Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Budweiser promoted the "Hero of the Night: the Designated Driver" catchphrase. 'America the Beautiful' aka 'Pikes Peaks' belongs to Katharine Lee Bates (writer) and Samuel A. Ward (composer). Various historical references/quotes come from the works and ideas of Dante, John Locke, and Thomas Paine, etc.

Warnings: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically).

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Wild West-ing

England resisted the strong impulse to slam his face into the table and end his misery with the sweet relief of unconsciousness.

Until now, he had honestly believed that his former colony was the most irritating speaker at G8 meetings. He was gravely mistaken...blissfully ignorant really. There was someone infinitely more obnoxious than America: Texas.

The countries' first reaction upon seeing the brown-haired man enter their meeting was shock. It had been widely believed that upon receiving statehood, Texas had dissolved. Alfred had done little to negate this belief, showing up as he had to a conference in 1845 with a pair of spectacles perched on his nose.

Spain (who had also been visiting Arthur on business) had been shocked into silence. He'd always harbored a bit of guilt over their relationship—having spent far more time with Romano than his New World colony. After Mexico had snatched him up he hadn't done much to stay in contact, and he'd all but ignored the boy's brief span of independence...and then Mexico's confirmation that she never saw him again after the Mexican-American War.

Spain was usually so stoic about matters that troubled him, but the way he'd swallowed thickly upon hearing that. The look of despair in his former rival's eyes…

England blinked the image away.

If only they could have stayed so lucky.

The Texan stood in a crisp, white western detailed business jacket over dark blue denim trousers. England noted with disdain the man's footwear: cowboy boots with spurs. Spurs! He made a calamity of noise every time he moved.

It was a garish ensemble—better suited for a rodeo than a conference; though what was even more off-putting was his attitude: he possessed all of America's obnoxious pushiness and none of his good-humored cheeriness.

The young man glowered at them from beneath the broad brim of his white suede cowboy hat—as though he was performing a grand deed of humanitarianism just by appearing.

No circle in Dante's inferno could compare with the agonizing reality of what Texas considered "filling in fer the boss-man while he was busy." Apparently, while Alfred's boss was the president; Texas' boss was Alfred...and Alfred alone. Alas, Alfred had seen fit to leave him a list of matters to oversee and since Texas currently "had the podium and they didn't. They just had to sit back, shut up, suck it up, and listen."

It was a sad day indeed, when America's diplomacy skills were missed.

Arthur let his gaze slide to the nervous man seated beside the Texan, a human aide Congress had sent to "assist." Really, he was there to attempt damage control and whose main job seemed to consist of sending apology fruit baskets to the other personifications. As it stood, England had two, Italy had one, Germany had two, China had three, and Russia had eight.

Texas was currently going into an extremely detailed (and thoroughly moronic) scheme about using wind farms to cool down the poles and stop the caps from melting.

"That is ridiculous, that is not how-" England growled.

Dark brown eyes narrowed at him, "Boss says it'd look cool to have a bunch of pinwheels goin' at the Poles."

Italy's raised hand was met with a glare: "Nah, I ain't takin' questions. And we ain't goin' fer another pasta break."

The Italian gulped "So scary vee."

Arthur frowned "Do you honestly believe anyone will fund this mad venture?"

"I jus' said: I ain't takin' questions."

"It baffles me how-"

"So…" he continued "As you can see in this schematic" he raised a remote and a white screen lowered down. "We will station them in this pattern. You may recognize it-there is a similar pattern template to what's seen in the in the Legend of Zelda segment-"

Japan looked down in embarrassment. To have inspired this...whatever it was... regardless of how indirectly...

England felt his eyebrow twitch. Worse, it appeared the "schematic" was drawn with red, grey (since white doesn't show well), and blue crayons with a doodle of Alfred giving a "peace sign" in the bottom corner.

Texas faced them, completely serious.

"So as you can see-"

"This meeting is a complete waste of time" Arthur concluded.

The man growled something that sounded suspiciously like "You're so lucky I don't have my glasses or I'd have you hog-tied before you could say-"

BAM! The doors slammed open:

"The hero has arrived!"

