England sighed as he looked over the schedule for the world meeting. Of course, the Brit thought, it's this time of year and HE'S the host country. This time of year...July 4th. The day of America's bloody...never mind. England shook the thought out of his head, knowing his condition would only become worse if he thought about it. He wanted to at all cost to avoid the topic. But to do that he had to at all costs avoid the American. He had done so every single year since that day, but now how could he? With the world meeting being held at that git's place, there is no way to avoid him, the British man reflected with annoyance. He slowly raised from his seat, neatly stacking his papers on the table. Suddenly boiling inside, he remembered one more important detail. For world meetings he was always required to stay with America the night before. Giving himself a giant face-palm, England said aloud, "How can this get any worse?"

"England!" The cheerful American yelled as he ran towards the less than happy to see him Briton. Great, my torture begins now, he thought as he stepped out of range from the other man's hug, causing the American to smack right into the wall. The English man had just arrived to America's house, and already wanted to leave. Like I ever wanted to come, he reflected. America, whimpering, looked at England with his puppy-dog eyes.

"W-Why'd you do that?", he asked in his little boy tone. Good grief, he's like a child stuck in a man's body, England thought as he stared at the crying man. If only he was still that child. At that thought, he began to cough, tasting the blood in the back of his throat. Only this time of year would he ever cough up blood due to thinking of memories. Thankfully, this time he did not have a massive coughing fit. America looked over to him, no longer crying.

"'Sup England, catching a cold or something? America teased with a laugh. "You're such an old man!" On any other week he would have quickly defended himself, but not today. He just didn't feel like it. Changing the subject he asked,

"I suppose I am staying in the same room as usual, correct?"

America, noticing his companion did not try to fight back, gave him a nod and replied, "Yup dude, same as always! So you know where to find it."

"Indeed, I do." England remarked as he headed towards his room. He heard America call his name but he did not bother to turn back.

Bloody hell... England thought as he realized the truth. He had went the wrong way. Now he felt like a bloody idiot. He had never been to this part of America's house before, but why should he? There was no reason to search his house. It seemed the hall was only with a filled with a couple of spare guest rooms...except the last door. It labeled as "storage room". Hm, what kind of storage room? Probably for cleaning supplies, England considered as he opened the creaky door. Turning on the light, the room revealed it wasn't filled with equipment for cleaning. It was items from America's history! The English man didn't know what to do. Browse through his stuff or leave like a polite gentleman would do? His thoughts slowly faded at the sight of a set of toys. The toy soldiers he had given America as a child! H-He still has those? England thought in shock. Could it be America actually cares? He wondered as he walked over and picked the soldier up, remembering the day he presented them to tiny America...

"No way is it really ok for me to have it!?" A very excited boy asked. England turned around, a smile upon his face.

"Of course it is! I made it special just for you America" The Brit replied with his soft tone. The one he saved for America.

"Oh man, this is cool! Thanks Mr. England, sir!" The child replied, his eyes full of gratitude. Filled with ecstasy at his little brother being pleased with his gift, England laughed. Being around the boy was the only thing that could make him feel so great.

"Take good care of it, after all I nearly broke my hand while I was piecing it together." Not even a broken hand downed his mood. If it was for America, it was worth it.

"Wow, now I've got my very own toy soldiers!" The boy gasped in amazement. "You made all their faces different!" While watching the boy, England felt simply amazing that he could make America so delighted. All his life his older brothers hated him. They always frowned at him, never showing England a smile. America was the first brother to ever smile for him. He kneeled next to the boy and replied,

"I painted each individual figure separately." He had taken all his time he could to make sure his gift for America was perfect. Sure now he had tons of paper work to get back to but he would do anything to see America's bright, happy smile.

England held the toy soldier, clutching it as if it were about to disappear. He had a slight saddened smile on his face, remembering every detail. He really had done anything in his power to make America have a great childhood...Everything between the two had been great. Then he had made one simple mistake.

