Chapter 5

It did not take long at all to get the impatient boy dressed up in his new clothes. England helped him and showed him how to do things like fix the buttons in place, tuck in his shirt, and tie his neckerchief around his neck. England then combed the boy's damp hair finished the look by adding the hat. After the boy was completely outfitted, his older brother asked him to turn around a few times. England admired how well his tailoring looked on the small boy. The hat and the shoes were the only parts of the ensemble that England had not made, but England had picked them out with care so that they would match the rest. While studying America as he turned, England was also quite pleased to see that the clothes fit perfectly. The man had to congratulate himself once again for another job well done. England was sure no one could match his sewing skills. Sure, maybe France could have made the outfit more stylish, glamorous, and poofy, but what could be practical about walking around like a peacock all the time?

"There you are! What do you think?"

England thought that America would praise the outfit further, but to his surprise, America didn't answer right away. England realized that the boy's excitement had gone down. America was making unsure movements and overlooking his new clothing with a critical eye. He seemed to be having second thoughts about all this.

"Um…" America finally started out. "Do I have to wear these all the time?"

England was taken aback by this sudden change in attitude.

"Of course," England reinforced firmly. "You are too old to be dressing like an infant."

America shifted back and forth; pulling at parts of his clothes with a frown.

"But it feels funny," the boy confessed. "And it's hot and itchy."

England chuckled a bit. He saw what the problem was now. The clothes had looked good all alone, but wearing them for the first time must have felt very strange to the boy. England remembered the discomfort he, himself, had felt each time dramatic changes in fashion had taken place in history.

"You will get used to it," he promised his little brother.

America still looked uncomfortable. He grimaced as he tried to move normally in the restricting clothes. He couldn't stop tugging and scratching at himself. He stumbled a bit in his new shoes. The shoes seemed to be the hardest thing for the boy to become accustomed to. America actually felt like he had weights on his feet. His toes felt trapped. He kept trying in vain to wiggle his sweaty toes inside the tight leather.

"Oh, for goodness sake! Don't look so depressed," England tried to cheer America up. "You look splendid! Here, see for yourself," England pushed his little brother in front of a full mirror, hoping he would feel better once he saw how handsomely he looked.

America stared at himself in the looking glass. He looked himself up and down. Slowly, the boy began to stand up a little straighter. A smile appeared on his face and he beamed as if a revelation had suddenly come to him.

"See?" England said with a smile. "What did I tell you?"

America looked up at England full of pride and new excitement.

"I look just like you!" the boy shouted happily before turning back to his reflection.

England froze at America's exclamation. To America, what he had just said seemed like a natural thing to be happy about. England was his big brother. America automatically thought that almost everything about England was awesome. He admired England with all the admiration a little boy could have for an older sibling or a father. He craved to be just like his big brother.

However, what America had said had astounded England. No one ever wanted to be like him. Not even his own family. France had always openly mocked England's style. When England thought more about it, it also occurred to him that most native people usually rejected the influences of foreign sovereigns. Yet, America was actually excited about donning an outfit that resembled something that England would wear. The boy actually wanted to look like England, and that had genuinely touched the old nation.

England marveled at the boy in front of him. America was grinning at himself in the mirror and making dramatic poses. He practiced taking off his hat and bowing a few times, like he had seen England do to greet people on occasion.

"Well…I guess this isn't so bad," America decided. "I guess I can wear this stuff, but…it's going to be kinda hard to play like this." After some thought, America looked up at England and tried to make a compromise. "Can I take the tie off when I play outside?"

England considered the suggestion for a moment.

"I don't see why not," the older nation said. He could allow that. It did seem a sensible thing to do.

"What about the vest? Could I take that off, too?" America ventured further.

"I suppose that would be alright," England agreed. The conversation was starting to make England think. He began to realize that America was going to need a whole wardrobe of new clothes now. He would at least need a change of clothes set aside for play so that he would not ruin his new, nicer clothes.

"And the socks and shoes?" America added, hopefully.

"No," England drew the line at that. "You may not take those off."