There was a collective sigh of relief as Alfred strolled into the room.

"Better the idiot devil I know aru."

Arthur risked a glance back to see how the Texan took the usurpation, since he seemed on the verge of throwing a tantrum a moment ago. The man's stunned countenance gave way to a pearly grin.

Arthur blinked; thrown by the abrupt change of expression (and privately glad China's comment went unacknowledged).

The brunette took a deep breath and to the horror of nearly everyone burst into song:

"O beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber waves of grain,"

Arthur nearly choked-flabbergasted with how topsy-turvy everything was going. He discretely pinched himself-God, this was really happening.

"For purple mountain majesties

Above the fruited plain!"

Perhaps he imagined it, but Alfred did appear to walk a bit faster—cheeks tinged pink.

"America! America!

God shed his grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea!"

Alfred smiled, rubbed the back of his neck, and laughed a bit.

"Aw shoot, Tex, ya know you don't have to do that every time I-"

"So good to see ya little brother" Texas declared; pulling him into a hearty hug. Which was rather uncomfortable for the rest of them to witness—particularly since it kept lasting.

"Dey are very affectionate, da?"

Alfred turned a bit pinker. "Kay Tex, you can lemme go now."

"Right, right" the man motioned to the intern and abruptly his grin became a glare: "You. Skedaddle."

The man leapt from the seat like he'd been burned. Texas immediately took it.

Alfred laughed a little awkwardly, "Okay dudes! So yeah, good to see y'all and all that blah blah introductory stuff."

Arthur cringed. He taught him better than that. He had! Countless hours on proper speech and-and decorum—no, it couldn't be for naught.

"That's my little brother" Texas loudly whispered to Francis-motioning to Alfred with obvious pride "Look at him, standing there all important."

France indulged him with a nod and smile-while catching Arthur's eye. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. Il est fou. Oui?

He nodded. Yes, frog I agree. God. The world's end must be near.

"Soo where are we anyway?" Alfred glanced over his shoulder to the screen "Oh! Right on Tex, wow! You're a whole day ahead of schedule." He blinked and glanced at him. "How'd you get 'em all to shut up-they usually gang up on me with all these questions and 'oh America, that would never work?' Anyways, so we'd station these super awesome windfarms up there and we'll stop the caps from melting!"

"Yeah!" Texas cheered.

"And make us money with all the energy they'll collect!"

"Whoo!"

"And it'll stop global warming!"

"You bet it will!"

"And the planet is saved!"

"You're so amazing!"

"Yeah I am!"

"I remember when you first peaked your head into Los Adaes. Oh! You were so adorable!"

Alfred blushed. Clearly, Texas was Alfred's number one fan. In fact, it was becoming steadily more impressive that Alfred had kept the git a secret this long what with his rather boisterous declarations of pride and affection.

Though on reflection, Arthur recalled the number of his people being lambasted on blogging sites for disagreeing with American policies and customs. Hmm...perharps he was an internet "troll." Fitting.

Arthur shifted in his chair. His green eyes narrowed on the two Americans. At first their relationship seemed unlikely, considering how often headlines displayed the states' government at odds with the national one.

Though he supposed that Twain fellow summed it up well: "Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it."

He certainly adored Alfred.

Arthur scowled at the pint before him; doing his best to ignore the empty stool to his left.

Alfred had finished up his presentation rather swiftly since no one felt like arguing with Texas. England then took pity on all involved and ended the meeting early-declaring that they would reconvene the next afternoon.

He had intended to scold America on his choice of replacement. He had approached him; brows furrowed, arms crossed, feet planted.

The lad had blinked and smiled in acknowledgement as the older nation drew near. Then before any pleasantries could be exchanged, Texas slung an arm around America.

"Let's blow this pop stand!" the brunette exclaimed and off they went.

The two U.S. citizens left chattering loudly about steak dinners and how they were "gonna paint the town and the front porch!" Whatever the hell that meant.

