Well, hi, if you know me from anywhere else, I'm warning you right now to NOT TELL ANYONE THAT I'M HERE, shh. I'm writing this because I got bored with the lack of fluffy things for me to read and decided that I needed to be a jerk and write some myself. I hope I still have some fragments of writing ability left because I have written nothing but essays for, like, six months.

This is for my friend, Sea-bby, because I promised her a long time ago that I'd write this and it took me a long time BUT I DID IT. You know who you are, Sea-bby.

/pointless explanation, insert something about not owning Hetalia here kthx.

It was 11:00 at night, and Arthur Kirkland had nearly drifted off to sleep in the delicious comfort of his soft, fluffy bed. It had been a truly trying day; he was far too old to be dealing with a 12-year-old boy who had far too much energy for his own—and everyone else's—good. He had been planning on having such a relaxing day, too, when he'd heard that fateful knock on his front door. In hindsight, he ought to have just ignored it, and let it go away on its own, but, being in the cheerful mood he was, he'd decided to answer it. After looking round for a few seconds and not seeing anyone, Arthur had been about to shrug it off as some neighbourhood boys playing some sort of annoying prank, when his thoughts had been interrupted by a very distinct 'Hello, Jerk.'

He'd looked down just a bit, and there was his kid brother, suitcase in hand, staring up at him with a thoroughly bored expression. Oh, he could tell right then that his day would be absolutely lovely.

And 'lovely' it had been. Peter had first given him the thoroughly thrilling news that hey, he was staying for four days because Mama and Papa have to go away on business! Arthur couldn't very well tell Peter to go find somewhere else to stay, so he'd grudgingly let the boy into his house, telling him not to break anything. The rest of the day had been a whirlwind of pouting, moping, noisy, headache inducing activities as he tried to keep his brother entertained enough so that he wouldn't get himself into any trouble. He didn't think it would go over very well with Peter's 'parents' if they came to fetch him and their 'son' was in a cast, or dead.

And he had three more days to go.

Sighing, Arthur burrowed further underneath those really, really comforting blankets, determined to forget all about that little bundle of stress and get a good night's sleep, because God knew he'd need it. And he'd just about fallen asleep, too, when he felt an unfamiliar pressure on the other side of the bed.

Tensing, Arthur momentarily wondered if a burglar had perhaps broken in, before realising that no, burglars didn't tend to try and crawl into bed with their victims. But the only other person in the house was Peter, and surely he, with his endearing habit of calling Arthur a jerk, would not be the one climbing into Arthur's bed.

Almost as soon as the movement started, it stopped, and Arthur was nearly inclined to forget all about it and just go to sleep, but thought better of it and rolled over to see who the culprit was. And there, staring back at him, was a thick pair of eyebrows, looking quite upset that they'd been caught.

"...Peter?" Arthur asked incredulously, though it was a rather pointless question.

The little blonde child was peeking out at him from underneath the covers, which he'd pulled up to his chin. He scowled and managed a muffled, "What?"

"'What?' You've just crawled into my bed and you ask me 'what?'" Arthur frowned at the boy, but couldn't do much more than that as he saw Peter's well-practised pout begin to crumble and he was suddenly trying not to tear up.

"Shut up, my bed is too hard and the room is too cold," sniffled Peter, not sounding as upset as he'd wanted. Instead, he opted for pulling the blankets up further over his face, so just the top of his blonde head was showing.

Sighing, Arthur propped himself up on one elbow. "Peter, what's wrong?"

He managed to make out a muffled, "Had a bad dream," to which he could only shake his head, then plop back down onto his own pillow.

When he realised he wasn't going to be unceremoniously kicked onto the floor by the jerk who was his older brother, Peter carefully peeked out from the blankets. Arthur was staring back at him curiously. Peter teared up again.

Too tired to be gruff, Arthur gently asked Peter if he wanted to talk about it. "Sometimes talking makes it better, you know."

Peter snuggled further under the blankets before speaking again. "I had a dream everybody forgot about Sealand..." he sniffled, and Arthur almost—but not quite—cracked a smile at that. He was afraid he'd be having to deal with some ridiculous monster nightmare.

"Nobody is going to forget you, Peter, it was just a bad dream," he said softly.

Peter mumbled something.

Sighing again, Arthur reached over and pulled the blanket away from Peter's face. "Speak properly, I can't hear a thing you're saying through that blanket."

And then Peter teared up again, and then he started crying, for pity's sake, and Arthur rolled his eyes and pulled his annoying little brother into his arms, rubbing his back reassuringly. "Hush now," he told his little brother, as he felt Peter's sniffles subsiding. "Go to sleep."

"I promise, nobody is going to forget. How could I forget, when you're always running round pestering me?" said Arthur, not quite used to comforting people.

Sniffling, Peter looked up at him. "Really?"

Arthur nodded, yawning. "You've got your ridiculous excuse for citizens who won't forget about you, either. And Sweden, he looks far too intense to forget."

Peter slowly began to relax into the unfamiliar embrace of his normally-hated older brother. He had been absolutely certain that Arthur would yell at him to get out of his bed, and tell him he was being ridiculous and to grow up and big boys don't cry about stupid things, anyway. He was, frankly, shocked at the treatment he was receiving, but not objecting to it at all. In fact, he rather liked it, he'd always wondered what it would be like if Arthur wasn't always being a jerk and not acknowledging him. He hesitantly snuggled a little closer to his brother.

Without realising it, Arthur smiled and continued to rub Peter's back in comforting circles. He settled back down against his pillow, stifling another yawn.

"You mean, you're not going to tell me to go back to my room?" Peter's question was barely audible, and it was a miracle that Arthur heard it in his sleepy state.

"Not much point now," Arthur said drowsily. "If you let me go to sleep, you can stay here. Just tonight."

Peter blinked, shocked that his usually-uptight brother was not only allowing him to sleep in his bed, but was—he was, wasn't he?-hugging him. He bit his tongue to make sure he wasn't dreaming, though if he was, he wouldn't have objected, because this was much nicer than the dream he'd had earlier. And really, Arthur was right, nobody could for get about Sealand, because Sealand was amazing and would be a great nation someday! Peter smiled to himself, eyes sliding closed, as he thought about this much more pleasant scenario where he was the greatest nation in the world, even greater than that jerk, and cuddled closer. He was soon asleep, and didn't feel Arthur's arms tighten around him, and didn't notice Arthur give him a tiny little kiss on his forehead before drifting off to sleep himself, but not before wondering if perhaps the rest of the days wouldn't be so bad after all.

I feel the need to use this space to apologise that that sucked so much.