A/N: Okay, so I started this almost a year a go and gave up because I had honestly grown out of Hetalia. But I've semi-returned, and when I came back to this story, I realized that there was too much potential to waste it. So, I'm going over it chapter by chapter to edit the horrendous spelling and grammar mistakes (my bad), change a few this in the story line, and... tone things down a bit if you know what I mean. I just want to make it into a more mature, enjoyable story.

Here goes nothing.

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"The British are coming! The British are coming!"

"You stupid git!"

Alfred raced down the halls of the conference centre, a rare flaming Brit trailing in his wake. The colours of the walls, decorations and figures of other Nations blurred past him as he ran through the corridors. Arthur really needed to lighten up- all he did was through confetti in his face... followed by a good pantsing.

But wasn't it his right to celebrate? After all, tomorrow was his birthday.

Back to the matter at hand, Arthur didn't seem to appreciate it, and so Alfred found himself trying to outrun him and avoid his rage. Still, he couldn't help but laugh at the whole situation. Alfred turned a corner, leaning his body his practised ease to avoid slipping. If he was lucky he could make it outside, where he knew there was a hedge maze he could lose Iggy in. He smirked to himself- it was that kind of quick thinking that made him the best country ever.

Just a little further to go and he would be home free. The young nation glanced behind him, where England kept his pace, trying to catch up to no doubt give Al a peace of his mind. He sent a smug grin Arthur's way, basking in the furious atmosphere that surrounded the older nation-

Until he hit a brick wall also known as Germany's abs.

The impact hit Al hard, causing him to fall back onto his butt, while Ludwig remained sturdy, if not a little stunned. He gazed down at America, once his enemy, then back up to see England coming to a stop behind him, and back down at America, who grinned sheepishly up at him.

He watched as England seethed down at his former colony. Then it hit him, that's why England was over reacting...sure he had the right to be pissed, but you could clearly tell this was more. Germany sighed, America could be such an idiot sometimes... most of the time.

Arthur clenched and unclenched his fist, trying unsuccessfully to calm himself. Part of him wanted to clobber Alfred senseless, another wanted to...he wasn't even going to think about it. The last thing he needed was to break down in front of his comrades, or start a fight. So, he decided to be the mature nation, and briskly walk away, straight past the other two, his fist settled on staying clenched.

Ludwig watched him leave through the glass doors to the garden from the corner of his eyes, then turned his head to see Alfred pushing himself up, fixing his glasses. Germany sighed, running his fingers through his finely combed hair. "Dummkopf." He muttered.

"What?" Alfred asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Dummkopf. Imbecile. Stupid." Ludwig droned on.

"I know what it means!" Alfred shouted.

"No you didn't."

"...That's not the point, why did you say that?" Alfred asked, not letting himself feel like an idiot.

"Listen America, we are not exactly friends. Not enemies anymore, but certainly not friends. But I do fell I should...Aw, screw this, Feliciano!" Germany called out into the open air. He had given up on actually looking for the Italian, he could be beckoned like a hyper active puppy. Hell, most of the time he was nearby anyway.

"Yes Germany!" The young man smiled, popping up, seemingly out of no where.

"Italy, I take it you were listening?" Ludwig asked, his arms crossed across his chest.

"Maybe just a little."

"Fine then, you explain everything to the Dummkopf." He said, waving his hand over his shoulder and he walked away.

"Okay!" Italy exclaimed, devoted to the task. Feli turned to face the incredibly confused Alfred and smiled encouragingly. "I think England might be sad that you're teasing him today, cause it's you're birthday, it probably reminds him of the Revolutionary War."

Alfred felt like shit. There was no other way to describe it. How could he have forgotten? England always got all moody around the 4th of July. And here he was, practically rubbing it in his face... "I never thought about it like that..." He trailed off. He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. "Shit." He cursed under his breath before taking off through the doors and into the garden.

