Author's Note: Thank you all for the lovely reviews! They are greatly appreciated! :)
England still wasn't sure how a trip to the grocery store counted as an adventure in America's book, but he supposed he was about to find out. The group exited the car upon successfully reaching the nearest 'Costco', despite France's insistence that he didn't need any help from America with the directions to the supermarket. It was a miracle that the twin nations had even survived the drive, considering the constant bickering between the two elder nations in the front seats.
Canada made a note to remind him to make sure to call shotgun so that England would be forced to sit in the back on the way back to America's house.
"Finally, some fresh air! God, I've missed being outdoors!" America exclaimed theatrically as he stepped out of the vehicle and surveyed the parking lot. He put his hands on his hips in thought, seemingly searching for something. "Someone save me! I've been subjected to another life of isolationism by a pair of Europeans!"
England rolled his eyes, slapping a gloved hand over America's mouth and muffling his pleas for salvation. He gave the younger albeit taller nation a wry smile and tugged his woolen hat down to cover his blue eyes before releasing the blabbermouth, leaving the nation blind for a few seconds. "I'd keep it down if I were you; the last thing you want is to lose your voice before the meeting. I suppose it would be a relief for the rest of us, knowing that you wouldn't be chattering at every given moment."
America pulled the fabric of the hat away from his face, sticking out his tongue at England in childish amusement. He decided to save his insulting remarks for a later time, knowing that they would have a stronger effect when he didn't look as though he were trying to share the plague among his citizens.
The warmth inside of the supermarket sent shudders down the spines of the quartet. France scavenged a cart for them while America and Canada made their escape to the other side of the store to avoid having to witness another argument between their former mentors. They decided to meet up with the pair later.
Canada immediately set out for the pharmaceutical section, leaving America with no choice but to follow him since he refused to go off on his own. He watched languidly as Canada read the side-effects and warnings of multiple cold and cough syrups, occasionally throwing in his two cents to the conversation by claiming that real men and heroes didn't need medication to stave off illness.
"Fine," Canada huffed after enduring America's criticisms for too long. "You can go right ahead and spend another two nights without getting any sleep or peace, but I'd rather suck it up, and let my selfish pride go. At least then, I won't have to worry about getting pneumonia from a stupid cold."
America scoffed, playing with his hat by swinging it around his index finger distractedly. "You're overreacting. We're going to be sick until the epidemic dies down in our countries and not a minute sooner. So, there's no point in chugging down medications."
"That doesn't mean we can't weaken the effects," Canada countered, taking a box of Nyquil and Robitussin off of one of the shelves.
America sighed and leaned against the rack of allergy medications, arms crossed as he waited impatiently for his brother to move on to a more interesting aisle. His eyes roamed around the store for a moment before he let out a violent sneeze, surprising himself with the force behind the action before rubbing at his nose with a sniffle.
"Bless you," someone said from behind him, catching his attention.
America spun around, a little flustered as he met the eyes of the pretty female pharmacist standing behind a counter a few feet away. He nodded and thanked her, looking more than a bit sheepish and embarrassed to have nearly set off an earthquake with his sneeze. He gave her his best cheeky smile, blushing as Canada chuckled beside him.
"Flu season is quite terrible this year, isn't it?" the woman asked with a smile of her own. "Vaccinations can only help a scarce few; there's really no way of avoiding it."
America cleared his throat, wishing he didn't look so pathetic so that he could have an actual shot at wooing the girl with his charms. The only reply that his still mildly feverish mind could come up with at the time was, "Yeah, no kidding. S-See ya."
What a failure on his part.
Thankfully, Canada was sympathetic enough to stop his medicine perusal and to stumble upon the cookie aisle. America immediately scoured the shelves, berating his churning stomach for not allowing him to indulge his sweet tooth for the past few days. Just the thought of having a cookie made his abdomen protest loudly, grumbling as it shared its opinion.
Crestfallen, America departed the cookie aisle, massaging his stomach as he pulled the hood of his coat over his head and sulked.
"We probably should've picked up some Pepto Bismol too," Canada noted, looking a little squeamish upon catching a glance of America's green-tinged face underneath the hood. "Too bad you had to humiliate yourself in front of the pharmacist. It's alright though because she could definitely do better than picking someone like you. Possibly, she'd be more interested in the better-looking twin, which she just happened not to notice."
Heeding England's advice and choosing to save his voice, America used the alternative of brute force against his twin brother. He stretched out an arm, nearly managing to catch Canada but missing as the nation sprinted forward and out of his reach. Eventually, they set out on a wild-goose chase. America had every intention of avenging his stomach by taking out his frustrations on his brother. He darted after Canada, cursing his weakened legs for not keeping up with his desired velocity.