"But—"

"Shoes protect one's feet," England lectured. "It's high time that you settled into the habit of wearing them." England was trying to be stern on this subject for the boy's own good, but when he saw America's downcast face, his resolve weakened. "However," England continued with a sigh of defeat. "I think there might come some instances in which I could make an exception and allow you to remove them. Just be sure you ask permission first. Alright?"

America's smile returned.

"Alright! It's a deal!" the boy enthusiastically agreed. He could live with that. Suddenly, America rushed at England and began tugging at his older brother's shirt. "Hey, hey, England? Can we go into town?" he asked.

"What? You mean right at this moment?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Whatever for?"

"I want to show my new clothes to all my friends!" America was bouncing up and down with eagerness as he spoke.

England glanced out the window. It was getting late in the afternoon and he and America had not even had lunch, yet. England was also not sure if he had the energy to make a journey into town after his earlier battle with America.

"It's getting rather late to go all the way into town," England tried to be rationale. "Couldn't you wait till tomorrow?"

"Oh Please, England? Please?" America tugged at England some more as he begged. His cute face became all puppy-eyed. England looked away, but he was too late. He didn't have a chance when his brother made that face.

"I suppose I could use the chance to run a few errands…"

"Hooray!" the boy jumped and shouted as he released his pleasure. He ran for the door to England's room with his arms spread out as if he were flying. "Come on! Let's go!" he called to his brother.

"Not so fast!" England called out to America as he dashed out of the room. "I need some time to get ready, first!"

"Ok!" America understood, but he did not slow his stampeding towards the stairs.

England stuck his head out of his room and gave the hasty boy a few instructions.

"I'll be along momentarily! Stay in the house while I change!" England didn't want America getting any ideas about running off on his own.

"Ok!" England heard his brother answer cheerfully from somewhere in the house. As England closed his door, he could hear America bounding back up the stairs. When the sound of his little brother's footsteps whooshed past the outside of England's door, he heard America announce:

"This is way better than a pop-gun!"

England grinned at sounds of his brother's celebration. Normally, England didn't allow America to run in the house, but he could let it go this once. The boy was bursting with happiness and wild energy. He needed to let it out.

England turned back to his room and slumped against his door. The room was a bit disheveled. The sheets on his made bed where out of place from America moving around on it. The contents of his trunk were out of order. America's wet towel was on the floor, and his old shirt was on the far side of the room. England would have to tidy the room before he could think about getting dressed for an outing.

As England made his way to his chest, he caught a glimpse of himself in his mirror. He winced at his unkempt reflection. His clothes were damp and wrinkled. He had removed his wet shoes and stockings after falling into the tub with America, so he was still bare-foot. The back of his shirt was torn from when he had fallen out of the tree, earlier, and his wild head of hair was even more frazzled than it usually was.

England turned away from the mirror and sighed. He was not looking forward to putting himself back together. He was not really looking forward to the trip into town, but he tried to convince himself that it would be the practical venture. He needed to pick out some more materials, so that he could start work on more clothes for America, anyway. He could also try to find an extra outfit that America could wear for play, in the meantime. Maybe a jacket would be good, too.

While England tackled his storage chest, America ran back and forth in the hallway outside of England's room. He was starting to get used to the feel of his new clothes. He felt very grown-up in his new pants that came down just below his knees. The only problem was his shoes. The boy was used to running around barefoot most of the time. Wearing shoes just didn't feel right. He wanted his feet to be free. His pace slowed as he thought about taking off the shoes (just for a minute. His imprisoned feet needed air).

But as the boy came to a stop, he noticed something about the shoes that he had not before. He looked down at his shoes and wiggled his feet inside of them. Were his shoes...squeaking? He took a few slow, experimental steps. They were! America walked around in a circle and listened to the entertaining sounds. The hallway echoed with the "squeak, CLOP, squeak, CLOP" of his yet-to-be-broken-in footwear. America discovered that he thoroughly enjoyed the sounds his shoes made when he stomped them. The powerful noises that his hard shoes created when they hit the wood floor made America feel much older and heavier. The boy began to march and stomp his feet as hard as he could.

"Hey, England! Listen!" America called to England's closed door. "My shoes make funny noises!"

Inside the room, England groaned.

"How wonderful," he said in a voice betrayed his true feelings. He obviously thought that the racket was less than wonderful.

