{ Present Day } Fourth of July

America's people are celebrating tonight; he can feel their excitement, can feel a brief unity that brings them together today - national pride, pride in him, their country. He loves this day more than any other, because this is when he feels closest to all of them, and he wishes he could tell each and every one of them how much he loves them, even the ones who don't love him.

His birthday party had been earlier in the day, and all of his nation-friends had been there. It had been like any other year, with Italy and France bringing the food, Japan providing the entertainment, Russia congratulating him on surviving another year, and a general mess of mayhem but good fun. And just like every year, the party had ended early enough for America to watch fireworks with his people, and just like every year, there had been a notable absence among the guests that America was about fed up with.

He still goes to see the fireworks, but he's thinking of the one person that never attends his birthday parties, and by the time the fireworks are over, he's already planning a trip. The next day, he arrives across the Atlantic Ocean and walks into England's house without knocking.

England's definitely got a hangover, because he glares at America with bleary eyes and demands to know why America is barging into his house. But America doesn't answer that question, only folds his arms and returns the glare, full of youthful indignation.

"You need to stop living in the past," he tells England.

England rubs his forehead. "America, what the bloody hell are you ta-"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Why do you think you've got a hangover, huh? You need to get over it."

"Don't take that tone with me."

"I'll take whatever tone I damn well please." America needs to get his point across, because his birthday is always the best day of the year, but it's still never as good as it should be without England there. "Look, I broke away from you two hundred freakin' years ago. Get over it." Okay, so maybe he's not so good at being gentle with his points. But this is ridiculous, and he's going to make England see his point, one way or another.

"I am over it, you twat." England is sitting at the table, scowling, with his head in his hands. "Just because I don't want to attend some stupid birthday party doesn't mean..."

"Arthur," America says. "Stop. You can't keep drinking yourself sick every Fourth of July. You know why? Because I want you there with me to celebrate. You need to celebrate the fact that somehow you did a good job of raising me, because I've made it this far, haven't I?"

A long, awkward silence follows, and America can't see England's face because of the angle England's hands suddenly shifted to. After a while, when America is starting to grow antsy, England whispers, "You really think I did a good job?"

America sighs. For however smart England can be, he really is hopeless at times. "Of course you did," he says. "You just... didn't know when to let go." It's a really obvious thing, but America suddenly realizes he's never told England this before. Not since before the Revolution has he openly stated if he was grateful. But hey, he's not really the type to think about that sort of thing, he reasons with himself defensively. He... just assumed it was obvious after a time.

Apparently not. England still refuses to look at him, but America can hear the older nation's breath hitching slightly. Whatever's left of the alcohol is probably still getting to him, or else he's just emotionally drained from the night before.

America rolls his eyes. "Okay, you need to get some sleep," he says. "C'mon..."

He steps forward and takes England's arm, and England stumbles to his feet, wincing at the light. As America helps him to the couch, England still won't meet his eyes.

"Alfred," the older nation mumbles. "I'm sorry... for not being there... for your birthday."

"No," America says, sighing. "I'm sorry for being an insensitive bastard. I can't help it, y'know?"

This produces the desired result, as England smiles a little bit, and America deposits him on the couch. "You just... lay down. I'll go get some Tylenol or something."

England nods his thanks and covers his eyes once more, muttering about lights and what exactly he'd like to do to them right now. America shakes his head and leaves the room, hunting down some headache medicine and thinking about birthdays, family, and independence.

And there you go. I hope you enjoyed reading. ^-^