They rounded a corner, barely avoiding a collision with a stack of laundry detergent. Canada was so immersed in fleeing for the safety of his life that he didn't notice the pair of people exiting an aisle and ran straight into their cart before he could stop his momentum. He dropped the medicine boxes in his hands from the impact, bracing himself as America ran into his back a moment later. He let out a strangled yelp and pushed America back as he stood upright, preparing to apologize.
"I'm really sor—Arthur?" Canada caught his breath, wincing as he bore the brunt of a lecture that was sure to manifest itself at any moment.
"Fancy meeting you here, Matthew," England drawled, scanning his figure before acknowledging America's state. He was quite the sight with his hood still drawn over his head, glasses lopsided, and chunky scarf unraveling around his neck. He rubbed his elbow and gave England an innocent smile, glancing to France for further protection. "Would anyone like to explain themselves?"
France offered himself up as tribute. "I was just looking for the eggs."
"The question wasn't directed at you, frog," England snarled. "I knew this was a terrible idea. Honestly, I'd expect this from nations under a century old."
Canada retrieved the medicine boxes he'd dropped, depositing them safely into the cart before speaking. "I had no choice. America was going to maim me beyond recognition."
"Not true!" America protested, moving closer to the group now that his brain deemed it safe to do so. "I was just going to give you a pat on the head."
England shook his head, murmuring fervently under his breath as he took hold of the shopping cart and pushed it forward roughly. "This family will be the end of me!"
America stopped dead in his tracks, eyes looking mischievous despite the ever-present fever residing there. "You consider us family?"
A chorus of "awws" sounded from the remaining trio as they hovered behind the irate Brit, looking quite pleased with themselves.
"After all of these years, he finally admits to it! I should've gotten that on camera!" America chimed, daring to show his face again as he pulled the hood off of his head. "That was a historic moment!"
"You're all delusional with fevers! The epidemic is surely spreading."
England's face flushed in fury as he quickened his pace, wishing the cash registers weren't such a long walk away. He choked on his own breath as he felt a pair of hands grab him from behind and pull him in for a tight hug. Before he could escape, three pairs of arms were already wrapped around him, encasing him in a group hug as he shouted at his fellow nations that such things were unacceptable in public.
Involuntarily, a thin-lipped smile strung itself on his face.
"Bunch of wankers, you lot."
"Alright, dudes, hope you enjoyed your stay at the manor. Come back again if you feel the need to make yourselves useful by participating in some cheap labor," America announced as he opened his front door and watched his guests pack their things into a taxi so that they could be taken back to their hotel. "Unfortunately, I'll have to see you guys at the start of the meeting tomorrow, but after that, my life should go back to smooth sailing."
A whack to the head (courtesy of Canada), bid him farewell in return.
"If you don't feel well enough to attend the meeting, don't push yourself. It's already been settled among everyone that I will host the conference in your place if you choose to call in sick," England reminded, green eyes studying his former charge carefully.
America brushed off the concerns and adjusted his glasses. "I've got this, dude. Besides, I can't let you steal my entire spotlight."
"Don't flatter yourself."
"Wouldn't dream of it," America said with a bright smile. He'd gained back the healthy hue in his cheeks, but his eyes were still glazed with a persistent, mild fever. At least the blockade of congestion in his sinuses had cleared, allowed him to speak without worrying about being misunderstood.
"Take care of yourself," England mumbled with a tone of finality, casting his former colony a reassuring little smile that would've been unperceivable from a distance.
America nodded, earnestly replying, "You too, England. Keep an eye out for Mattie, and don't forget about him this time."
"I don't forget about him! He's just very quiet at times amongst all the commotion during the meetings. You've overlooked him as well on more than one occasion."
America rolled his eyes, waving away the accusation. "I pretend not to see him. That's what brothers are for; they only come together and are supportive of each other when it really matters. He doesn't need my attention at the meetings."
"Rubbish."
"You just don't understand the brotherly code. Don't worry, I'll teach you about it someday."
"Why, you little—" England hissed.
"Just kidding!"
"Here's your lunch from Tim Hortons—a Tuscan chicken panini without the red onions," Canada informed as he returned to the break room of where the conference was being held. "I'm surprised you passed up McDonald's."
America glowered, taking the bag from Canada with a low groan. "Yeah, my stomach isn't feeling that great yet. Wait—who are you again?"
