"Did you hear about that Dutch guy who wants to send a bunch of people to live on Mars?"

America and England sat in a small bar in Washington D.C. America awkwardly cradled a bottle of coke while England was already on his fourth glass of rum.

"Yeah, I did. Bloody mad, the lot of them." England shook his head.

"I don't know," America thought out loud," It sounds like fun."

"You know they're never coming back right?"

"Yeah, but still. Think about it. It's like being a pioneer. A real one though, not someone who claims land that other people are already living on." America smirked at England. "Because as far as we know, there are no 'Indians' on Mars."

"But there's nothing else either," England pointed out, "You should know this. You've sent enough bloody rovers up there. All Mars has is unbreathable air and rocks."

"Nuh-uh. Pigfarts is on Mars."

"What?"

"Nothing. But seriously though, I wish I could go."

"Why would you want to live on some godforsaken wasteland? Aren't you happy with that giant country of yours? Or are you already bored with everything it has to offer?" England took a long drink.

"No, it's not like that!" America assured, "I'm not sick of the land, or the culture, or anything like that. I'm just tired of all of the drama."

England snorted into his glass. "You think you're tired? Please, you're less than three hundred years old. Go suffer a few plagues, then come and talk to me."

"Hey, shut up! It's not like I haven't had any hardships! You'd think you would remember considering a whole lot of them came from you."

England rolled his eyes.

"What I'm trying to say," America continued, "is that it would be nice to get away from it all. To wipe your slate clean and start again."

"You would be willing to abandon everything to live on another planet?"

America's expression suddenly became very serious. He looked down at his hands. "Maybe," he said quietly," I wouldn't, though. I have too many people relying on me here."

England slowly nodded. "That's the only responsible choice. But I think I understand where you're coming from. Sometimes I wish I could start again. I have a lot of regrets."

"Don't we all?" America agreed.

"You know what one of my biggest regrets is, America?" England looked into his former colony's eyes. America shook his head.

"It's not believing in you," England said sadly, "and telling you that your ideas were ridiculous. I'm sorry."

America smiled. "Thank you, England. That really means a lot to me."

"Now don't get me wrong, America. You're ideas are ridiculous. Sometimes they are just plain stupid. And sometimes they are completely inconceivable for anyone with a single thread of sanity left. But you know what? You pull them off anyway, because you don't care about what other people think. You just do whatever the bloody hell you want because you're like some sort of retarded superhero."

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

"Just a little bit." England took another drink.

"Okay, let's get out of here then. Do you want to go somewhere fun?"

"You sly Frog, I'm not falling for that again," England slurred.

"Um, what? Wait... ewww! That's not what I meant. Come on." America paid for the drinks and led England to his car. He pushed the wobbling Nation into the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. He turned to speak to England only to find that he had fallen asleep. America shook his head.

"How in the hell are you related to Ireland and Scotland?"

AVAVAVAVAVAVAVA

A few hours later, England was shaken awake. He groggily remembered a blonde asking him if he wanted to have some fun."

"Bloody hell, France, not again!"

"Ugh, gross! It's me you dummy!"

England blinked a few times. "Oh, America. Ahem. Er, where are we?"

"We're at an airport. I'm going to take you flying. You've never been before, right?"

"What? Of course I have! How do you think I got here?"

America laughed. "That's commercial flight. It doesn't count. You've never been on a real plane, I mean."

"And just what do you consider a real plane?"

"I'll show you."

America then proceeded to drive to a small private hanger. He opened the doors to reveal a small biplane.

"This is Martha," America exclaimed proudly.

England stared at him blankly. "You named your airplane?"

"Duh! You have to! Just like you name a ship."

England shrugged. He couldn't argue with that. He eyed the machine closely. It was brightly painted, with two seats, one after the other. And, most terrifyingly, there was no roof to the plane.

"And you expect me to fly with you in that rickety little thing?"

"Hey! Martha is not rickety! She's beautiful and I love her." America hugged the nose of the plane. "And yes, we are going to fly with her."

England groaned. It wasn't as if he could die, but he sure didn't want to be stuck in the burning wreckage of a plane crash. He knew how stubborn America could be, though, and his headache was bad enough already. "Fine, he said, "I'll go."

"I knew you would! Now help me get her out."

A few minutes later, England was bundled up in a leather jacket, a scarf and an aviator helmet complete with goggles. "Is this really necessary?" he asked America, who was snapping on his own goggles over his glasses.

"Yeah," he replied with a laugh, "unless you want to freeze your eyebrows off."

"Can't you just, I don't know, put the top up?"

"It's not a convertible, England, it's open cockpit." America rolled his eyes.

"Stop acting like I should know all of this! I'm not a pilot!"

