Disclaimer: Hetalia I do not own. For if I did you would have known.

In order to fall, you must first take a step.

England sat in a pub…again. It was getting old, wars. Always constant fighting…

Again. And again. And again.

This time was strangely different, it seemed as though everyone wanted to join in on the fun. People were starting to call it a "World War."

The battles had just begun, the outcome still in a cloud of mystery. In fact, it seemed as though everyone was just stretching. Sure, there had been air raids, and captures, and massacres.

But all is fair in love and war, right?

England wasn't too sure anymore. What was "fair" anyways? Is it that everyone gets the same thing?

Or that everyone gets what they need? Who is to determine their needs? What of their wants?

No. The word "fair" is to general.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed through England's thoughts.

Air raid.

Again.

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America was getting nervous.

Well, not nervous. Hero's never panic. Never.

But he was still a young nation. He didn't like wars. Killing. Fighting.

No, he liked saving. And laughing.

Sure, he hadn't done that in a while, but he was still the unalienable nation, right?

No one can touch him.

But still, the cloud keeps pressing closer. Cries from other countries, they wanted help. They needed help. Protection. Assistance.

Whatever word the letter used, they all meant the same thing. The needed a hero.

But still, America sat back and waited, waited until he saw it.

On a crisp, very official document, was something that pushed him into the light of the knowing. It pulled him out of his ignorant pit of safety, and led him into the cold, harsh, exposed lands of war.

A proposal for temporary ally-ship. From England.

And then he knew, things must have been bad. Sure, it'd be nice to go into the war and save people, but it seemed like the bad outweighed the good.

But England…

Somehow, he tipped the scale. America joined the war, more than a few months late.

And thus, the name "World War" really came into play.

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Tension.

ten·sion [ténshən]

(plural ten·sions)

noun

1. anxious feelings: mental worry or emotional strain that makes natural relaxed behavior impossible

The word hardly described every meeting, every random passing, intense battle and shared war headquarters of England and America.

There was never an apology, or a smirk, or even any unnecessary shared words. When there was a combined victory, it was a slight nod of the head that showed what little thanks the two held for each other. Not the whooping, jumping, and laughing that true brothers of war partake in.

Never again.

Brother.

Much like fog tends to thicken before a storm, the tension did too.

One night America just couldn't stand it anymore. Rising from his cot and crossing the tent, he leaned down to shake the Brit awake.

Only to find he didn't have to.

The blonde man was already up and staring out at the darkness with a dead expression, his eyes glazing past Alfred, like he was some sort of memory he could try to erase.

And perhaps he was.

But the American steeled his war-torn nerves and spoke to the man who was his brother for the first time in uncountable years.

"England." His voice cracked like his throat was dry, which it was. "Can we forget everything? Please? It's tearing me apart."

The Englishman slowly sat up, the stiff sheets sounding like an avalanche in the dead of the night. "Forget." The man repeated. "Forget. I don't think I can forget. You ripped my heart out, and I can't forget what I lost."

"England, I-"

"Go back to bed, America. Times of war need nights of sleep."

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Forgiveness

for·give·ness [fər gívnəss]

noun

1. act of pardoning somebody: the act of pardoning somebody for a mistake or wrongdoing.

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How many times can one fall before they stop walking?

If everyone's a critic, then no one reads this. Critique is greatly loved!

Thank-you all for reading, faving, alerting and checking out my other stories. It means a lot to me!

I'm sorry for any grammar/Spelling mistakes. MY BETA IS LAZY. (Yeah, that's right, Dara. I'm talking to you.)

Thanks again!

-Mallory

Dear waytomuchadoaboutnothing,

turn on your PM.

love,

Mallory