England was left standing there as the room emptied, shocked by the deviation from their routine. They were supposed to banter a bit. He would remark on Texas' unsuitability for international affairs, complain about the inconvenience of it all, and demand that the least America could do was offer the reason behind his absence over dinner and drinks.

A satisfactory visit would end with America using the guest bedroom. The next morning (depending on how fussy Alfred chose to be) they would breakfast at home or out. England would then have the satisfaction of knowing that Alfred consumed at least two consecutive meals that did not involve items from a McDonald's menu.

The alternate, unpleasant, scenario would end when America's obnoxious behavior soared to new dizzying heights and England's patience would wear thin. They would then argue, insult one another, and storm off. A few hours later (depending on how drunk he became), he would call the U.S. Embassy and make sure the boy returned safely.

His night was not going at all how he had expected. He'd ended up going home, waiting for his cell to ring with some sort of message, being depressed that he was at home, going out for a meal (alone), completing more paperwork at his office at Parliament, becoming more depressed when his cellphone continued to remain silent, and then deciding he needed a drink.

He ventured to the outskirts of the city. "The One-Eyed Wench" was a pub he'd frequented it for decades. Ownership had passed from father to son several times over since the World Wars and they'd deduced his status as their nation. It had resulted in some-good natured ribbing and a tab.

Arthur took another swig, and savored the feel of alcohol scorching down his throat. He had Tom bring him another.

It was a surprise when Wales entered the establishment. The brothers stared at one another for several beats before the elder joined the younger at his table in the corner. It was a wonder he bothered. Neither spoke beyond an obligatory condemnation on the current weather (dismal as of the last two hours) and a brief cheers to the royal family's health.

The time crept by slowly, and Arthur found himself irritated with Rhys's presence. He could only stare at the wilted flowers in their cheap vase on the table for so long. When Tom came by to refill their drinks, he followed his gaze and muttered that the girls had convinced him they were necessary to "rejuvenate" the place. Might bring in more birds they'd suggested.

If only Wales would leave. He did not feel comfortable indulging himself to his usual amount of (what Alfred deemed) "pity pints" lest some embarrassing photos be taken. Wales had a tendency to be the blackmailing sort.

The clock read half-past two and he was mulling over an excuse to leave when there was a knock on the door. He'd expected Tom to shoo the bloke away-the tosser had missed the lock-in by two hours. So England was surprised when Tom opened the door and Alfred staggered across the threshold. Especially when his flushed face and general unsteadiness suggested he was drunk. Shocking.

More so, was the bartender's greeting "Oi there Al, and what mischief are you getting up to?"

"Stimulating your economy?" He chuckled as he clambered onto a bar-stool.

Texas took a spot beside him, a backpack slung over one arm. God, they looked like bloody tourists.

"Who's this gent?"

"Tex G. Jones, Sir. This one's older brother."

Arthur's eye twitched. That man…had the audacity to name himself...after himself and Alfred apparently—since he'd decided to share the surname.

"And him?" Tom pointed at the meek assistant who'd somehow been taken hostage for their night out.

Arthur felt some genuine sympathy for the poor chap. It was obvious he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Ughh. Um this is-" Alfred started then stopped, then chuckled "This is….uh…" He laughed loudly, "I should just rename you Bob."

"Perhaps it is for the best, he broke off from your Empire" Wales muttered quietly into his tankard.

"Yeah, we roped him into coming" Tex explained.

"The stiff" Alfred chortled.

"My name is Stuart" the man murmured.

After making their orders, they moved over to a table uncomfortably nearby.

"General Jones, Captain Jones, sirs, should we really be here?"

"Shore leave" Texas growled.

"But we've already been to five bars already!" he pulled a fretful hand through his mousy hair, and from the growing sweat stains on his suit—he was at his wits' end.

Arthur stiffened at that new information. America was usually the "Hero of the Night: the Designated Driver." In fact, he cannot recall seeing him drunk save when he was a child and had swiped some rum while playing "pirates."

All his previous attempts to ply America with alcohol and get him to confide secrets had failed miserably. So he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

"Chillax dude, we're Wild West-ing. Jus' like the good ol' days. Right bro?"

