A very happy birthday to Alfred.

The things England would do to see America smile...good god. How had he gotten here? Sitting in this car listening to him changing the lyrics of songs to be about himself, because Alfred had asked him to:

'Hey, England.'

'What is it?'

'Uh, I-I've been thinking about not having a birthday party this year.'

'Are you feeling alright?'

'Y-Yeah, I feel fine; it's just, parties are kind of expensive now, y'know? Uh, I was wondering if you, I dunno, maybe wanted to do something together that day. Like old times.'

That look on his face, that sheepish little frown. England knew what would happen if he said no, that pout would get deeper and he'd start to sniffle, and nobody wanted that.

'Sure.'

"His name is Alfred and he dances on the sand," The blonde nation in the driver seat belted as the red Audi rolled through the New Hampshire hills, "just like that river twisting through dusty land." England sighed inaudibly and watched the green scenery fly by. He barely even noticed as the little red car turned into the entrance of a state park. He payed no attention as America charmed the girl at the gate into letting them in for free because it was his birthday.

England did start looking around when America started taking hairpin turns up a mountain. "Where the hell are you going?"

"We're gonna go check out the summit," He replied before continuing with 'Alfred Train.' England started blankly at the dashboard, afraid to look out the window and embarrassed to look at the man next to him. "Wow, check that out," America pointed out the window right in front of his face.

"Watch the road, you bloody idiot." England snapped, glaring at America. The driver blinked before silently complying. England stole a glace out the window and tried not to gape in admiration at sprawling green hills and a bright blue sky. His green eyes fell as the scene disappeared from sight and America continued up the mountain.

---
England stepped out of the car; it was windier at the top, cooler as well. There were very few cars. "C'mon," America chimed happily, grabbing his hand, "Let's go check out the view." England allowed himself to be pulled and tried not to think about how much warmer it had suddenly become. America strode merrily into the woods near the parking; when the two emerged into a rocky clearing, England could see nothing ahead but blue sky, as though the world just ended fifty meters ahead. Huge white clouds floated lazily along. America went confidently up to where the land sloped harshly down and gazed out over his own land.

Off in the distance the sky was dark gray, lighting forked near a neighboring mountain once, twice. England stared at the clear divide between the storm and the cerulean sky. Wind whipped through his hair as he gazed down on the forest and the patchy shadows the soft clouds above cast. Alfred took his hand again, though now it was much gentler. "Lesee if we can see Boston today," He said in his usual brusque manner, contrary to the delicate touch of his fingers. England pursed his lips at the memories that city brought to him.

"Alright," He agreed, only to turn the look of growing disappointment on America's face back into a shimmering grin. England once again let himself be tugged back, past their car which was now the only one left in the lot, and down another path. There was more mud here, and after almost falling on his ass more than once, England surveyed another view of the hills and valleys.

America was squinting at the horizon, and he soon smiled and pointed at a minuscule few outcroppings on the left side of the panorama. "There it is," He declared, pulling England close to make sure he could see. England made a small noise of acknowledgment but remained otherwise silent. America took a triumphant seat on a nearby picnic table. England stayed where he'd been left, scuffing his shoe against the rock face he stood on. "C'm'ere," Alfred called over to him, patting the table space by his side.

England moved to sit on the bench part of the table before America caught him under the arms and hoisted him up to sit on the table top. The smaller nation sat awkwardly on his hands to keep from fidgeting. After a couple minutes, he said, "It's nice up here."

"Thanks," America replied, swinging one leg off the side of the table; his sandle scuffed the ground in a steady rhythm. They didn't talk anymore, though whether it was an awkward silence or one of understanding, neither could decide. Far off, England could see the storm clouds moving off into the east. He stared at the lake below as a cloud shadow passed over it, then he watched Boston. He didn't need to look at the America next to him; he could look at the America all around him and be just as satisfied. "Thanks for coming out with me today." The sound of his voice made England jump.

"You're quite welcome." England replied simply, looking at America, who was staring out at the view. He inched a bit closer, no response. A little closer, America didn't turn his head, he kept a little bemused smile on his lips. England leaned closer, closer, until his lips grazed America's cheek. Then the other nation turned and almost kissed England flat on his lips. They both froze. England tried to read the look in America's eyes, but beyond mirroring the deep blue sky that framed him, England found nothing.

"Had enough?" America asked, with a soft smile. England nodded dumbly, and America took his hand again.

---
The ride down was slightly unnerving as America whipped around tight turns and England started writing his last will and testament on a discarded burger wrapper. Both nations were surprised to see the gate at the bottom of the mountain locked. "These places are usually open until sundown," America remarked, noting that it was still quite light out.

"Isn't this a holiday?" England asked rhetorically, "Doesn't everywhere close early on holidays?"

"Oh," America mumbled, "I guess you're right." With that, he threw the car into reverse and clumsily changed direction. They were on their way back up.

"What are you doing?" England sighed, laying his head in his hands.

"I'm not gonna sit in front of the gate all night." America announced with a huge grin, taking a hairpin turn, "Plus I bet no one else'll have a better view of the fireworks than us," Then he launched into 'Jones, Jones, Jones.' England shook his head, not sure if to be amused or outraged. He chose amusement as he joined in on singing, "Jones, Jones, Jones at the Dollhouse in Ft. Lauderdale, Jones, Jones, Jones rocking in Atlanta at Tattletails."

---
England couldn't verify if America's statement about their view of the fireworks was correct. He didn't watch them, and America didn't either.

Note:
-The Lyrics changing game is something I play with my friend's name, here I used Rio, Crazy Train, and Girls, Girls, Girls by Duran Duran, Ozzy Osbourne, and Mötley Crüe respectively
-I can't remember the name of the park in this, but it's certainly a real place...