Memories of a Different Time.

A Hetalia Fanfiction

By RishiandSquee

Disclaimer: Don't own, but doting older brothers are love.

(A/N: A different take on Sealand and England, I've been waiting for a fanfiction like this, so I had to make it myself. Enjoy.)

Memories are a powerful thing. They can make you smile, and yet at the same time they can hurt you. They can show depths to a person, or persons, or give a simple action a very deep, hidden meaning.

These memories are from before, when things were simple, but not too simple—when children played, and when all one had to do was smile to make the world brighter.

This is the story before the story, when England loved, and subsequently lost, a precious little boy.

chapter one

Memories of a Second Chance

Our story starts on a warm day.

England looked out. Both the sky and the sea greeted him, outstretching as far as England could see. It was a wonderful day, and England's mood was considerably bright.

"Ihnglan."

There was a tiny tug at England's sleeve. Looking up at England was a tiny tot, maybe two or three years old. The babe had sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and huge eyebrows. He looked up at England, a frown on his face.

"Ihnglan" the child repeated. "Hungry."

England couldn't help himself. He smiled and picked up the toddler. "Again?" he sighed, snuggling the child.

The child-England had not given him a name yet-grabbed England's shirt in response and snuggled back. "Ihnglan! Hungry! Hungry!" the baby pouted, looking up at England with big, sea blue eyes. "Food, Ihnglan."

"Alright, alright, you're hungry. But can you say 'please'?" England asked the baby.

The child continued to pout. "Food, Ihnglan! Hungry!"

"Now, now, enough of that. Using manners is very important, young man." England held the boy. "Now say 'please', and I'll get you food."

"Ihnglan!" the child whined. "Food PEASE! Food pease! Hungry!" he exclaimed, tugging on the Brit's eyebrows.

England yelped. "Ow! Stop, hey! No fair!" he laughed. "You're a feisty little bugger, aren't you? Don't worry, I'm not about to let you go hungry." he laughed.

The child, in turn, also laughed. "Food pease! Food, Ihnglan!"

England opened a small jar of baby food. He picked out a tiny blue spoon. Encrusted on the spoon were white waves of the ocean. "Now, say 'ah'." England commanded, waving the spoon in front of the child.

At the sight of the jar, the baby's face brightened. "Food!" he yelled, grabbing the jar.

"Hey!" England jumped back at having the jar of food taken. "No, hey, give me that!" he commanded, holding out his hand.

The child ignored England. "Ihnglan! Food!" he yelled, holding up the jar. "Food!"

"Yes, I know that's food, I'm trying to feed it to you!" England fussed. "Now give it here! Or do you want a different kind?"

The blond tot frowned. "No! I do!" he exclaimed. The child dunked his hand into the jar and examined his fingers, now covered in the baby food. Gleefully, he stuck his hand in his mouth and giggled. "Nuhmmy!"

England started to fret. "Oh, come now, young man, you've gone and made a mess!" England ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. "Give me that."

"No! Mine! I do self! I do!" In his temper, the child dropped the jar. A loud crash was heard. The baby looked down at the jar, startled. It had cracked in half, contents spilling onto the floor. The child immediately became curious. He started to reach down, intent on picking up the food.

England panicked. "No!" he yelled, snatching up the tot before he touched the glass. "We do not touch glass! It is very dangerous!"

The child, startled by England's harsh-sounding voice, burst into tears.

England became flustered. "Come now, little one," he said soothingly, picking up the babe. "Don't get upset. It was an accident. You don't need to cry over that."

"Nhguu..." the baby hiccupped, big tears coming out of his eyes. "Sawee. I sawee, Ihnglan."

England bounced the child, trying to calm him down. "Yes, yes, it's fine, I'm not angry at you."

After a few minutes of sobbing and subsequent soothing, the baby stuck his thumb firmly in his mouth and closed his eyes. Soon after, he started to breath rhythmically. England sighed in relief. The baby was finally asleep.

"Ah, so the rumors are true."

England knew that voice-worse yet, he hated that voice. It was the voice of his mortal-enemy-and-occasional-friend. England turned towards the door.

"Francis! What the bloody hell are you doing here?" England hissed, trying not to wake up the child in his arms.

France stood at the door, smiling giddily. "So you do have a lovechild. Tell me, Arthur, whose is he?"

"He's mine!" England glared at the Frenchman.. "Now what are you doing in my house? I don't have time to deal with you!"

France ignored England, instead walking over and examining the baby in England's arms. "Why, such a sweet little darling. Even has your eyebrows. Cute." he commented, tousling the child's hair.

