-And I promised myself that I'd do anything; anything at all for them to notice me.-
When I Grow Up; Pussycat Dolls

-Hetalia-

The fifth of July never seemed to be as memorable as the fourth. Most years, Alfred didn't even bother to leave his bedroom, or his pajamas for that matter, until dinner time, and even then he often came down the stairs clad in little more than Captain America boxers. Matthew had given up on the entire situation, but his mother still tried to convince her step-son to put on real pants at the very least. Sometimes she was successful. Most of the time Alfred just took his dinner back to his bedroom.

Matthew stumbled to the bathroom around ten thirty, positive that this year's fifth would be just like the last as he turned on the shower and tried to wake up a bit more, waiting by the sink for the water to warm up. The four boys had been out past their curfew the night before, and the lecture that followed the step-brothers' return, aimed mostly at Alfred, had kept them both out of their beds for an extra hour. In all honesty, even the early bird Matthew would still be sleeping right now if it weren't for the alarm he had to prevent such things. He couldn't let himself fall into Alfred's summer circadian rhythm, after all, or he'd never be able to handle school when it came back in the fall. Alfred could pretend he was a vampire all summer long if that's what he wanted, but Matthew would stay in the mortal world, thank you very much.

The warm shower water worked diligently to wake the sleepy blond once he stepped under its steady spray, but it was nothing in comparison to the sudden banging on the bathroom door that made Matthew drop the shampoo on his foot.

"Matt! Ma~att!" Alfred raised his voice over the sound of his own pounding as Matthew rubbed his poor toes and let out a pained hiss of "Maple!" under his breath. His soaked hair obscured his already blurry vision as he squinted towards the door.

"What, Al?" he called once the pain had begun to fade. The shower drowned out some of the venom, or else Alfred ignored it as he rambled on.

"Dude, so you are in there! Anyway, I called Gil and Iggy last night and we decided we should plan the band stuff today, so we're all meeting up at a restaurant for lunch in like an hour. Hurry up in there!"

Despite the injustice of having this information thrown at him whilst taking his morning shower, Matthew didn't bother complaining, knowing that Alfred wouldn't have listened to him if he did point out that he hadn't had a say in the matter. Plus, he knew that Alfred was already gone, the sound of his step-brother taking the stairs two at a time evidence enough of that. Matthew figured Alfred must be on one of his sleepless-night-highs to be so energetic this early. In contrast, the Canadian was already beginning to feel drowsy, even under the warm spray of the shower that usually restored a bit of his energy. He tried not to groan as he realized it was going to be a long day.

-H-

'A restaurant' turned out to be McDonald's, which only surprised Matthew because Arthur had agreed to it. The British teenager often scoffed at Alfred's eating habits, and for the eleven years Matthew had known him, Arthur had only eaten food from McDonald's four times, each one marked with several choice insults directed at whatever force led him into such a situation. Matthew wondered if perhaps Arthur had been too exhausted to form coherent strings of thought when they talked the night before. Perhaps it was better that Alfred hadn't bothered Matthew to join. The Canadian was quite possibly the only one who got any sleep.

Matthew fumbled with the jamming handle of Alfred's hand-me-down truck for a minute before the door opened with a pop. The parking lot was rather crowded, but thus far Matthew had yet to see Gilbert's or Arthur's cars. Brushing a damp strand of hair out of his eyes, the youngest of their group followed Alfred inside and into the long line of hungry customers.

The air conditioning was a wonderful contrast to the humidity outside, though it made Matthew shiver a bit as cool air was blown on his still damp hair. As always Alfred ordered too much food for any normal human being once they finally made it to the cashier, and Matthew tuned most of the world out, knowing that he'd steal some of Alfred's extra food if he were really hungry, preferring to lose himself in his thoughts. He blindly followed Alfred's back as he became absorbed with thoughts about the animal shelter he volunteered at, only snapping out of it when Alfred told him to watch the food as he went to fill a massive cup with soda.

