A/N: Hullo! I don't own anything! (If I did, there would be EVEN MORE PolandxLithuania and SuFin. Bork.) The characters described in this fanfiction are not meant to be any reflection on the countries or their armed forces. This is just for fun! Set during the Blitz in England, 7th September 1940 until May 1941, when Adolf Hitler bombed the city of London for 76 solid days. I'm sorry if there is anything I get wrong on the historical front, and I hope you like the fic!

There will be a little bit of bad language- this IS England. Sorry~

England was hurt.

In more ways than one.

The German bombardment of London had gone on for seventy-six days now, and he was reaching the end of his tether.

He had worked so hard to stop this- helped France (the cowardly git…) and even put up barriers to stop the German advance. Then, they had to go and bloody well bomb London! His boss had been careful about what to say and what to do, but no amount of propaganda could make this go away. There was no telling how long it would go on for.

He picked up another piece of rubble and tossed it into the skip behind him.

Not that it would do much good.

Germany would be back- England knew. And he was all alone.

Russia had betrayed him by signing an agreement with Germany before the war (not that the nation wasn't slightly relieved at avoiding numerous awkward meetings with the rather frightening Ivan), and his main ally France had fallen (of course, that was to be expected- he was France, after all), leaving him alone.

And the USA hadn't done a thing to help.

This made his blood boil more than anything. He could overlook Russia, he could even overlook France, but Alfred's neutrality was downright painful. Hadn't he raised him from a tiny child? Hadn't he taught him how to farm? How to shoot? How to speak? And yet, his son had betrayed him. He had come to terms with Alfred's independence- though that hurt too. The collapse of the British Empire had left him alone, despite the Commonwealth. Hell, even Canada, Alfred's brother, had offered him help! But no, the USA was stubborn.

Neutrality, he said. Peace-keeping, he said. Not getting involved, he said.

Well stuff that. He was a fool for expecting any help anyway. Japan had betrayed him, hadn't he? Why shouldn't the USA just do the same? He threw another plank into the skip, furrowing his oversized brows. He was surrounded by as many creatures as he could muster, clearing whatever they could. Fairies carried small stones between them, imps and goblins rolled rubble along the floor, and even the ghosts had turned up to do what they could. But they were as exhausted as England himself. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his jacket and gloves folded neatly on the floor. A rare lapse from his usual smart, prim appearance, but he was run ragged. His hair was tousled, his trousers dusty and his arms aching.

But his emerald eyes, despite the dark rings under them, shone like the jewels in a crown- an emerald moon in a dark sky.

He was stuffed if he was going to give up. So what if he was alone? He had never given up before. He wasn't about to! Arthur's stubborn thoughts kept him going as he worked, clearing the rubble with patriotic thoughts in his head. He had all the help he needed right here. All he had to do was look down the street and see people helping people, all races, ages and backgrounds working together for the common good. He was damned if he was going to give up.

He couldn't hold out for much longer, but hell. England wasn't going to surrender.

"England! England!" Arthur looked up to see a paper boy running towards him,. Brandishing a newspaper and calling his name.

"What?" he called, straightening up.

"It's Germany! He's called off the Blitz!"

Arthur was stunned.

"Wait… what? Why?"

"He's going to attack Russia!"

England was frozen to the spot for a second, eyes wide. Then, with a laugh of relief, he joined the rest of the street in exuberant cheering. They had done it! They had stuck it out! A great weight was lifted from his chest and, though there was plenty still to be done, he let himself celebrate for a few precious minutes.

"England? England!"

He was sat in his conservatory- an odd thing, really, as it was pouring with rain outside despite it supposedly being spring. A steaming cup of tea sat to his left, and a half-eaten scone with jam and cream to his right. The table he sat at was covered with paperwork, and around it sat numerous generals, captains and other military men. England stood up and opened the door, though he could already see through the glass who was waiting, drenched, to come in.

"Alfred, don't you ever bring an umbrella?" Arthur shook his head despairingly- it wasn't proper to enter another's home looking such a mess. But the USA seemed to have more important things to worry about.

"England, I'm entering the war!"

Arthur looked to him, shocked.

"What the…?" then England shut his mouth, knowing better than to try to change Alfred's mind. It was dangerous, it was perilous, but the American had never been afraid of danger. His worries for his old friend and new ally dissolved as he looked again at his tall frame, his proud stance and his burning bright blue eyes.

"What are you thinking?" America asked, a little concerned. England was one of his closest friends, and he didn't want to have to go against what he wanted. He knew England would be worried- England always worried. Not that he would ever admit it, but beneath his hard exterior, beyond his swearing and his anger and his manners, there was a part of him that cared for the USA as if he was still a kid- or a "child", as he knew Arthur would prefer to say. Like when he fell and hit his head from running too fast when he was a kid, and England had patched him up. That look of concern and worry was still there, and Alfred, for a moment, felt as warm as a fresh-out-of-the-oven bagel inside as he thought of how much the other nation actually cared about him.

Arthur smiled, eyes shining.

"Took you long enough, you hick."

Reviews, please and thank you!

Just to clear this up, the reason I described America as England's son was that, at the time, England was probably reminiscing about how powerful his empire had been before it has collapsed, so would prefer to think of himself as the USA's father and partially responsible for his successes, as opposed to a more equal relationship of brothers. And I think of Canada of more America's brother and England his parent.

Once again, though, this isn't supposed to make any judgement on the countries mentioned or their armed forces!