Peter had always been fond of the prospect of a new year. He enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of it all, with people around the world gathering in their respective time zones to celebrate a moment that would wash over the globe in ecstasy. How exciting it was! How unifying! On the last day of every year, Peter was filled with a palpable exhilaration that pervaded every bit of his being. To him, a new year was comparable to stepping into a new pair of shoes, as he wanted to run into it with the intention to make this year his year. Regardless of whatever setbacks, misfortunes, and upsets he experienced in the previous 365 days, Peter was positive that the upcoming months would be better. There was a certain bubbliness that accompanied the countdown as well. The knowledge that he'd made it through yet another year and had gained more valuable experience made Peter proud, and all the more certain that he was well-equipped to handle the challenges of the future, whatever they may be.

Unfortunately, Arthur did not share such optimism. The man was drenched in his own cynicism, and it appeared that nothing would divorce him of his accompanying pessimism. To him, there was little to nothing to look forward to in the new year. Things would be fine for a little while, but after the first month, it all returned to normal. People dropped their resolutions, old arguments were reignited, and the same nations fought over the same petty issues, looking for ways to trip each other and benefit from the shortcomings of others. Why get his hopes up when he knew what would happen in advance? He had to admit that it was amusing to watch Peter get worked up all day, drinking soda pop and enthusiastically watching football matches, but his youthful antics would not persuade Arthur from his opinion that December the 31st was just another day. And, just like every other day, Arthur went to bed at 10 o'clock.

Peter had watched his brother disappear down the hallway, wearing his button-up collared shirt and large, baggy pajama pants, both of which were striped in pale mint green. With a hopeful voice, Peter had called out to him, asking the nation if he was absolutely sure that he didn't want to stay up to welcome the new year with him. With a faint smile, Arthur looked back to the lad and shook his head, reaffirming that he was indeed absolutely sure, and instructing him not to stay up too late.

The two hours following the exchange were both lonely and thrilling. Although Peter would have enjoyed having his older sibling by his side, he was much too invigorated by the festivities playing out on the television mind the absence. Because he was considered too young to attend a New Years party unsupervised, he could only watch a gathering of people on the screen, perched on the edge of the antique sofa as he became engrossed in the live performances. When the countdown did arrive, he couldn't help but count with it, a grin across his face as the next year approached at a breakneck pace.

Then it was there, and Peter leapt up from the couch, hands outstretched toward the ceiling in excitement. It was as if a new world had been opened up to him, promising endless opportunities and chances for glory. What if this was the year he'd be recognized as a nation? What fantastic memes would be thought up? The possibilities were simply endless, and Peter was ecstatic to step toward them.

It was fitting for him to celebrate the event in his brother's house. A year ago, the idea would be inconceivable to him. It was only recently that he had come to be on good terms with Arthur once more, which in itself was a treasure chest of wonderful opportunities. So much had changed in the last year, so where would he end up at the end of this next one? Peter had no idea, but it was an uncertainty that he embraced wholeheartedly as he rejoiced in his first New Year's Day on the mainland.

Then a resounding boom came from somewhere nearby, eliciting a cry from Peter. He instinctively ducked, shoving his hands over his mouth to choke down a scream as more explosions rang out across the city. His heart began to race, and with another deafening round of reports he was sent to his feet, his body working on auto-pilot as he sprinted down the hall and threw open the door to Arthur's bedroom.

Scarcely had the British man ever awoken with such a fright. His eyes flew open once he felt a pair of arms wrap around his chest, and with a gasp he shot upright, gripping his new adversary's shoulders and preparing to knee him in the face. However, he forced himself to freeze after realizing how small and weak the intruder was, and after a few moments, he came to recognize him as his younger brother. He was disturbed to find that the boy was shivering uncontrollably.

"Peter?! What's the matter?"

"Get down!" Peter cried, gripping Arthur's wrist with both hands and attempting to pull him out of bed. Another explosion resonated through the air, and light entered the room through the window, dimmed considerably by the drawn curtains. The soft glow illuminated Peter's face, which was wearing an expression of panic. Tears glistened as they flowed down his cheeks, his cyan eyes as large as the ocean itself.

The child's attempt to physically force Arthur onto the floor would have been laughable under any other circumstances. If he weren't worried sick, Arthur very well would have chuckled at his efforts. Unfortunately, the lad was completely hysterical, and it didn't take a genius to see why.

"Peter, calm down!" Arthur implored, reaching around the micronation and trapping him in a restrictive hug. He shifted, easily pulling him further onto the bed to keep him from running off anywhere. "Everything is alright, we're perfectly fi-"

He was cut off by a sudden, unprecedented surge of power from Peter, who somehow managed to break Arthur's hold and shove him down, pinning him to the mattress. It was a complete shock, and the larger nation was left stunned as his sibling stared down at him in unparalleled determination.