"Canada, your brother," the lavender eyed nation remarked, playing along. America could be really provoking and horrible when he wanted to be. This façade of 'forgetting' his identity was all a ruse connected to their sibling rivalry. In a way, America liked to secure his position as the more well-known North American brother, rubbing it into Canada's face at every opportunity.
America winked at him slyly, straightening his tie and rolling up his shirt sleeves so that he could avoid getting them dirty as he ate. "Oh, right, now I remember. Thanks. Where's the coffee?"
Canada took a seat, unfazed by America's demanding questions. "England's getting Starbucks, so he should be here any minute. I figured you'd prefer that coffee over Tim Hortons."
"You know me too well; it's freaking me out. I'll have you know that I've been prepared for any missiles you might feel like launching at your big bro for years now, so there's no point in you even trying." America warned, taking a bite into his panini.
"It's good to know that your paranoia hasn't died down in the slightest after all of these years, you warmonger."
America put a hand over his heart, feigning a hurt expression. "Better safe than sorry; I don't want to wake up one morning to find Lady Liberty sinking in New York Harbor because you decided it'd be a cute prank."
"If anything, I'm the one who should be worried that you'll go on one of your little rampages. Others may not believe it, but you can be a mad genius when you put your conniving mind to it, and I don't want to be on the receiving end of it." Canada huffed, taking out his own sandwich out of its wrapping.
"Aww, are ya scared, Mattie?"
"No, I could take you on," Canada replied, though obviously he was lacking confidence and conviction behind the statement.
"Those are some strong words coming from a country without nukes."
"Sheer power doesn't determine the outcome of a war. I thought you would've learned that after taking on Britain."
"Hmm, maybe, but you still don't stand a chance. Hey, maybe we should go to war, and then the globe would pay a little more attention to you."
Canada backhanded the side of America's head that was facing him.
"Ow!"
"It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for."
"SUMMER! Good riddance winter viruses and spring allergies!" America cheered as he ran down to the beach and over to the seashore, hot sand and seashells nipping at his toes. He sped into the Atlantic Ocean, grinning gleefully as the icy water eased the sticky, humid feeling that had been plaguing his skin. "The first heat wave of the season is here!"
After much persuasion on his part, America had accomplished the arduous task of inviting Canada, France, and England over to spend a week of their summer season on the East coast of Florida, basking in some sunshine. So now, there they all were, clad in swim trunks and sunglasses as the sun beat down on their backs and England prattled on about the risks of skin cancer.
While Canada and England set up the beach umbrella and sun chairs, France swam out with America into the water, complaining about the freezing temperature.
"What do you expect? 'Course it's gonna be cold. At least we're on an actual beach, not those miserable, narrow pathways that you Europeans are used to; those are sad excuses for beaches." America droned, throwing his head back into the water and letting out a contented sigh.
France tutted, pursing his lips. "Your words, they hurt me, Amérique. French beaches are extraordinaire. I will invite you to visit them next time."
"Alright, I guess I'll give you a chance to prove me wrong," America conceded, lifting up his soaking head to glance back at the shore. He tried to shout to Canada and eventually caught his gaze, motioning a hand for him to come into the water.
The Canadian looked pretty outlandish, standing out there on the scorching sand in his flip-flops. He was slathered from head to toe in sunscreen and wore a red visor on his head. He also refused to take off his t-shirt out of the fear of getting sunburned. It was obvious that he wasn't used to the heat, and that he didn't fit in among Florida's sunshine. He frowned as America smiled encouragingly at him, hesitant after listening to England's speech in the car about how unhygienic and unsafe the beach was.
Deciding that he was going to have to physically settle the matter at hand, America swam back to the shore and jogged up to Canada, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him toward the tide. "C'mon, bro. Don't listen to Arthur and his rant about UV rays. He doesn't know how to have a good time."
England—still within earshot and now resting in a beach chair—shot America a disapproving look. He settled himself under the multicolored beach umbrella, pulling out some reading material to kill time. "Excuse me for trying to inform the younger generation of the senselessness of baking in the sun for entertainment."
America let out an upward breath, ruffling Nantucket and smacking his spearmint gum as he pondered over an appropriate response to England's pessimistic rant. "Dude, you can't live your life in fear of what could be. You could never get sunburned and still get skin cancer. It's not a crime to get a little sunlight and let loose once in a while."