"No, don't go home!" A desperate voice cried after him. "I'll be so lonely and scared in a big place like this!" England rubbed the boys dirty blonde hair in attempt to comfort. He knew exactly what it felt like to be alone, and did not want America to go through the same thing. But sadly, he had no choice.

"Don't worry America, I'll visit you again." The Brit promised. "Until then I want you to hang in there and become a strong boy."

"Uh-huh" America nodded, his tears subsiding. England gave the boy a hug, waved goodbye and left, not knowing that would be the last time he would see America so tiny and helpless.

The English man placed the toy soldier with the others in the set. With his free hand, he clutched it into a fist. So far he had been able to hold back a coughing fit. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. Getting up from the cold, hard floor he walked to the other side of the room hoping to find something not related to their past. Sadly, his worst fear sat in front of him. The gun. That gun from that time. The one America had pointed directly at him. The gun England himself had flung from America's grip, giving him the chance to defeat him. But he hadn't. Instead he had fallen to his knees in defeat, crying.

"Hey England! All I want is my freedom! I'm no long a child nor your little brother. From now on consider me independent!" The word's he didn't want to hear. No longer your brother! Independent! But why? Why did all this have to happen? Why did he and America have to have a war? Couldn't they just stop this now, and go back home..? Home. Back to the days where they were brothers. Back to the days where nothing was better than each others company. Now here they were standing in a battle field. Face to face. Gun to gun. America's face filled with determination. Determination to win. Determination to separate from his once beloved brother. But England's face...only filled with sadness and betrayal. The cold rain came down hard on their backs as they stared into each others eyes. Suddenly, England couldn't take it any longer. He charged towards America, catching him off guard. Guns colliding, America's flew from his hand and landed on the muddy ground. England's gun pointed at his face. He was trapped.

"I won't allow it!" England's voice rang throughout the battle field. "You idiot, why can't you follow things through to the end?" A voice in the American army ordered a threat to fire at the Briton, but he didn't care. All that mattered was changing America's mind. But even with England's gun pointed to his face, America didn't flinch. His eyes still held that same determined look. The one and only way to end this way to shoot America. Shoot the boy who ran up to England for hugs. The same boy who snuggled up to him at night. The same boy who ate his food, when others wouldn't even touch it. The same boy...who made him so happy. Lowering his gun, he said,

"There's no way I can shoot you. I can't." Dropping his gun to the ground, he fell to his knees. Covering his face with his hand, he began to sob. "Why? Damn it why? It's not fair!" There was no more chances of America coming back. It was over. England had lost. America looked over him, his eyes filled with sadness.

"You know why." Was America's only answer. The word's "let's go home" would never leave England's mouth again. He would never again hold out his hand to a laughing little boy who would gently take it. Instead the hands were now separated, going their own ways.

"What happened? I remember when you were great."

By this time in thought, England was a mess. Hot tears were streaming down his face along with a coughing fit of blood. Damn it, I can't believe I allowed myself to remember it! Now what is America going to think if he see's blood on my suit? Just then, as if on cue, the American voiced called out to him.

"England, you in there dude?" America asked as he poked his head into the room. "Ahhh there you are! What's up with sneaking through my stuff! That's not very gentl..." America stopped mid-sentence as he studied England's appearance. Red eyes, wet cheeks, and blood all over his suit. "D-Dude, are you okay?" England wiped the blood from his mouth. He was about to reply when another coughing fit came over him. America ran to his side, not trying to hide his concern. "Dude, I think this is serious!"

Through hacks of coughing the Briron managed to reply "Of course it's serious! But I'll be fine...this always happens...this time of year." England's condition suddenly made sense to America. It was almost the 4th of July, the day England hated and did anything to avoid him. America noticed that the man was sitting right next to his old musket. Shifting uncomfortably, America turned his gaze away from England, wondering what to say. After all, they were in a room that shoved all their history into their faces. It was awkward. Before he could think of anything to say the British man began to talk.