"That's why we're here! So I can show you what it's like! Now get in."

With some reluctantly accepted help from America, England managed to get strapped into the front seat of the plane. America climbed in behind him.

"Here," America said as he handed England a pair of headphones with a microphone. "Put these on so we can talk."

Unfortunately for England, the voices coming through the headphones were nearly incomprehensible. He could barely make out America speaking to someone named Ashley in the control tower. The muffled noise caused England's headache to worsen and he closed his eyes until he felt the plane start to move forward. He looked back as far as he could to catch a glimpse of America with a strange look of concentration. The plane picked up speed, and England felt a slight jolt as it left the ground.

As the airport grew smaller and smaller, England grew appreciative of the coat and scarf. He never knew how cold it was up in the air. The goggles were also helpful with the harsh wind blowing in his face. Down below, the flat city turned into vast green expansions of land. Despite the uncomfortable feeling, the view was enough to make the flight actually enjoyable for England. But then, America had to ruin it, like always.

"We're going to flip now," America said, as calmly as if he were ordering a pizza. "You might want to hold on to something. It can be a little scary the first time."

"What?" England yelped," No! I don't want to go upside down!"

"It's too late. I'm doing it."

"Well, stop doing it!"

"I can't."

"Yes, you bloody well can! You better take me down this minute or so help me I will fucking hex you!"

But England's threats were ignored as America flew the plane around in a series of aerobatics. The entire time he laughed like an insane child while England shouted profanities so offensive that they were scarcely heard outside of the navy.

By the time they touched down again, England was hoarse, not to mention extremely airsick. He stumbled out of his cockpit and vomited on the grass. America walked up behind him.

"Oh, sorry about that. I forgot to replace the barf bags after I took Japan out. He threw up way less than you though, so I don't know if they would have been enough anyway."

England glared up at America. The younger Nation looked back at him with an oblivious grin.

"So did you like it?" America asked, "Was it fun?"

England narrowed his eyes. He was about to tell America just how un-fun it was. How taking him flying in a tiny, ancient plane with no roof whilst he was hungover, then doing somersaults in the air and making him so sick that he vomited all over himself was one of the worst peacetime experiences of his life. And he was going to make sure that America knew how annoying and awful he was, and that the world would be a much better place if he would just shut up and leave everyone else alone. England opened his mouth to say all of that when he looked into America's eyes and saw how hopeful he looked. Then he remembered, all of those years ago, when he told America that flying was impossible, and the look of sheer disappointment that fell over the colony. Disappointment that could have been prevented if England had been kind enough to indulge him just once.

Well, England thought, it's never too late, is it?

"Yes," he lied, "it was fun."

America whooped and beat his hands in the air. "I knew you would like it!" He helped England up. "Just wait here while I put Martha up."

England watched as America dragged the biplane back to the hangar. It still irked him to see such a display of strength from such an immature Nation. America's happiness was infectious, however, so soon England found himself smiling. He wished that his former colony knew that England didn't actually hate him, but the thought of putting all of that into words made him want to throw up again.

America understood though. Only an idiot would believe England's flimsy lie. And, as impulsive and silly as he was most of the time, America was not stupid. He silently thanked England for his subtle show of kindness and for all that it meant.

From then on, the relationship between the two Nations who were once brothers, then enemies, then allies, was just a little bit better.

The end.

Author's note:

First off, obligatory "haha, America can't drink in his own country!"

If you haven't heard, there's a privately funded project called Mars One. It's based in the Netherlands and right now they're searching for people to colonize Mars. I think they have a list narrowed down to just a few hundred. It's a one way trip, obviously, and they have to give up a bunch of stuff (like having sex, oh no!) for the rest of their lives.

Pigfarts- this is a reference to A Very Potter Musical which is (surprise!) a musical about Harry Potter. Pigfarts is a wizarding school on Mars that Malfoy wants to go to. It's headmaster is a talking lion named Rumbleroar.

The retarded superhero comment is based off of a quote by Yahtzee Crowshaw: "So, Americans, then. The self-appointed vigilante defenders of the world, kind of like Superman, if Superman was retarded and only fought crime when he felt like it." Eh, whatever. It's pretty funny though.

America's biplane is named Martha after Martha Washington, the first First Lady. I bet she was like an adoptive mother to him.

This fic is officially over, unless something really juicy in the field of aviation happens that just begs me to write about it. It was seriously fun to write this, and I learned a lot while researching.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this and to the people who reviewed! My next story will hopefully come soon, depending on how much time I have to wright (See what I did there? You know, like the brothers? I'm sorry.) I'm will be a series of horror one-shots. So if that's your cup of tea, check it out.

Buh-bye!