A/N: I felt the need to write this shortly after I finished this story. I wasn't going to do this, and I don't know if it cheapens it, but perhaps I'm just a sucker for happier endings.
Epilogue
America felt that he had endured this his entire life. It was one thing to pretend not to love the man who'd both helped him become an 'adult' and forgiven him for what the other nation had deemed a betrayal - it was another to watch him try to end his life time after time.
It was... the worst time in his life, and he didn't think anything but the extinction of all life on the planet could top it.
America had tried to look after him - he'd kept his people safe, and had never stopped doing that, although he had always insisted that they be England's. In fact, as much as his capacity as 'Al' had been performed time after time, his capacity as America had needed work. So he'd done what he'd never wanted to, in the hope of providing the solution he had hoped for since day one.
England had - unfortunately - been finally kept away from everyone, surrounded by humans, in the obscurity he'd wanted. But America knew where he was, always, and he would rescue him just as soon as the deal went through.
Which was now.
America stood off to the side as his President shook hands with the new Prime Minister of Britain. He watched as the reinstated monarchy received cheers from the crowd, and revelled in the relief that came with finally being able to do something right.
It hadn't been easy - that's why it had taken over twenty years, and without England's help it had been worse. The sense of connection England's people had once had had become terse, a thin string compared to that which America had with his own people.
To be honest, he'd also concentrated too much on Arthur, and not enough on England.
England had needed just as much looking after as Arthur did, even now, and now America was finally able to say with - not pride, they'd all suffered too much for that - finality that the future of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland was secured.
He'd pulled every string he could, called on every favour, even - ugh - almost begged some countries like Russia and China. Nothing was below his dignity when it came to saving England. He'd loaned money and invested shitloads of everything and he'd finally - finally! - done it.
England could be saved now.
America almost runs to England's recovery centre, too impatient to wait for a car or anything - he must feel this, surely, and he would have brought him with him but he was irreparably terrified that something would go wrong and England would-
- and he'd see it, all in front of his eyes again, worse and worse each time.
But as he reaches the centre, has it in sight, Japan walks out and behind him follows France, and... England.
And...
America nearly cries - England and France are bickering, more lightly than they would have, but they're arguing and England is-he's...
America can almost feel his presence from here, his reinstated presence of a nation - he's not sure whether to smile or cry so he does both at once; and it's very hard to run like this but he doesn't care.
England sees him, beams, brightly and proudly and meets him half way, squeezing him as tight as he can and making a sound that once wouldn't have been laughter, but now he's carefree and it is.
America thinks, then, that everything has been - not exactly worth it, he wouldn't call the pain worth anything - almost planned to lead up to this moment because he was never, ever going to let him die, not for real, not forever.
They pull back only a little from each other, just enough for England to say "I love you, America", and for America to beam brightly in response, unable to formulate any words save one.
"England," he says, and he kisses England's smile because at last it's true.