"America, why do you still have those soldiers?" He asked as he pointed across the room at the unique set. America's face began to turn red, avoiding eye contact with his ex-caretaker.

"I-I've tried to get rid of them several times. But when I try to clean this place they bring back so many memories that I just can't get rid of them..." America responded. Great, now England's going to find out I'm just as much of a sentimental old man as he is!, he reflected while still avoiding eye contact.

England began to chuckle, the thought of America actually caring amused him. America's blush grew more noticeable as he began to stutter. "W-What? Memories are important to me too, you know!" The English man's looked once again returned to serious.

"But I thought after...That day...you didn't care? You declared i-independence..." With this statement England began to cough once again, more blood than before.

"I-Iggy!" America yelled patting the Brit's back. "Get a hold of yourself!"

England took a deep breath and recomposed. "I am fine." America gave him a funny look.

"Yeah, sure you are. But back to your question...Just because I declared independence-" Again Britain coughed up more blood. I-I better not say that word anymore. America decided and continued. "Um, as I was saying. Just because I did that, doesn't mean I don't care. I just wanted freedom."

England frowned. "Freedom from me?"

America sighed. "Yes, but it's not because of what you're thinking. Not because I hated you. It was because you were always so strict! As a kid you never allowed me to do anything. You always criticized the way I dressed, my posture, the way I ate, everything! No matter what I did it was against some sort of rule. And when I became a teenager you began to tax me to death! Then I decided I must become free. Trust me, it was the hardest and best decision I've ever made." The British man looked down, hurt in his eyes. He had only wanted to raise America right. To keep him safe. "D-Don't look sad like that", America stuttered, "Let me continue. It was the hardest decision to make because...I loved you. You were my brother and I knew you did those things because you loved and cared for me. But I just couldn't take it anymore. The day I became free weight lifted off my shoulders but it was only replaced with a new burden. The moment I saw you fall to your knees crying, my heart became troubled." America never knew he had the ability to express himself in this sort of way. He laughed silently to himself. The English man always brought out different sides of him. The Brit remained silent, taking in everything America had said. He wasn't quite sure how to respond.

"I am glad to know you do care." England said with a small smile on his face. America looked surprised, he had expected the man to say more. "This whole time I had thought my loss to you was just another thing for you to boast about. But now I see you in a new light. Thank you for telling me the truth."

"No problem..." America replied. It was weird for the two to talk in such a friend-like way. Hmm, I wonder? America thought. "England, are we friends?" Obviously surprised at the sudden question, he slowly answered,

"Yes, I suppose we are. I mean, after all, we are close allies, right?"

"Yup! So we are friends!" America said in his cheerful voice, his serious and rare tone faded away. "And you know what I declare?" England raised his eyebrows in wonderment.

"What?", he questioned.

"I declare us brothers!" America yelled as he put his arms around his new-found friend's shoulders. Us brothers? Just like the old days? Only in daydreams had he ever thought it possible for America to say such a thing. And now here it was, reality. Even if England tried, nothing could stop him from smiling at that moment.

"America, that has to be the best declaration you have ever made." England replied, his green eyes shining like emeralds. He hadn't felt this happy in centuries.

"Then it's settled, you're my big brother!" America said as he flew into England's arms, giving him a huge hug. From now on they would stop fighting so much, enjoy each others company, and England could finally fix America his cooking again! Everything would go back to normal just like those treasured days...

"Now that we have that settled, we need to get your clothes cleaned up!" America stated cheerfully. The English man looked down, he had forgotten about his bloody coughing fits. They were now gone. America stood up and offered out his hand to England. The Briton stared at the offering hand. It was just like the many times he had towered over America, holding out his hand for America to take. Now America was the one extending his hand. England accepted his offering hand. Just like old times, they were hand in hand. Together.