Rivalry
Part 2
America was sitting outside, doing quite possibly his favorite thing in the world. Eating a hamburger.
There was something so wonderful about hamburgers. He'd tried multiple times to explain this fact to certain other countries…particularly one bushy-eyebrowed country who had no sense of taste. However, he seemed to be the only one so far who could really appreciate the flavorful delight that was a hamburger.
He glanced toward the door of the meeting building and then back down toward his watch. What was taking England so long to get out here anyway? His burger was going to go cold if he didn't hurry up. And after America was so kind as to get him one without even being asked. (The fact that there had been a 'buy 2 burgers for $3' sale had nothing to do with it.)
So the least England could do was to hurry up and get out here instead of making America wait forever. The meeting had ended almost ten minutes ago. He should definitely be out here by now.
America sighed and glanced down into the bag sitting beside him on the bench.
There was a hamburger. Sitting right next to him. And he'd finished his…and he was quite hungry… And it was right there and England was being slow…
"What are you still doing here?"
America glanced up to see England standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at him. When had he gotten there?
More importantly, when had the hamburger jumped from the bag and into his hand? Because he didn't remember opening it…
Oh yeah, England had just asked him a question. He grinned and leapt to his feet, taking a bite of the hamburger and then stating quickly, "I figured that since you suck at cooking, I'd bring you a hamburger!"
He extended the bag out toward England, who glanced into it curiously and then looked back up at the American with exasperation. "There's nothing in there."
…Oh yeah. He was currently eating England's hamburger…
"Well, you were taking too long!" It wasn't his fault that he got hungry.
"I was talking with Japan," England sighed, rolling his eyes in a way that plainly stated that he considered America to be a complete idiot and was currently wondering why he was even bothering talking to him. "Not that I'd want a hamburger anyway. That rubbish that you call food is going to give you a heart attack someday."
America was pretty sure that it was impossible for a nation to have a heart attack. "Psh, you're just jealous that your burgers don't taste as good as mine. And that you can't make your McFlurry's right."
For a long while, England just stared at America in amazement. Then his eyes narrowed and his hands fisted at his side and "What are you talking about, you bloody git?! I'll have you know that my McDonald's food is a hundred times better than your greasy excuse for a meal."
"You don't even know what the candies are called! You put toffee in them! And you don't even flurry the McFlurry's. You just put your weird toffee candies in and don't even bother to stir them up!"
"Toffee is absolutely wonderful! Better than your 'oreos' or whatever you call them…"
"Plus, you call cookies 'biscuits,' which makes absolutely no sense…"
"And what about your bloody football? You use your hands…"
"And potato chips! What do you call them? 'Crisps'?"
"Artie!"
And suddenly England was tackled from the side by an overly exuberant albino nation, knocking him straight into America.
Usually America would not be taken off guard by something like this. He was a hero and heroes should be constantly aware of their surroundings. However, he was pretty sure that most heroes didn't have a Prussian nation suddenly attack the person that they were engaged in a word fight with and throw them all onto the ground.
Which he now realized was quite painful, as both England and Prussia had fallen on top of him.
Although his burger was still in his hand. And had survived the fall unscathed.
For a few seconds, he just gazed in amazement at the sight. It was a miracle!! A blessed hamburger!!
And then an elbow jabbed into his ribs and a boot kicked a few inches shy of an area where he'd much rather not be kicked.
"Hey!"
"Bloody git! Why the fuck did you tackle me?!"
Prussia cackled from where he was now sitting on England's back, apparently extremely amused by this sudden development. "Haha! You just can't handle my awesomeness, can you?"
"You just jumped me! Get off!"
Prussia ignored him, apparently content on remaining on top of the dogpile. "Hey, Artie. You promised that you'd come drinking with France and Spain and the awesome me!"
England groaned and let his head fall backwards. Against America's chest, which he hurriedly realized and attempted to roll away from.
Thankfully, Prussia really didn't weigh that much, so it was possible for him to roll over. Unfortunately, this displaced the other nation and caused him to fall forward and crush both of them. America groaned and suddenly pushed both of them to the side. Hero or no hero, he wasn't about to let himself be crushed.
England grunted as he fell back against the pavement, Prussia still half-lying on top of him. It was probably a bad sign that he was starting to get used to these random attacks. Prussia seemed to have learned something from Italy's hugs. The best way to get someone's attention was to jump them.
"So you're coming, right? Since you promised."
Why did he associate with this idiot? The last thing he wanted to do right now was go drinking with Prussia, France, and Spain. Especially France. Spain wasn't hard to deal with, although sometimes when he got really really drunk, he'd start whining at him about his Armada. And Prussia was actually rather fun to drink with…if you didn't mind spending the night in a prison cell at least.
But he'd rather claw his eyeballs out than agree to spend unnecessary time with France.
He was about to state this, and continue to yell at Prussia to get the hell off of him, when he was interrupted by familiar screaming coming from the building he'd just left.
"Fucking bastard Spagna!"
"Lovi~ why are you angry? I didn't do anything…"
"Spain-nii, Nii-chan!"
Prussia immediately was off of England and halfway to the ruckus, already sensing that this would be something entertaining to involve himself in.
England sat up, rubbing at the back of his head and flashing a glare to Prussia's back before sending an identical one to America. Who was staring at the commotion and eating that hamburger—which should have been his, by the way—like this was some sort of carnival for his entertainment.
Romano was yelling at Spain. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Spain looked entirely confused and was attempting to reason with him, while Italy was standing beside Spain and looked as if he were about to burst into tears. Germany looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else right now, while France grinned from where he was standing on the front step, looking much too pleased with himself.
So let's see… France had probably been molesting Spain, who was too oblivious to realize what was going on. Romano had walked in, gotten furious, and run out. Spain had followed, entirely confused about what was going on. Italy had maybe been outside with Germany when his brother had run out, upset. This, in turn, had upset Italy… And now everybody else was either attempting to ignore the pandemonium, or, in Prussia's case, was attempting to figure out how to irritate it to more explosive levels.
England sighed and stood, glancing quickly toward America, who was too interested in the proceedings—Romano was now screaming at Spain about a French pervert…he'd been right—to even notice that he was leaving.
He couldn't recall another time when he'd actually been grateful for Romano's temper, but there had to be a first time for everything.
A/N: Yeah, British and American differences in vocabulary, restaurants, etc. are quite entertaining. And have led to some awkward moments for me…
For everyone who wished me good luck in London, thank you very much!! I've managed to update this faster than I expected since my workload hasn't been too incredibly ridiculous yet. I absolutely love it here! England is so gorgeous…
Reviews are greatly loved. :)