"Of course. What did you expect?" England glared at France, his retort harsh.

France feigned hurt, but smiled at the sleeping babe. "So, ho did the child get here? Is there a new country? That happens often during times of war."

"I guess he wouldn't really be considered a country." England looked off sheepishly. "He's more of a...a territory."

"Ah, I see..." France continued to stare at the child, captivated. "So, what's the little one's name?"

"N-name?" England flushed. "I-I haven't given him one yet."

France looked at England for a long second. "...you haven't...given the child a NAME?" he grabbed England by the shoulders, careful not the hurt the child. "What have you been calling the babe all this time?"

"I-I'm sorry! I just haven't thought up a good one!" England whined.

France frowned, almost tearing. "How tragic! To go without a name for so long! Oh, the hurt this babe must feel! You have no right to give the child a name! I must do it!"

"Fine, whatever! Just shut the hell up, git! Before you wake him up!" England hissed in a loud whisper.

France looked at the baby for a moment before speaking again. "Honestly, she looks like a Jeanne to me."

England shot France a harsh glare. "He's a BOY, nitwit!"

France paused. "Huh. Could've fooled me." he pondered for another minute. "How about Peter? It's a nice name."

England looked down at the child in his arms before nodding. "Yeah. Peter is an appropriate name. It suits him."

France then tugged at England's sleeve. "Come, Arthur, there is much to discuss, and I prefer not doing it in front of the babe-Peter. He may wake."

England hesitantly nodded, putting Peter in the makeshift crib that England had put together. He gently kissed the baby's forehead. "Sweet dreams, Peter." he said softly.

England and France both left the room.

As they sat down at the table, France looked up at England. "It's funny. I expected you to be stressed when I heard about the child...and yet, you seem fairly adjusted."

"Why in the world would I be stressed? He's not much of a challenge for two years old, and he's so sweet. Francis, you have to see him when he's not sleeping. He's the sweetest, that child." England smiled, clearly already in the stages of becoming a doting parent.

France frowned, putting his chin in his hands. "That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it. Where did he come from? I haven't heard you trying to make any new colonies. And what in the world do you plan to do with him?"

England blinked. "What do you mean, what do I plan to do with him? I'm going to raise him into being a fine young country."

France continued to stare and frown. "Arthur. Are you seriously going to do this take care of him? Or is this going to wind up like Alfred?"

England scowled. "I don't know why you go comparing Peter to that git. Peter's nothing like him, and he won't turn out like him, either." he said firmly, crossing his arms. "I don't have to worry about crossing the ocean to see him, either. He lives three miles from my place, and I don't plan on letting him go off on his own until he's older." England started to get flushed with excitement. "I'm going to raise him right, you'll see."

France sighed. "You really worry me sometimes, Arthur. You and I both know that there's a war going on right now-how can you expect to be here for him when you go off fighting Germany?"

The green eyed country clenched his fist. "Is there a REASON that you came here, other then to give me a massive temper?"

The Frenchman ran his hand through his hair, sighing. "Arthur." he said, changing the subject. "Where did you find him? Peter, I mean."

"...a war fort." England grumbled.

France blinked. "E-I'm sorry, I must have misheard you." France laughed awkwardly. "Did you say that-that Peter's a fort? As in one for war?"

"Yes! Peter is a war fort!" England shot back.

"Arthur..." France froze. "Arthur, war forts aren't countries. They aren't even considered territories. How in the world is he here?"

England slammed his hand on the table, trying to ignore the tears building up in his eyes. "HE'S HERE, AND I'M HAPPY ABOUT IT!" he fussed. "Look, dammit, I found him, okay? And that must mean something!"

"...what's wrong, Arthur?"

England wiped his eyes. "Nothing." he muttered. "And when are you leaving?"

France's brows furrowed. "I was actually kind of hoping that I could help take care of him. I got permission from my boss, due to it wartime and all, and I figured that you would need all the help you could get."

England sighed, standing up. He didn't want to say anything else to the Frenchman. He silently went into the kitchen to get rags to clean up the mess that Peter had made with the baby food.

France persistently followed England. "Is that a yes?"

England knelt down, cleaning the mess. "I didn't say no, did I?" he smirked.

France grinned. "So I'm an uncle, now, am I?" he said cheerfully. "Don't worry, I'll be the best uncle that our little Peter could ever wish he had!

~End chapter one~

(A/N: Next chapter is "Memory of the Allies Meeting". Sounds fun, ne? Hope you come back soon!)