"I'm one of the few he trusts enough to let loose like this," Texas explained proudly.

England felt a pang of something he'd rather not identify flash through him.

"Plus, I'm the only one who can haul him back to the hotel. Though it's much harder now, than it was then."

"Let it go Tex."

"Ya just HAD to annex Alaska."

"Yup."

Texas tossed his backpack into the remaining chair and chose a new topic, "I don't know how you manage those meetings. What a bunch of uptight, know-it-all-" he broke off to give the waitress (Tilly, if Arthur remembered her badge correctly) a smile and a wink as she set down their drinks.

For a moment, Alfred fiddled with his tankard.

"Dude tell me about it, I have come THIS close" he pinched his fingers together "to being all: 'the hell with this I'll just go back to Isolationism.'

Well, that shocked Arthur to attention.

"Cuz you know everything's always my fault. It's actually kinda funny, infuriating, and an ego-boost all at the same time. Dude, they like...think I'm Eris, and I just materialize instantly, wherever, to mess with shit. Two, that I have that sort of spare time. I mean, my country's a bajillion times bigger than theirs. My country has different freaking time zones. AND. I've got 50 states that each have their own list of laws and customs PLUS my national government. And then….and then! Suppose I DID have spare time—I'd actually go through the trouble of picking them to torment specifically. OR that I have a globe that I just throw darts at and yeah, that's the guy I'm messing with today!"

Alfred chugged his drink down.

"Idiots" Texas nodded, and motioned to the counter that they needed more alcohol.

England shifted, well...all of that was a consequence of being a Power. Did Alfred really expect it to be a bed of roses? If he had a Euro for every time someone cried foul about big bad Britain...

"And ya know what else?"

"What?"

"How they're all America you aren't sophisticated!" He poked at the centerpiece of flowers on their table—spinning the stems between his fingers dejectedly.

Well...

"Your books suck. Because we coughcough Europe have decided that literature is like an amusement park. But instead of height, it's age that's required to ride. And we've decided you're not old enough to have good authors."

England stared at his drink a bit guiltily. Alright, perhaps, he teased him about that. It was not as though he lacked writers altogether. There just weren't that many. Truthfully it was not his fault, he was awfully young. He would gather more with time.

"I've GOT authors. I've got a ton of awesome authors. Emily Dickinson, Kate Chopin, Washington Irving, Mark Twain, Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Steinbeck, Tennessee Williams, Charlotte Perkins Gillman, Stephen King. Dude it just goes on. But ya know what ticks me off?"

"What, Al?"

Arthur gripped his drink tighter. That state really knew how to goad its nation.

"That somehow Edgar Allan Poe doesn't count. Somehow he gets taken hostage by Europe. Like people make the mistake of assuming he's European. He's not. He's mine. I mean his work was popular in Europe. And they remember his work, but they forget that he's mine. Or they ignore it and-and-" He made a noise of frustration.

"As though my writers were incapable amateurs in regards to Romanticism. The notion is absurd, it's ridiculous. It's offensive. It insinuates that American literary works are somehow inherently inferior when situated beside their European brethren. Tis-"

"A hot-button issue. Your accent's slippin' and you're goin' colonial on us. Damn it Al, fight for those R's!"

Now that piqued even Wales' attention and they shared a glance. Not only had Alfred's long-lost vocabulary made an appearance but his pronunciation—Oh! It was music to England's ears.

"Oi, you...alright?" Rhys glanced at him.

Good God, he could cry. The sheer amount of lessons spent grooming that boy...the devastation he'd felt when the word "Dude" left his mouth in a conference several centuries later.

"I knew deep down, he remembered proper English. His grammar is still a bit off, but a few remedial courses would sort that ou-"

"England" Wales raised an eyebrow.

"He was actually a very good pupil. Quite bright. Why, his favorite tale was-"

"Sir Gawain and the Green Knight" Rhys sighed knowingly, having heard this repeatedly since the 1650s. Arthur had been so proud of his colony's literacy; it seemed the whole of Europe was informed within a fortnight.

"Yes."

