Sorry this one took so long to come out! School was stealing away my yaoi muse. (I, unfortunately, live in an area where homosexuality isn't generally accepted.)
Well! As soon as I say that no one reads Hetalia New World, people suddenly start to read it! Thank you to those who compliment that work, as well as this one. You guys are the….uh...cream in my coffee!!! :D….uh….the sugar in my bowl!!!! :D….uh….you're something. O_o How about this? This is what my Taekwondo coach always said to us students: "Of all the people I know, you're some of them!"
Enjoy the storm! ;)
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England sat behind the wheel of the rented car, fighting two inward battles. One: trying to figure out how to drive on the wrong side of the car…on the wrong side of the road. Two: Debating between confessing his long-suppressed feelings to America or getting out of the smelly, rented vehicle and taking the first plane back home. Heaving an irritated sigh, he stuck his keys into the ignition and started the car.
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America was also driving to his house. Despite having lived with the same traffic rules his entire life, he drove like a reckless teenager. He cut off other cars. He drove up on the curb. He even hit a mailbox or two! He smiled exuberantly as he climbed out of his surprisingly intact car and stretched his arms lazily towards the sky, paying no heed to the insults thrown at him by his nearby victims.
"What a great sky!" he commented, gazing up at the robin's-egg blue, "This week's weather has been great."
Of course, it hadn't been great. The young nation was simply too happy about the current sunshine to remember the storms that he had seen just a few days ago. When he brought his line of vision back to the ground, he blinked in surprise at the car which was crookedly parked in his driveway. He had a visitor?
Inside the house, a burnt, yet strangely pleasant and familiar aroma wafted through the house. He froze at the empty doorframe. (He had to replace that thing at some point. How did it fall down in the first place?) He automatically knew what was making that smell.
"England!" He ran at full-speed into the kitchen. There he was. The blonde Englishman was bent down, removing a tray of scones from the oven.
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"America!" England flinched as the very man he had been thinking about for the last twenty-four hours appeared before him. In some corner of his mind that was not preoccupied by the other nation's presence, Arthur noticed that the tray was slipping from his hands.
"Ah! Look out!!" Alfred yelled as he lunged for the tray.
"Idiot! Don't touch-"
"OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"…that."
It should be fairly obvious, dear readers, that Alfred had indeed "touched that". Yet, there he continued to crouch awkwardly, a piping hot tray still held in his bare hands. The scones that America had made such a "heroic" attempt to rescue were spilled haphazardly around him. They shall be missed.
"STUPID GIT! PUT THAT DOWN!!!"
"R-Right…" but rather than automatically dropping the damn thing like any sane person would, America decided to gather up the poor befallen scones, place them in a messy pile on top of the tray, and set them on one of the rare clear places on his counter. Arthur was not amused.
"STUPID! IDIOT!! GIT!!! MORON!!! YOU BLOODY-" England sputtered, flailing his arms around in the air in frustration.
"I get the point," America said weakly, "I get – owwwww…."
"I can't believe I raised a brother as stupid as you!"
All the while, England's mind was racing. Was America okay? How badly was he hurt? Did they need to go to a hospital? Would he have to drive?! Oh, god!!
"Stupid, huh?" America said, forcing a playful smile as he walked to the kitchen sink, "I'd have to be stupid to want to save your horrible scones."
"Why, you-" He stopped when he saw the pained look on Alfred's face as he turned the faucet handle.
"Alfred… are you going to be alright?"
"Oh, please!" America replied, turning his head to look at the older country as he let the water spill over his palms, "As if that would be enough to- gah!!"
"Alfred!"
Arthur instinctively stepped forward, reaching out his right hand.
"Arthur!" America said back with a high-pitched, stereotypical British accent and another playful grin as he turned the water off.
The agitation that overtook England was matched only by the thrill of hearing Alfred say his real name. Why was he so thrilled by that? Maybe America's stupidity was contagious.