He burst through the doors, into the blinding sunlight. Pausing for a moment, shielding his eyes, he thought, 'Damn, why didn't I buy transition lenses?', but remembered why he was out there again. 'Oh right, England.' America took off into the hedge maze, looking for any sign of his former guardian.

It had seemed like hours, but was really only 10 minutes, when Alfred had to stop running to take a breath. He bent over, letting his head hang as he rested his hands on his knees. He took a few gulps of air before straightening himself up. How far could Arthur have gotten? It seemed so much easier when he was younger and just...an idea struck him. America cupped his hands around his mouth and called out into the open air. "Marco!"

No reply.

"Marco!"

Still nothing.

"Marcoooo! Marco marco marco marco marco ma-"

"Polo! Bloody hell, polo!" Came England's the irritated reply, just around the corner.

Alfred practically jumped over the bushes to find a small little courtyard with a few willow tress, flowers, and a white bench with a Brit sitting on it. Iggy purposely had his back to him, and Alfred smirked. For someone who claimed to be so mature, he could be more childish than himself sometimes.

"Don't you think you're a little old for that game?" England commented slowly, still not facing him.

"Define old." The US laughed, plopping himself onto the bench in his trademark, lazy posture- legs crossed, stretched out in front of him, slouching, his arms resting on the back of the seat.

"You're over 200 hundred years old...and older tomorrow." He added coldly.

Alfred sighed, running on hand through his hair. "Listen... for a hero, I was a bit of a jack ass back there. I completely forgot...you know, everything. It just seems so long ago."

"It was a long time ago." Arthur agreed.

"I guess it still kinda sucks, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

There are a long silence, the wind filling in the pause with it's gentle music and soft caresses. America leaned his head back and closed his eyes, living in the moment, instead of the day that changed his life over 200 years ago. When the wind left them, he sighed, letting his head fall on his chest and his hair cover his eyes. "You know I did what I had to." He muttered.

"Hm."

"Look at me, I was never meant to be 'England's Colony'. I'm America, land of the free, all that crap." He paused, barely containing his laughter. "Besides, you probably would have kicked me out eventually anyway."

Even Arthur couldn't be mad at that- the damn American was to charismatic. "Probably."

Together they laughed, like they hadn't in years, and never thought they would again. "So, we're good?" Alfred asked once he could breathe again.

Iggy finally turned to face him, green eyes dancing. "Yeah, whatever you twat."

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Alfred couldn't see anything past the blood on his hands. He choked on his own breath, staring wide eyes, teary eyed, down at the red stains. What the hell was going on? He looked down to see his Revolutionary War uniform, something he had wanted to burn, but never felt he could. It was raining, and he was standing on a barren rock plain, completely alone.

A flash of lightening crashed through the clouded, and the next this he knew, he was glaring into familiar green eyes, their faces almost touching. Arthur gazed back at him, his eyes a mixture of surprise, anger, deep sadness- and pain.

It was then that he noticed he was holding something. The blonde slowly looked down to see a musket in his own, blood stained hands, smoke rising from the snout. He felt his entire body go numb when he saw the blood slowly leaking from Arthur's abdomen. England slowly fell to the ground.

"Arthur!" He shouted as he fell to his knees beside him. He rolled his comrade onto his back, to find his glazed eyes looking up at him. "I- I didn't mean to- I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!" He cried, suddenly feeling like a child once again.

Alfred shot up into a sitting position, taking a moment to recognize where he was. Back at his house. The meaning was over. He rested a hand on his heart, gasping for air, his entire body glistening with cold sweat. Groaning, the teen fell back onto his bed. He had had nightmares of the revolution before, but none had ever been so...disturbing. It killed him to think that was how it could have turned out. He let his head fall to the side, glancing at the digital clock.

12:01 a.m.

"Happy Birthday to me."

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And there we go! I've done a lot of revamping to the original plot, so you'll see the little things hear and there that I've changed. Did you like this version better than the first? Tell me what you think!