare or ran to his room when a thunderstorm raged outside in the dead of night. What wasn't familiar was the door that led to England's closet. America stood still, staring at the closet door and what England kept inside.

Setting Poppy to the hardwood floor, America opened the door, finding it unlocked, and swung it open.

Inside were stacks of books, some neat and orderly, others barely holding together, stuffed with papers and stained, the pages warped and torn. Pulling the books out, America flipped through them and found the writing to all look just like England's… but the words were long and strange sounding. Growing bored, America shoved the books away, taking them out and stacking them behind him when a very large rectangular chest came into view, all wood and strips of metal packed together. In the center of the top was a strange symbol, along with a large keyhole. Gripping the lid, America tried opening it, but found it locked tight.

Frowning, he tugged the chest from the closet and leaned down to inspect it when a sudden salty odor struck his nose.

This… is England's sea chest?

The colony's curiosity peaking, America gripped the lid and forced it open. The sound of metal splitting and twisting erupted from the chest as the lid was flung open.

The sun was just beginning to set, and England finally, forcibly, left the meeting. It had been hours since he left America alone… hours of America, home alone, completely unsupervised. A strong shudder ran up his spine at the thought and he quickened his horse's pace into a gallop. There was no telling what sort of mischief America got to when left alone for extended periods of time. Something England knew all too well. England eventually rounded the bend, emerging from the trees and slowed the horse to a stop. Sliding off, the elder nation put the horse in the stable and ran to the house, swinging the door open.

"America!" England walked through the entry way and around the downstairs. "America!"

Hearing no response, England made his was upstairs… where he found the doors to his bedroom wide open. Stalking up to the doors, England inspected the lock, finding it destroyed and beyond repair. Swallowing the rising swell of anger at America deliberately breaking the rule he promised to follow, England stepped into the room and found the door to his closet swung open, his spell books laying everywhere… and the lid to his sea chest forced open with nothing inside remaining.

England opened his mouth to yell for America when a muffled, distance voice emerged.

"Why Poppy… you leave me no choice!"

England immediately turned and ran for the stairs, making it down in record time before running outside.

"America! Where are you?"

England stalked around the house, expecting to find him in the garden.

That boy is in so much trouble I don't know what I'll do when I find him I-

America wasn't in the garden.

"If you don't stop movin' I'll tie ye t' the monkey ye bilge rat!"

America's voice was so close, and yet it sounded as if… something welled into a ball and shoved itself up his throat, most likely his heart.

England looked up.

There, on the roof of their two-story home was none other than his small colony, fully dressed from head to toe in his pirate gear. The black tricorn hat, filled with plumes of feathers, gold and jewels sat atop the boys head, only the stubborn cowlick refused to be hidden away by the hat continued to point skyward. The heavy red, black and gold trim jacket surrounded America, engulfing his tiny body. At America's hip hung a scabbard and being held effortlessly in his right hand was England's cutlass.

On the roof beside America was his ever faithful rabbit, Poppy, chewing something green and yellow.

" A-America??"

The boy looked down and the heavy black hat slide forward, obscuring his vision momentarily before he pulled it back with his free hand. The boy's sky-blue eyes widened, showing surprise and slight happiness at the sight of England, but quickly narrowed into a pouting sort of glare.

"Why look Poppy! I warned ye… and you didn't believe me-!"

"America, what are you doing up there?!"

England gawked up at the boy and silently wondered how he managed to climb up there dressed in his pirate outfit… while carrying his rabbit. The budding curiosity, however, was quickly drenched in worry and anger, the two boiling and burning everything in their path. All it would take is one misstep and his colony would slide off the roof and-…and… probably only suffer a broken leg but… he had his cutlass and-

"America? My sodding name isn't America-" -The young boy tried deepening his voice and mimicking the tone and vocabulary England used when he happened to drink one too many bottles of rum- "-it's Captain Kirkland!"

England forced a groan back down his throat, turning it into a slight growl. "America-!"

"As I was saying…" America glanced to where his rabbit was sitting, stilling using the deep voice. "I warned ye… but ye refused t' listen! Now Davey Jones-" America pointed the cutlass down to England. "-has come t' take ye to his locker!"

America tried belting out an evil cackle, but it came out as a giggle.

England couldn't help but press a quivering hand to his temple.

…What in the world possessed me to tell him stories from my pirating days? Was I drunk??

"And now… Poppy… If you give back those pieces of eight then maybe I'll forgive you..." America pointed the cutlass at Poppy. "But if you don't… then I'll have ye lights and liver for my meal!"

"Alfred F. Jones…" At his wits end, England spoke in a voice that he rarely used around the tiny colony and typically reserved for his voyages across the Atlantic. "If you don't get off the roof right this minute-!"

"Come ye old salt-!" America suddenly fell quiet. England used his human name… his full human name.

Lowering the cutlass, America turned to face England, tilting his head downward.

"…What?"

"Don't you what me young man!" England jabbed his finger at ground. "Get off the roof, now!"

"Why should I?" America snapped, anger and frustration welling into a tight ball within his chest. "It's not like you're worried about me!"

England sputtered in surprise. "Why would you say such a thing? Of course I'm worried!"

"Then why are you always leaving me alone!" America demanded. "You never stay home… you never play with me anymore!"

Ah… so this is what's wrong… he's doing this for attention then?

"America-"

"No!" America shouted, sensing the sudden change in England's voice. "You're always writing and going to meetings… always going away for months and months!"

"America, you know I would love to stay but-"

"N-no you don't!" America's voice wavered slightly in his frustration. "Y-you never spend time with me anymore… and you yell at me all the time…"

England recognized the slight wavering in the small boy's voice and immediately knew that if something wasn't fixed soon, America would start crying and he'd have to climb up there himself.