"Wait here!" England called over her shoulder as he dashed towards the door, "I'll be right back!"
Yes. It must've been contagious.
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Panting from the speed with which he carried out his excursion, England stomped back into the house and practically threw his bag of purchases at the surprisingly patient nation.
He removed the bag's contents. It was a jar of ointment for burns.
"Thanks, but no thanks," he said, dropping it carelessly on the floor, "I'll be perfectly fine. I'm America, after all!"
"That doesn't mean anything!" Arthur snapped, his last nerve thoroughly gotten on, "Now, shut up and don't let that money I wasted on you go to waste!" He knew that this made no sense, but he didn't care.
America looked at him in silence, as if he was trying to analyze him.
"Alright," he finally said, "But, only if you put it on for me."
"W-What?!"
"Why so shocked?" America responded, pulling up a nearby chair and plopping down in it, "It's just my hands. It's not like I'm asking you for a hand job or anything."
"YOU PERVERT!" England shouted before crossing his arms and turning away, enraged, "I would never agree to either of those things with you!!"
"Then, I won't use it," America responded, kicking the container away for emphasis.
"You spoiled little brat!"
"Hm…let's see here. An idiot, a stupid git, a moron, a pervert, and a spoiled little brat," he recited, counting each insult on his left hand, "Are there any negative things you haven't called me yet?"
"Plenty!"
With that, a long, awkward silence ensued. Arthur's back was turned to Alfred's, but he could feel the other nation's expectant gaze upon him.
"Alright, fine!" he said at last, using one gloved hand to cover his embarrassed face, "But, only because it's partially my fault!"
"Hooray!"
He turned to see the younger country beaming triumphantly. He had no idea why America was being so childish, but he supposed he would have to give in this time. Motivated by this logic, he walked to Alfred's side, picking up the discarded ointment and taking his burnt hands within his.
Just imagine that you're doing this for the child Alfred, he told himself, There's nothing weird about an older brother putting ointment on his younger brother's hands.
He examined the burns. They weren't too serious, but Alfred would have a hard time touching anything for the next couple of weeks.
Alfred…yes, little Alfred, still shorter than me…
He unscrewed the cap and set it aside before applying a small amount to the burns.
His hands are so big…I never considered how much bigger than mine they were…
With an unwelcome blush and unsteady hands, he spread the milky-white cream over his palms.
…and with no glasses either! Just a fresh, innocent face, yes…
Ignoring the other nation's childish complaints, he began to lather the solution into the larger pair of hands' rough skin.
…and they're so warm, too…Idiot! Of course they're warm! He's not a bloody vampire!! But, they're just so…No! I'm supposed to be thinking of him as a child! A child! Would you think such things of a child?!
"Hmmmmmm…."
Arthur looked up. His heart leapt when he saw Alfred's blue eyes looking back at him, curiously.
"Why did you come here, England?" he asked, "Surely, not just to bake scones!"
"Oh! That's right!" he exclaimed, discontinuing his task and stumbling backwards. He had been so preoccupied that he had forgotten why he flew all the way to America in the first place. It was to…It was to…
"Um…America…" England said, his face a bright magenta and his hands clasped together tightly.
"The one and only!" America replied cheerfully.
"You see…I came here to…"
Just tell him.
"The reason I'm here is to…"
If you don't now, then you never will!
"Is to…"
"'Is to'?" Alfred echoed, cocking his head to one side like a confused puppy.
England sighed in defeat.
"Is to see if you think my cooking has improved any."
"Ah-ha!" America said, automatically springing into action, "I knew it was just to make scones! I'm so observant!"
Arthur smiled sadly as Alfred made a mad dash towards the burnt, dirty scones like the adorable pig he was.
"Whatever you say…" he muttered.
They ate. America said it was still horrible, and the rain picked up again.
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XD I'm so sorry, spazzkitty! You're probably going to hate me for the way this chapter ended!