Several more rounds, various complaints, and one prank call to Mexico (where Alfred pretended to be ordering at Taco Bell), England thought he better understood America's character.

The boy's buffoonish tendencies sprung from a snarl of arrogant obstinacy, deliberate ignorance, cheerful apathy, and a juvenile sense of humor.

They were like unfortunate weeds spoiling the garden of his intellect. Only an empire or the remnant of one would have the strength to pull those out.

"You left me too soon" Arthur murmured. That was the root of it. Unlike...Oh blast, what's-his-name? (Somewhere someone sneezed.) America jumped out of the nest at the earliest convenience. "Lucky you didn't break your neck" he grumbled into his drink. "Twit."

Texas gently removed the glasses that kept slipping down America's nose. With the bottom of his shirt he cleaned them, before placing them on his own face. He sighed happily at his restored sight then grumbled "why couldn't you have taken my boots instead?"

"You bet the specs, dumbass."

"I didn't expect you to win though."

More drinks.

Arthur's own glass now sat untouched. America had drank entirely too much and seemed to be getting steadily more aggressive. It actually made Arthur rather nervous.

"We're the best!"

"You betcha."

The lack of agreement from Stuart earned a glower.

"We. Are. The. Best" Alfred repeated.

Stuart sighed, "Sir, it's those sort of statements that put us at odds with other nations. If we're to successfully negotiate more trade agreements, we need to abandon competitive verbiage that alienates-"

"You don't think we're the best?"

"You're gonna want to change your tune" Texas chimed in an annoying sing-song tone.

"You think their way is better? You some kinda-"

Arthur shook his head, waiting for the inevitable "commie bastard."

"Royalist?"

Come again?

"S-sir?"

"Better convince him fast" Tex chuckled "Or you're leaving through the window."

"I'll not suffer a turncoat in our midst!"

"What?!"

"We're banned from fourteen bars in Texas. Alone. As of this year."

Arthur gaped; but Alfred's only 19 "officially" he's not supposed to be able to purchase-

Alfred stood up and loomed over the assistant.

"G-god bless the U.S.A!" he squeaked and hysterically rambled the pledge of allegiance—which effectively soothed his ruffled nation...though he didn't sit back down...

Texas checked his watch, "It's time."

"Yes, we should leave-"

"Nope, he's drunk. It's 3 am, and you're not escaping the Revolutionary Rant. This is the time and atmosphere where the Sons of Liberty met. It's a trigger."

As if on cue, Alfred exclaimed, "We shan't accept their tyranny! Stationing soldiers in such a way to make masters into servants? The King invites his men into our homes. I say if he wants them fed and entertained? Let him play host."

"That Quartering Act was a dreadful idea. I warned you it wouldn't work" Wales stated smugly.

England scowled. "Very few of them had that occur. Mostly it was used to allocate the use of certain buildings to house them."

"Well, from the sound of it, Alfred had to surrender his quarters to someone."

"Well then, someone disobeyed my orders. He ought to have written-"

"-or that farce they call the Administration of Justice Act. Ha! They may as well call it, the "British are not to be held responsible for crimes they commit" Law. My colonists can't afford to travel all the way to bloody London to testify. The loss of wages! Their families would starve!"

Those Acts were intended it to humble them, intimidate them a bit, instead...

Alfred slapped his hands down on the table and hissed. "These transgressions are intolerable!"

...it infuriated them.

"Since our efforts to discuss our issues peacefully have failed, we must now resort to more desperate means. Our father...country" he added hastily "has dealt us grievous harm in its unyielding restrictions" he blinked hard.

A familiar ache flared to life along with a deep-seated bitterness. There wasn't a need for you to question my every move. Or trade with every sodding country that sailed by. I would've provided for you.

"I suggest you all read Thomas Paine's Common Sense. After all, even if England is our supposed parent the more shame for it, for "even brutes do not devour their young." Yet, England seems intent on consuming our resources and our successes." "

That was too much; the glass under England's hand cracked. Even several centuries later, Paine's words could piss him off. Traitor.