"Why won't you just take cover and let me protect you?!" Peter exclaimed, his tears falling onto Arthur's shirt. He was still shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, but his grip was strong and unwavering. Arthur had heard of people acquiring phenomenal strength when in a state of sheer terror, but he had never entertained the idea for very long, as it was never relevant until this point.

"Peter…" Arthur murmured, staring up at him with a look of extreme concern, "They're just fireworks."

The statement did some good. Peter's grip loosened, and he looked down at him as if he were a blind man granted sight. "They're… oh.." With another great shudder Peter's arms gave way, and he collapsed on top of Arthur. He clutched onto the man, burying his head into his chest and crying.

Arthur slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, Peter throwing his arms around him and trapping him in a tight embrace as he did so. Arthur could feel his tears seeping through his cotton shirt, making his heart wrench. He gently returned the hug, holding Peter close and stroking his hair to calm him down.

Never had Arthur felt quite so guilty. The only rivals for his current soul-crushing remorse both occurred in recent days, and were likewise stirred up by Peter. The fact that he'd sent the child into battle cut into him like a dagger, but he'd thought that he'd managed to consistently avoid thinking about it. At least he could console himself a bit with the knowledge that Peter was a resilient kid with a lively, optimistic attitude, who seemed to handle the unsavory parts of life with incredible buoyancy. However, that comfort was disappearing as he realized just how much the war had affected the child. He was so young for a nation, yet he already had been scarred to the point that he was thrown into flashbacks. Arthur had no clue of the extent of the issue, (Did he have nightmares? Did he ever feel guilty about the men he'd lost? Was the close proximity to England making it worse?) but what he did see was disturbing enough. Arthur wanted nothing more than to take away all of his pain, but that was impossible. All he could do was hold Peter close to him, muttering reassurances and trying to make him feel as safe as possible.

After a few minutes, Peter began to come down off his frantic high. He continued to lean into Arthur, taking in deep, shaky breaths as he actively tried to calm down. When he finally spoke again, it was with a quavering voice.

"I-I am so sorry, I just-"

"It's quite alright."

"I j-just wanted to protect you-"

"Really, it's no bother at all-"

"A-And I'm s-so sorry for interrupting your sleep-"

"Peter."

The child ceased his babbling, hesitantly looking up to Arthur. The fireworks were quieter and less frequent now, fading into the background and failing to threaten Peter. He was in his brother's arms, so he was impervious to any harm. Tsar Bomba could hit him and he'd still be safe and sound.

Arthur gave him a bittersweet smile, green light briefly highlighting one side of his face. "This isn't something that you need to feel ashamed of or apologize for. This sort of thing happens to every nation that's ever been involved in a war. In fact, the older a country is and the larger his military influence, the more he has moments like this. It's something we all have to deal with. It'll get easier to bear as you get older."

Peter's breathing evened out, and he appeared less embarrassed about the situation. He wiped his eyes, sniffing as he did so. "R-Really? Even… Even you?"

"Of course." Arthur responded. He hadn't had a huge breakdown like this since his younger years - reaching back to before he was a pirate - but occasionally it did get to him. Some days, after a particularly rough ordeal, he'd have a copious amount of liquor and end up sobbing for fifteen minutes before passing out, and there were a few odd nights in which he'd wake up in a cold sweat. There were smaller things as well, mainly old reflexes and habits that persisted from conflicts long forgotten. But the only difference between his younger self and Peter was that back then, Arthur hadn't had anyone to comfort him.

If there was one thing that Arthur would get correct from the start, it was helping his younger brother through the horrendous state of mind that was every nation's rite of passage.

"Now, I know that you're probably perfectly capable of handling this on your own," Arthur stated, careful to not offend the micronation, "But if you'd like, you could sleep in here with me tonight."

It was clear that Peter was very fond of that idea. "Ah… Alright." he answered, looking up to his brother with a grateful expression. It appeared that Britain understood precisely what he needed, at least in that moment. He'd scarcely felt so appreciative.

Slowly, Peter worked his way out of Arthur's arms, settling on the bed beside him. He slipped beneath the blankets and rested his head on a pillow, looking over to Arthur, who was watching him with a fondness that would have been unattainable a year ago. As his brother likewise settled down, Peter felt tremendously thankful for how much progress he'd made with him recently, and hoped to grow even closer in the near future.

Arthur lay down with his back to Peter, releasing a sigh as he relaxed once more.

"Goodnight, Arthur."

"Goodnight, Peter."

Peter shifted, becoming more comfortable as his tension faded into the mattress. He took in a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut.

"...Arthur?"

"Yes?"

There was a long pause before Peter finally said it.

"I love you."

"I… I love you, too."

In the silence, a few more tears were added to Arthur's shirt.