"America, please-"

"No! I hate you!" America yelled and stomped his foot. "I won't come down! I'll stay up here all night!"

Poppy, startled by the sudden stomp, jumped away, losing his footing, started sliding to the edge of the roof.

"P-poppy!!"

America dropped the cutlass, plunged forward and grabbed Poppy by the scruff of his neck. The tiny boy slide off the roof, but gripped the edge with his free hand.

England rushed forward. "America!"

"I got him-" His voice was strained, his tiny fingers digging into the edge of the roof. "I got Poppy…"

The plush tricorn hat floated harmlessly to the soft grass, while the cutlass flew from the roof and plunged into the garden with a solid thunk.

"America-" England knew the boy couldn't hold on much longer, judging from the slight quivering strain in his arm that clutched the roof. "America, let Poppy go."

"No! He'll get hurt-!"

Poppy hung limply from America's hand, his eyes wide.

"I'll catch him-"

America lost his grip, crying out in surprise, and plummeted to the ground. Without thinking England surged forward and held his arms out, catching America. The force knocked them to the ground, the air rushing from England's lungs in a single gasp. Panting and forcing his lungs to work again, England brought America up and wrapped his arms around him, clutching him to his chest in a warm, relieved hug.

"Oh thank god you're alright…" England rubbed his hand over America's back in an effort to comfort him. "This could have been far worse…"

America didn't return the hug and remained silent.

Worry trickling back into his senses, England gripped the colony's shoulders and pushed him away from the hug. America had his head turned, his gaze focused on something to the right. Following America's stare, England found Poppy turning over from an awkward position, it's back left leg at an odd angle.

Before England could say anything, a slight sniffling sound came from America, serving as the only warning before the boy melted into a mess of tears and sobbing.

Sighing, England wrapped his arms around the boy. "America please don't cry…" …I hate it when you cry…

"It's my fault…I didn't mean… I hurt Poppy and-and…"

America couldn't choke words past his sobs anymore. His face was red and wet, snot starting to run from his nose, the tears streaming down his face, past his jaw and onto England's old pirate coat.

"Alright-alright come on. We're going inside."

America's cries grew louder as he tried speaking through them. "But-but-"

"I'll come back for Poppy and put a splint on his leg."

America's cries died down, somewhat, but he continued to sob into England's neck, now hiccuping and gasping.

England knelt before America who sat on his bed, the cutlass and tricorn hat lying behind him, and wiped his red face clean of the tears and snot.

"Always so messy when you cry…"

America stared at Poppy, whose back leg was now bandaged and in a splint. "Will Poppy be okay?"

"As long as we check on his bandages then I'm sure he'll be fine."

America nodded and said nothing, still strangely quiet after the incident from earlier.

Staring at him for a moment, England set the cloth in the porcelain bowl he was using to hold water, and stood, taking a seat beside the young colony.

"I think… you want to tell me something."

America, still clothed in England's coat, shrugged his shoulders.

England waited a moment before standing. He started walking away when America jumped up and hugged England from behind.

"Don't go!" His voice was muffled from pressing his face into England's hip. "I'm sorry I broke the doors and the chest and…I'm sorry."

"Thank you for apologizing." England turned and gently pushed him away, settling his hands upon his shoulders. "But… I think we should talk about what you said earlier. I know I'm away a lot-"

"You're always gone…" America admitted softly. "You used to be here all the time…"

"I had no choice," England kneeled before America so he could speak to him at eye level. "You were very young, just a baby, and I had to stay here to watch after you."

America frowned. "But now that I'm older it's okay?"

"America…" England sighed. "I would love to stay and do nothing but relax and play… but I'm an adult and a nation. There are a lot of people who need me… "

America continued to frown. "Responsibilities and duties, I know."

England hesitated at the frown America was giving him. …I have to find a different way of explaining this…

"America, you remember the stories of King Arthur and my voyages of Captain Kirkland?"

"Yes…"

"Imagine if… Captain Kirkland decided one day that he was tired and wanted to stay in bed. What do you think would happen?"

"The crew would fight." The frown disappeared and a thoughtful look appeared. "They would fight and kill innocent people."

"And what if the Spanish attacked them while Captain Kirkland was in bed?"

"They could lose… because Captain Kirkland isn't there to lead them?"

"They kind of need the Captain, don't they?"

"Yes," America nodded. "The crew would fight and not work together… and they could be captured… The captain is like a hero!"

England winced inwardly. …Well… not really but I can use this…

"A hero can't just stay in bed and play all day, right?"

"Right! A hero has responsibilities and…" America's eyes widened. "You're a hero England?"

"Well… not really but…" England smiled, chuckling softly. "I guess… like a hero, I have a lot of responsibility and there are many people who depend on me."

America's blue eyes widened and understanding flooded them.

"Ohhhh…"

"Do you finally understand?"

"Yes…" America hugged England once more. "I'm sorry for saying all those things… and I don't hate you!"

England returned the hug.

"I love you too."

Note: … And that's how America got his hero complex. I hope you enjoyed it? D:

The Pirate 'Lingo' and What it means: (In Order of Appearance)

Monkey – Small cannon

Bilge rat - The bilge is the lowest level of the ship. It's loaded with ballast and slimy, reeking water. A bilge rat, then, is a rat that lives in the worst place on the ship.

Davey Jones Locker - The bottom of the sea

Pieces of Eight - A Spanish silver coin worth one peso or 8 reales. It was sometimes literally cut into eight pieces, each worth one real.

Lights - Lungs. A pirate might threaten to "have someone's lights and liver."

Salt or Old Salt - An experienced seaman.