They had to wait twenty minutes in their booth in the corner before Gilbert finally came in. The albino opted out of ordering food and came to sit straight across from Matthew, proclaiming that their party could begin now that his awesomness had arrived. The next fifteen minutes before Arthur arrived were filled with debates over whether their English friend would even come, as well as a food fight of sorts that involved sugar packets and left Matthew with ketchup in his hair. He was brooding in the corner of the booth with a pile of napkins, trying to save himself from needing a second shower that day when Arthur finally decided to grace them with his presence.

"Iggy!" Alfred shouted in greeting. Several heads turned in alarm.

"Took you long enough," Gilbert said as Arthur slumped into the booth. He looked like he hadn't slept at all, but unlike Alfred, Arthur's survival instincts didn't seem to be filling him with reserved energy. He only grunted in response and leaned forward to bury his head in his arms. Gilbert poked him as if checking to see if the Brit had died. Another grunt came, muffled by the table.

"Dude, go buy a coffee," Alfred snorted. Arthur grunted at him too and peered over the tops of his arms.

"Let's just get through this so I can go back to my bloody bed, twat," he grumbled.

"Did you drive here?" Matthew wondered out loud. Arthur didn't seem to hear him.

"Ja, how are we going to do this?" Gilbert asked Alfred as Arthur's face slid away from view once more.

"Okay, we totally need a place to practice," Alfred said. Arthur groaned, and Matthew took it to mean his place was out of the question. The sound was oddly similar to the noise the dogs at the shelter made when something annoyed them. He frowned at the thought.

"West would kill us," Gilbert snorted, delighted with the idea. Matthew still didn't know why the self-proclaimed Prussian called his younger brother 'West' (though when he first heard the nickname, he thought it was Vest, which made just as little sense.) He'd yet to get an answer out of anyone who acknowledged him when he asked about it. Matthew wasn't even sure if it was an endearing term or an insult. Gilbert both adored his brother and adored to annoy him, from what the Canadian had seen.

"I don't need your kid brother snapping at me as well, thanks," Arthur dispelled Gilbert's plans of pestering Ludwig. "I've got enough of that at home."

"All right, I get it. You guys totally just want to chill at my house." Alfred grinned, and no one bothered to correct him, unless Arthur's grunt counted as a protest. It sounded more like a signal of surrender. "We've got room in the garage, so you dudes don't have to worry."

"When will we practice?" Matthew interjected carefully. At first Alfred continued ranting, ignoring Matthew's question to emphasize how he and his garage would save the day. Arthur looked like he might have drifted off right on the table, and Gilbert had grown tired of poking the dead man beside him and spotted some poor unfortunate soul whose shirt hung just low enough for him to try to get bits of French fry in her cleavage. Matthew wondered not for the first time why he even bothered calling the people around him his friends.

"Ja, Birdie's got a point, when the hell are we going to actually do this?" Gilbert surprised him, his red eyes still focused on his goal as he took aim and threw another bit of fry. He burst into a fit of snickers when he hit his target. Matthew wasn't sure how he should feel about his new nickname, but supposed he was happy at least someone was listening.

"Huh, should we do it like once a week, or twice or what?" Alfred asked, breaking out of his endless ramble. Arthur dragged himself back up off the table.

"I suppose it will depend on our free time. Naturally, more practice will mean faster improvement. But once the summer's over, we'll all be a fair bit busier. We won't even be going to the same school anymore."

Matthew glanced sideways at his step-brother. Arthur was the big brother to all of them, but he and Alfred were the closest. When Arthur graduated at the beginning of the summer, Alfred all but had a panic attack when it dawned on him that for the first time since Arthur moved into town some thirteen years ago, they wouldn't be living three blocks away from one another. Arthur's college was just a town over, but the difference was still enough to shake the American. It didn't look like Alfred was going to panic in the McDonald's, thankfully, but Matthew still kept a close eye on him.