How convenient to forget the multitude of kindnesses he bestowed on him. Arthur glowered: If not for me you'd still be completely illiterate and likely conquered by Spain or France.

"Locke, an Englishman mind you, essentially says that when we're governed we surrender certain liberties for the sake of a stable community and the security of our beings and belongings."

Texas pulled Stuart's chair closer and whispered loudly, "He's gonna say "property" and it's gonna sound like the prissiest thing ya ever heard."

"As he says: "Government has no other end, but the preservation of property."

Stuart and Texas shared a laugh.

England frowned. The boy was pronouncing it perfectly.

The boy grumbled a moment about property and then grew sullen as he segued into imports before bursting out with sudden feeling, "Raise my taxes, I think NOT sir!"

Damn it all. He'd spoiled Alfred to rottenness. Given the era, America actually had the lowest taxes at the time! Lower than his own for cripes' sake!

From the backpack, Texas pulled out a tri-corner hat and slapped it over Alfred's head.

"Oh! Thank you, damned thing's always falling off-now where was-Oh yes, right! We have no other course but to rebel!"

"And you don't think this scheme is...impossible?" Stuart inquired. From the tone, it's clear its something he's always wanted to ask Alfred—after all, taking on an empire was usually suicide.

Alfred sighed, "If ever there was a word to be struck from the vocabulary of an American. Let it be that one. There is nothing on God's Earth that is impossible with His grace and guidance."

"Preach it Pilgrim."

"Impossible is a word that languishes in the mouths of cowards-fattened by sloth and fear. Prithee sir, spit the foul noun out."

"You know?" Arthur startled at the sudden appearance of Tom by his elbow—topping his abandoned drink off. "I consider myself a content Englishman, but he's got a way of speaking. It's not a wonder how he convinced a bunch of farmers they had a chance."

They knew then. They hadn't assumed he was merely rehearsing for some idiotic play. It was one thing to know about himself, but knowing Alfred's identity...

"Gentlemen," Alfred continued "We stand in the New World! Let it be a New World untarnished by the Old. Let us attempt what others dare not, and our glory be the greater when we triumph! If liberty be a dream, may I never wake; for a lifetime without it would be but a walking death!"

Even under the haze of dim bar lights, his golden hair glittered. Paired with his bright blue eyes which seemed to shine—it granted him an ethereal glow. He stood like some glimmering messenger of undaunted, idealistic hope in an otherwise drab world.

Oh yes. Who cared about the bloodshed involved with Revolutions? Or the war debt that waited for him around the bend?

Oh yes, yes, yes. Freedom. That's all he needed. Not security. Not shelter. Not food. Or family…

Freedom and property…but mostly freedom.

Several waitresses have paused in their duties to watch in awe.

"So...you should join us!" he insisted adamantly, shaking Texas in particular rather enthusiastically.

"That is why I joined you Sunshine."

Alfred cheered and sat down. He clanked his drink against theirs and downed it one go.

Stuart then seemed to realize the spectacle they'd made, turned pink, and immediately suggested they leave.

"Oh no, we're not leaving until this hour is over. This is the time of night he does serious vandalizing shit. Not to mention, I'm hopin' he doesn't figure out where we are or...there will be damages to pay for."

"Property damages?"

"Eeeeeyeah... it happened once in 1890, he totally freaked. Thought he was going on trial for treason. It was kinda my fault though. He kept askin' for his founding fathers and I ended up snapping that they were dead. That was a mistake. He forgot who the hell I was and plum lost his mind for the next two hours. Accidentally derailed a train, ran straight back to the harbor—I don't what he was thinking. Maybe that he was gonna fuckin' swim back to America—anyways I got a hold of him 'fore he drowned himself...It's sorta the reason we're not s'posed to travel together internationally. BUT it's been over a century, so they finally eased up on us."

It was decided. Arthur was going to write a very long, very thorough report to Congress on why Texas was not welcome to return. Ever.

"-But that'll go down the drain, if he tries to finish what Guy Fawkes started."

England's formidable brows shot up-Good God no!

