A special thanks to:
Rufescent
this reviewer
Thanks for reviewing guys!
WARNING: 9-11 and alcoholism (#trigger warnings)
I don't own Hetalia or its characters.
A Tale of Resentment
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.:Drowning Sorrows:.
The air was stale with alcohol and grease. Empty bottles of varying brands littered the floor of the dark living room and the curtains were drawn, blocking out even the gentle light of the moon and stars. The only light in the room was from the flat screen on the far side of the room. America sat on the couch, draining another bottle of whisky from his stock. He didn't normally drink, especially not to this degree, but today was an exception. "9-11" The nation sigh and swished the rest of the golden liquid around in the nearly empty bottle. "The day someone else got the drop on my ass." The last swigs of whisky were tossed back into the nation's mouth in one shot and swallowed with vigor. The alcohol dulled the phantom pain that followed him on this day, then the next day he would nurse his hangover and everything would go back to normal until 9-11 rolled around again. It was a never ending cycle that America had grown accustomed to, though he had little choice in the matter since it seemed unavoidable.
The whisky bottle joined its fallen brothers on the rug covered floor when there was a knock at the door. The drunken nation groaned and slumped against his couch, but didn't answer beyond that. The knocking came again, consistent and quickly growing impatient. "No one's home ass-hat!" There was silence after that, then a very subtle clicking; the sound of lock picking.
America heard the door opening and the muted clack of the intruder's two steps in. "I have a gun." America said in a bored tone, "I'm sure you do Alfred." A distinct voice answered nonchalantly, followed by more nearing steps. "Though I can assure you, I'd be a waste of a good bullet." Another groan was smothered by a couch pillow, "Why are you here Iggy? The beer is gone all gone."
"Please, as if I would drink that piss water you call beer." England replied, removing his jacket and inspecting the room with knowing eyes. "Yeah? Well, the whisky n' rum is gone too." America slurred and the elder clicked his tongue while shaking his head, "Now that is unfortunate."
"Tell me about it. Now unless you brought drinks, get out." England rolled his eyes and sat on the recliner across from where the drunken nation wallowed. "I wouldn't bring my alcohol anywhere near you. You can't appreciate it when you're sober, why bring it over when you're pissed beyond reason?"
"'Cause I'd drink it?" England gave a snort of his own, "No, you would down it all like a parched animal. That is not drinking." He shook his head again. "Honestly America, you just don't take the time to appreciate life at all; you're always going, never stopping."
"Yeah, well, at least I don't revel in it like a senile old man! Besides, the past has a harder time catching up with you when you're always moving away from it."
"You mean running away from it."
"I say elevator, you say lift." England chuckled, "Certainly makes you wonder why everyone thinks British English and American English are the same, doesn't it?"
"The only difference between the two is an ocean."
"It's a fairly big difference." England took America's silence as an excuse to look around the room. He gave a sad sigh and picked up an empty glass bottle, "Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"Hypocrite."
"I'm serious America! This is getting out of hand! The drinking is getting worse, there's more bottles than last year-"
"How do you know about last year?" England froze at America's question. His confession was a slip of the tongue. "England?" No response. "Arthur, how?" The Brit gave a nervous chuckle, "Surly you didn't think you magically managed to make it from passed out on the floor, into bed these past few years? Unless your house is haunted."
"That was you?!" America squeaked, completely missing England's jest at his biggest fear. "Wait, what do you mean, 'few years'? This has been happening for thirteen of them!" There was quiet for a long time, "Arthur…how many times have we had this conversation?"
"Surprisingly, this is the first. I can only think of two instances where you were still conscious, but everything out of your mouth was drunken rambles." England said simply, without a hint of care he carefully sifted out of his voice. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. Couldn't have the world thinking he's become too sentimental or heaven forbid; that he had gone soft! "But... why?" The young nation muttered. "You've stated on numerous occasions that you despise me." The elder was quiet, eyeing the floor in contemplation. "Perhaps... I was being a tad bit, overdramatic." America furrowed his brows, "What?"
"Good Go-do I have to spell it out for you?" But England never elaborated beyond that, much to America's disappointment. The outburst was followed by a long and uncomfortable silence. "Never mind, let's get you to bed then, yes?" England offered his hand while the other Stared at it blankly, then looked up, "What am I going to do now?" He was pulled to his feet and leaned heavily against his former caretaker who -surprisingly- was allowing himself to be used as a crutch. "What you do every year Alfred." He said and helped America hobble up the stairs.
The Brit watched the nation sleep soundly, having tucked the younger in himself. Giving another glance, he shut the bedroom door behind him, quietly finishing, "forget this night happened."
A/N: What is this? Angst that doesn't involve America and England being insulted by each other's presence? Is Dolly even capable of writing that?! I know guys, I'm freaking out a little bit too, like what even is this? It's hurt/comfort guys and I've finally throwing my romantic OTP feels in your faces. XP Though I think this ending is rather... crappy. Should I write a follow up shot to it?
You know what I need? An English co-writer. I always feel super awkward when I write England, because I'm over here in the Western Hemisphere going, "LOL wut is brit slang?" and trying to correctly placing the tiny bits that I -and pretty much every American in existence- am familiar with. If you want to write with me just send me a message, even if it's just giving me some authentic slang to use. In fact *pulls out a megaphone* HEY WORLD! THIS AMERICAN NEEDS HELP WITH NATIONAL LINGO AND THE INTERNET ISN'T BEING SUPER HELPFUL! COULD YOU LEND ME A HAND AND TELL ME WHAT THE HECK I'M DOING? THANK YOU MY LOVLIES!
Sooooo yeah, a co-author and or beta from England would be wonderful! Also France, Germany, etcetera, etcetera, is also open, because SPOILERS while England will be a constant, I will definitely feature more countries in the future!
Reviews are Love!
-Dolly