"I beg to differ. We both know what your definition of 'getting a little sunlight' is. You were always reckless in terms of properly tending to your health, and I for one, will not allow you to drag your brother—"
"That's it," America muttered as he popped his bubblegum in an irritated manner. He advanced over England swiftly, grabbing the man by his upper arms and pulling him out of his resting spot under the umbrella forcefully. He really loved the extent of his strength at times like these. "You're going to learn to have some fun," the blue-eyed nation said promisingly.
England planted his feet into the ground, hoping that he'd be able to hold his ground. Unfortunately, he was soon being hauled through the sand, feet sliding forward against his will. "Release me, Alfred! Matthew, do something!"
Canada bit his lip, not sure whose side to take. "Alfred, you don't have to be so forceful in everything you—"
"The water is FREEZING!" England squawked, trying to fling himself backward into the sand to get out of America's grasp on his arms. He had raised the nation from a little colony, and now, the nation was a good head taller than him and far stronger than any force he could resist.
France chuckled from behind, offering America some help as he took hold of England's legs. Together, the pair dumped England into the ocean water, cracking giddy smiles as the nation flopped through the water and coughed roughly once he had regained control of his limbs. "You gits! I should contact security for your—"
A splash of water to the face cut him off as he involuntarily swallowed part of the sea, eyes watering as he pointed an accusing finger at America.
Said nation held his hands up in surrender, waves crashing into his chest as he spoke. "It wasn't me, I swear! It was Francis!"
France took his turn to look flabbergasted at the incrimination.
"I saw you do it!" England lied smoothly, hoping for his shot at sweet vengeance as France stood innocently on the sidelines, a smirk knitting itself on his features.
Canada, who had joined the trio in the water by this point, finally butted in and allowed himself to be acknowledged. "It was me! All of you are arguing for no good reason!"
England raised a thick brow, eyes looking quiet bewildered. "Matthew? Since when have you decided to turn against me? You were always such a good colony. I was hoping Alfred's attitude would never rub off on you; I'd always tried to protect you from his influence. Now, I see that my efforts have been futile."
Canada blushed, looking slightly ashamed. He really hated disappointing others. The only person he could actual attempt at being cruel to was America, but that was because he knew his brother deserved whatever he dealt. "S-Sorry, I don't know what came over me…"
Another splash of water now found Canada's face, getting him in the sunglasses. He glared at America as the culprit smiled beguilingly in return, feigning immaculateness and shrugging his shoulders.
In the next moment, Canada had tackled America, sending them both crashing underwater as they kicked and thrashed at each other.
Losing his sunglasses in the water, America held up a hand to call for a time-out as he rubbed furiously at his eyes. Spluttering he said, "Watch it, bro! I'm wearin' contacts y'know. I didn't bring spare ones or my glasses."
"You're nearsighted?" Canada asked, looking a little puzzled.
"Well, duh. Why do you think I never take 'em off?"
"I thought you were farsighted like me. You always said you were!"
America fished out his sunglasses from the depths of the water, looking a little caught off guard by the interrogation. "Yeah, about that… I couldn't let you know my weakness! If you knew that I was practically blind without my glasses, you'd hold that information against me!"
"Well, you're right. I am going to use it against you now, so thanks for letting me know. Even Arthur didn't tell me you were nearsighted!"
"Of course he didn't because he's got my back, unlike someone else I know."
"Are those contacts burning from the salt water yet?"
"Sleep with your eyes open, Mattie."
"At least I won't have to have my glasses on when I do."
America growled, attempting to launch himself at Canada again but failing as England and France teamed up to restrain him. Still frustrated, he decided to challenge his twin. "Fine, why don't we settle this the old fashioned way? Let's see if you can beat me at some beach volleyball."
"You're on."
England shook his head, still pinning one of America's arms behind his back. "Oh, no, please don't start a silly competition again."
"England and me versus you and France; first team to earn twenty-five points wins."
"Okay, just as long as we don't have to stop if you get some sand in your eyes."
"You're so going down!"
France and England glanced at each other, having a silent debate amongst themselves.
"We will never agree to partake in such child's play. Right, frog?"
France grinned widely. "Ooh la la. Sounds fun to me. Matthew and I are obviously the better team."
"What are you on about? Alfred and I could wipe the floor with you any day," England backfired, already getting riled up by all of the trash-talking. After meeting America's inquiring gaze, he gave the younger a curt nod, deciding that one game to put the Frenchman in his rightful place wouldn't hurt.
Let the games begin.
The quartet had traveled to a separate area of the beach reserved for sporting activities, where there was a fully equipped volleyball net along with a supply of volleyballs. After a short warm-up, both teams prepared themselves for the start, stretching occasionally and shooting each other dirty looks the entire time.