"But…" Alfred interrupted, his speech now slurred-the alcohol had now taken full effect on him. His previous brilliance was winking out, though at least his accent remained. "I like parliament...even though they won't let us join" he puffed his cheeks petulantly.

"I mean, that's...that's the part we like. And-and we're gonna do something like it. I mean, well I can't remember exactly what they all said. It's not in stone. But there's talk of balances to...check stuff. To keep stuff in check. You know...democracy?" Alfred spun his empty tankard on the table. "Lots of it. But, no, sorry, not like Athenian democracy where it takes forever. So not too much of it. The right amount of it. You know? Well, probably not. Don't think anyone's done anything quite like it before. They're bright though, so….we'll sort it all out. Don't worry over it. Worry over the damn war. We could all still hang, if it goes poorly, you know."

The staff snickered. They were laughing at an America caught in the grip of ale and memories… entertained that he can't remember that he'd won.

Laughing at him. Even though he'd been dead serious about that last part...and his hands were shaking.

Laughing.

At the war. Their war. At them.

"Enough" Arthur's chair scraped back loudly.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" Wales hissed.

It didn't matter that Wales (who rarely acknowledged him by name) has not only used his but stood up in alarm. Arthur dodged the hand that reached for him. It didn't matter that he was no longer an empire and America was not a colony and confronting him in his current state was dangerous.

"That's enough" he bit out.

Already another tankard was being handed to the boy. Alfred blinked at the woman in confusion. When he didn't accept it, she pushed it towards his empty hand.

"No" Arthur waved her away "No, he's had enough."

Tom chuckled, "Oh he's still good for a few mo-"

"I said he's had enough!" The rest of the staff moved back nervously. Imbeciles. The fact it took several warnings must mean the IQ of his citizens has declined. When your nation told you to sod off, you sod off damn it.

Blood pounded in his ears.

"Alfred" he growled.

The boy was now leaning his chair on its back legs. He glanced his way and lost his concentration. Only England's quick reflexes kept him from a tumble.

"Fa-Bro-Brit-Enguh Arth-" big blue eyes stared...blinked, glared, blinked again, and stared.

"Alfred" he repeated.

Then the haze lifted and his eyes were a smiling summer blue Arthur hadn't seen since…

"Up. We must go. At once." It's the clipped tone he uses when they're allies on the battlefield and they must concede ground or risk losing more men. It usually startled America into standing.

"H-hey, who invited you?" the Texan frowned.

Acidic green eyes burnt into brown, "Belt up you sad excuse-"

"D-don't be mad" a soft voice pleaded and bedraggled flowers (that smell of beer and dirty vase water) were thrust before his face.

There were more chuckles and his eyes stung.

He'll never return to this pub again, and if he has his way neither will America.

Tom strode back over hands up placating, "No harm done. We'll phone him a taxi as usual-"

"So this usually happens, when he frequents your bar?"

"He has his habits, as you've yours."

Yes, Arthur had spent July 4th here many a time. What delightful bookends they made.

"One of my favorite customers," Tom assured "if I do say so m'self. We find him most amusing."

A razor sharp smile turned the edges of Arthur's lips and the man shuddered into stillness.

"Is that so? How good to know you amuse yourselves at my child's expense."

TBC...

Read and Review Please : D

Personal Headcanons: You've Been Warned

*The area of Texas was explored earlier (1500s) than the British Colonies (1600s) but sort of ignored by Spain until the 1600s. (Before someone cries Vikings, I think that's more Canada's turf. Personally, from what I saw in the anime a time where Sweden, Finland, England, and France were frolicking about was the 1650s. I'm gonna stick with that.) Considering Spain's treatment and Mexico's treatment, and the uncertainty of being a Republic...Texas really wanted to join the U.S. It all ultimately results in Texas being a hilarious-smothering-older brother-underling for America.

*America: His colonial accent emerges when he's drunk or stressed. He's good-natured, but has a mean streak. He's smarter than he lets on, but he likes people to underestimate him. When people know exactly what you're capable of, you seem less heroic. Plus, your enemies learn where to strike you and your friends becomes less appreciative when you help out. He likes having an Ace up his sleeve.