"Yeah, but it's summer now dude," Alfred said. "So like twice a week then! Everyday would be better, but Dad's making me do shit." Matthew didn't bother pointing out the fact that Gilbert and Arthur both had jobs, as well as Matthew's volunteering. The group had collectively given up on pointing things out to Alfred by now.

"So Saturdays and Tuesdays, then," Arthur decided for them. "Those are the only days we have coinciding free time."

Alfred pouted, annoyed that someone other than him had made the decision. Matthew sighed, knowing his step-brother wouldn't be easy to appease after this. He wondered if bribing Alfred with left over birthday cake would be enough to keep him from moping for the rest of the day.

"Ja, sounds gut," Gilbert agreed with Arthur, hardly paying attention as he landed yet another fry, this one dipped in ketchup. Unfortunately for the four of them, the woman apparently had had enough of his game and got up, giving Gilbert a burning glare before stalking over to the counter to complain. Matthew felt his stomach sink as he recognized what was coming, his fears only confirmed when the German/Prussian jumped to his feet.

"Time to go," Gilbert grinned, nearly shoving Arthur out of his way so he could ditch the booth before they were banned from the store for life. Alfred caught on just fast enough to make it out of the store before the manager was found. Arthur, too exhausted to act quickly, and Matthew, who had been trapped in the booth while Alfred tried to figure out what had happened, weren't as lucky.

By the time they'd looked at one another and begun running, the manager, a chubby, sweaty man with a look about him that said he was having none of anyone's shit, was in front of the counter and being pointed in their direction. The back door was three feet away when Matthew slipped in a puddle of what he prayed was Mountain Dew and fell on a 'Wet Floor' sign, Arthur tripping over him to add injury to insulted injury. The now broken plastic sign dug into Matthew's ribs, and his head throbbed from where it had crashed against the floor. He could hear laughter somewhere above him, but he was too focused on making sure he hadn't gotten a concussion from the crash to pay much attention. Arthur released his first appropriate groan that morning as the manager came to loom over them, hands on his hips. Rather than offer them a hand, he began shouting something that ended in their permanent banning from the store.

Arthur spat back that he was glad he was banned, since he wouldn't have to eat the slop they passed off as food anymore and was promptly dragged to his feet by his collar. Matthew pushed himself up off of the sign and sat in the sticky puddle, watching the argument miserably and wondering yet again why he associated himself with such juvenile delinquents. A very heated lecture wrote itself in his head, addressed to Alfred for ditching them, another written for Gilbert as well while he watched the two above him shout in each other's faces.

Matthew didn't have long to brood, though, as Arthur began to show the same symptoms Matthew had seen before the British teen began fist fighting with Francis. Leaping up, concussion or not, Matthew just about tackled Arthur as he pulled back his fist for a punch. Swearing to the manager, over Arthur's shouts, that they would never step foot in the store again, Matthew dragged his so called friend out with a strength that came only from his years of hockey. After he saw Arthur forcibly to his car, Matthew's thoughts drifted to his now soda filled hair, groaning as he resigned himself to a second shower.

A/N: Thank you once again for reading this story, or at least reading to the second chapter. Thanks again to Hornet394 for Beta-ing this story, your patience and help is very appreciated. The next chapter may be a bit more angst-ish. It's Gilbert-centric, and deals with Gilbert and Ludwig's relationship in this AU, so things get a tad bit tense. All the same I do have fun writing Gilbert, and I hope you'll look forward to it.

Translations for this chapter:
Ja: German; Yes.
Gut: German; Good.
Note: Gilbert uses German sporadically because he likes his mother tongue better and can get away with it. Thus he uses "Ja" when he actually means "Yeah," because they sound similar enough. Hence his usage of "Gut," as well. He will say the word "Yes" rather than "Ja" even though those two words are closer than "Ja" and "Yeah." It's just a little headcanon of sorts. Please don't get too confused over it.

Constructive criticism is always welcome here.

Thank you very much.

~VV