America went back to his running, but still tried to stomp his feet as he ran. He smiled broadly as he raced about. The boy was beginning to see the advantages of his new clothes. He could run as fast as he wanted, and he didn't have to worry about his long shirt flying up or getting caught on something. America ran back to the stairs and slid down the banister. Wearing pants made this action so much easier. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he started doing clumsy cartwheels and tumbling. He did a head-stand using a wall for support. Standing upside-down was more fun without his long shirt falling down over his head.

"Hey, England quick! Look what I can do!"

England heard his little brother calling to him. By this time, England was finished with his chest. He had slung the wet towel over his shoulder and was now smoothing out his bed-sheets.

"I don't know what you could be doing," England called back. "But I am certain that you are not standing on your head with your feet against the wall, as you have been clearly instructed not to do in the past." England heard a "BUMP" before America answered.

"I'm not! Never mind!"

In his excitement, America had completely forgotten the rule. England did not like dirty marks on the wall. When he stood up, the boy was relieved to see that his shoes had not left any spots on the clean wall.

Back in his room, England gave a knowing smile in the direction of the sound. He had come to know that boy so well. Once his bed was made, all that was left was America's shirt. England went over to it, picked it up off the floor, and shook it out. He walked back to the bed to fold it.

England paused when he held the shirt up in front of him. He suddenly felt struck by how small the shirt was. When had America gotten so big? It seemed like only yesterday when the boy was so little that his long shirts practically devoured him. England could almost see the happy toddler in the worn shirt, reaching out for England to hold him…. When was the last time America had asked to be held? England suddenly realized that he was going to have to pack away all of America's delicate, little shirts. The boy would not need them anymore. For some reason, thinking about all this made England's stomache hurt and his eyes water. The nation quickly wiped his eyes, cleared his throat, and tried to get control of himself.

"What am I?" he scolded himself. "A pathetic old maid, grieving over an empty nest?" England folded the tiny shirt and tried to think nothing more about it. It would be ridiculous to get upset over this. His brother was just growing out of some old clothes. It was nothing to blink at. If England could not handle this, he shuddered to think about how he would react when his brother went through puberty—but it would be ages before that happened! America was still a small child. There was no reason to go flying off the handle over a new set of clothes.

Suddenly, England heard the door open behind him. When had America come back upstairs? England did not look at the boy. He was afraid his eyes might be red. He spoke quickly and tried to act as if nothing was wrong.

"Before you ask: no, I am not ready yet, and I don't want you coming in here every few seconds to ch—OMPH!" England felt America ram into the back of his legs. The boy's arms wrapped around England's legs and squeezed. England feel forward and caught himself on the bed. "What's all this?"

"Thanks, Arthur!" America said sweetly, as he hugged England with gratitude. "And…I'm sorry that I ran away," the boy added softly. "…and threw dirt on you…and made you fall out of the tree…and spit on your face…and splashed you…and—"

England smiled down at him.

"Apology accepted," he interrupted with a pat on the boy's head. "Don't worry about it." To be honest, a part of England had somewhat enjoyed the adventure that America had put him through that morning. "Now, if you will kindly grant me a few minutes to put myself back together?" England said as he slipped out of the hug and gently pushed America towards the door. "I must hurry if you still want to go into town today."

"Alright!" America hurried out the door, but before England could shut it, the boy returned. "Hey, next time I need a bath, can I take it by myself?"

England was startled! Had he heard his brother correctly?

"I beg your pardon?"

"If I'm big enough to wear breetches, then I'm big enough to wash myself, right?"

England's mouth dropped, and he stuttered a bit before finally replying.

"But-but…I thought you hated baths."

America looked at England like he was crazy.

"Who me? No way!" he bragged. "Only babies are afraid of baths!"

The End

Historical Author's Note Thing: Back in this time period, little boys usually wore dress-like clothes and shirts until they turned about 5 or so. A boy getting his first pair of pants (or "breeches") was a BIG deal. They called it getting "breeched," and it was like a sign of maturing. Some families even threw parties to celebrate the event.
I imagined that little America would be very excited about his first pair of pants. Thanks to everyone who read this! I hope you all enjoyed it!