England took the first serve, hitting the net on his first try.
Immediately, France let out a bark of laughter. "You play volleyball as well as you play football, Arthur."
England gritted his teeth and balled up his fists, intending to throttle his European counterpart, but being stopped abruptly by America, who grabbed him by the shoulders and assured him that such a move was not worth it at the start of the match.
"Don't let him get to you," America soothed, still obnoxiously chewing on his gum in a way that had England climbing walls. "Be classy and just beat him fair and square without giving a damn about his comments."
Thus, the ball was turned over to the Canada and France during the next play. France served first and would've succeeded in spiking the ball had England not hit the sand and knocked the ball back over the net, a smug smile on his face as the unexpected turn of events earned their team a point.
"Yes! One to one!" America cheered, high-fiving England and feeling a warmth grow in his chest as the man smiled back at him. "We're the dream team, Artie. We've got this in the bag."
America honestly couldn't recall the last time he'd had so much fun with his quirky little 'family'. The memories that he'd once shared with them were distant and blurred, but he was sure there were some bright moments in the jumble of flashbacks. He couldn't cease grinning when he saw the coy look in France's eyes as he and England stared each other down. Canada was also sending him some looks of his own, determination burning in his lavender eyes.
The game seemed to go on for ages until both teams had reached the final stretch of the match. With twenty-four points, America and England only needed this last match point to win. However, with a score of twenty-three, Canada and France were still in the game.
Canada served and America sent it back over the net again. France hurtled it back once more, sweat accumulating on his forehead from the effort.
America went after the ball, determined to end the game with this last play.
"Let it go!" England shouted at him a bit too late.
And before America could register that the ball was long and going out of bounds, he slipped into a dive and accidently grazed it with his hand, cursing fervently as his body met the sand in defeat.
Both teams were now tied at twenty-four points.
Downtrodden and shamed over giving his rival team a free point, America continued to lie in the sand, panting from exhaustion.
A sympathetic expression crossing his face, England approached the younger nation and patted him on the back, offering him a hand to help him up. "We've still got one more play, lad. Everyone makes mistakes, but you can't let it affect you so. Up you get," he encouraged, succeeding in getting the nation onto his feet again.
"I can't lose to Mattie or he'll never let me live it down."
"Well, then, let's give them a run for their money."
America nodded, spirits bolstered a bit after the pep-talk.
After rotating, France served once more and England sent it back, avoiding Canada's close proximity as he aimed for the corner of the court. At a second's notice, France saved it again, and sent the ball flying high in the air above America's head.
The blue-eyed nation sprung into the air, gaining momentum as his wrist powerfully slammed down on the ball, spiking it right in front of Canada's eyes.
Breaking out into a fit of excitement, England sped over to America and ruffled his hair just as he'd done to him as a child. "We won! That last move was spectacular!" he applauded with a fond smile.
France booed at them from the other side of the net while simultaneously consoling Canada.
England could have sworn that the man had made some comment about his cooking as well as his and America's sense of taste, but chose to ignore it in order to fully enjoy the satisfaction of victory.
It wasn't until they reached their hotel that everyone took note of the terrible sunburn that was covering one of the four nations.
Apparently, England's sunscreen had not been waterproof, which meant that he'd spent the entire day in the sun with the equivalent of zero SPF on his skin thanks to France and America dumping his body into the ocean.
"What was that about skin cancer, mon cher?"
"Oh, shut it!" England snapped, severely upset as his whole body stung from the terrible burn.
France clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Now we see who gets the last laugh."
Before any fighting could break out and lead to another disaster, America went out and quickly purchased a few gallons of milk accompanied by some aloe vera from the local supermarket and lugged them back to the hotel. He dutifully set up a milk bath for his old mentor to treat the burn, never allowing himself even the slightest sliver of a smile at the nation's expense as Canada and France teased the green-eyed nation about the irony of the situation.
"They can laugh all they want now, but we can always remind them that we kicked their butts at volleyball," America told England as he retreated from the bathroom to let the other nation bathe in privacy.
Canada later apologized for the excessive teasing, joining America in helping coat England's back and shoulders with aloe vera.
And though France would probably have liked to pride himself in being unhelpful to the Brit, America overheard the man cheering his rival nation up with some strange anecdote during the night, seeing as England was painfully trying to fall asleep despite the protests of his stinging skin.
The sunburned nation sighed to himself, realizing that although the other three nations were complete and utter gits, they were his gits.
And that was all that really mattered.