Title: Interdependancy

Author: Bonnia

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, kissing, and horrible OOCness.

Summary: It's July 4th again, and when England refuses to come to America's birthday, the other nation takes it upon himself to fix what's wrong with his friend. USUK oneshot for America's birthday.

Disclaimer: Yeah, I know barely anything about Hetalia compared to some fans; how could I own it? It would be a really crappy series if I did.

Author's Note: Well, hello. I recently discovered Hetalia. Reaction? "Why the heck didn't I watch this sooner?" So, seeing as it's America's birthday today, I decided to whip this up and post it as a sort of tribute, sort of random crap thing to start writing Hetalia. Yay...? Anyway, horrible out of characterness lies ahead. In the beginning I thought it was doing well, but near the middle all semblance of in-characterness disappeared, or that's how it seems to me.

Okay, I'll stop rambling. And Chapter 5 of Finding Home will be done soon. Please read and review!

"For the last time, you bloody git, no."

"Aww, but whyyy?" America whined, pouting. In front of him, his fellow nation and friend England stood, glaring as he gathered his documents from the World Summit meeting that had concluded moments before.

The Briton sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes, swiping at his forehead with one sleeve. Why the hell did the meeting have to be in America? And on July third, no less. It just reminded him of unpleasant things, memories he would rather shove away, with alcohol if necessary. And there was the fact that it was unbearably hot in their stuffy meeting room; London was almost always drab and rainy so hot weather like this did not suit England, he would say.

And of course, the bloody prat still looked impeccable in the summer sun. Nantucket and the rest of his hair stuck up randomly from his head, and he didn't look fatigued at all. Instead, America looked sort of as if he was preening in the warmth of the day, grinning disarmingly and his blue eyes sparkling in a way that England didn't get to see often directed to him. A way that turned his stomach uncomfortably.

"Hey! Iggy, you still there? Off in space with your fairy friends?" The American jolted him out of his thoughts with one hand waving near his face. England scowled at him and finished gathering his papers, tapping them to neaten them up and shoving them inside a manila folder with more force than was necessary.

"Shut up, America. And how many times have I told you to stop calling me that stupid nickname?" The blond snapped as he started walking away quickly and out of the room, but America's longer legs allowed him to easily catch up to the other's shorter strides.

"Pro'bly millions," the other smiled as he rested his hands on the back of his neck, leaning backwards in a boyish way before becoming serious and letting his hands drop. "Really, though, why can't ya come to my birthday?"

England focused his mind on how his language was being butchered and not how the word 'birthday' sent those memories floating back up to the surface as if tugged by an invisible hook. "I'm busy," was his short answer as he strolled outside-by god, how did Americans live with that sun?- and opened the door to his awaiting cab, turning once and flinching almost imperceptively at America's wounded look.

The other covered it up well, though, with a plastered-on smile that would have fooled England if he hadn't been the one to show him those smiles. "Well... okay then, Iggy. I'm the hero, so I'll let you do what you want!" He winked once and then started loping away, not looking back.

England watched his retreating shape for a moment before getting in the cab, wanting to just wash everything away.

Which he could easily do at home, the Briton rediscovered after his flight, pulling a bottle of rum out of the cabinet and pouring himself a shot. Outside, rain drizzled down in light streaks that fit his mood perfectly.

Tomorrow, July 4th was a date that would always be scarred into his memory, though, which he also remembered as the alcohol made his thoughts warm and fuzzier. That one picture was crystal clear as if it was that day, more than 200 years ago in a field far away from his home in London.

The clash of bayonet against steel was all that rang through the air, besides England's labored breathing and the harsh fall of rain. The moisture falling from the sky didn't manage to hide the streaks of tears falling as the older nation fell to his knees, breath hitching. "You-you bloody idiot..." he murmured, not even attempting to hide his crying. "How could I ever shoot you?"

America, his beloved colony- ex-colony, now- only stared at him silently. England didn't want to look up, didn't want to see the anger or disgust or moreover, pity in those deep blue eyes of his.

And yet, he couldn't help but look.

The cerulean eyes were filled with a deep, rolling sadness that England didn't think America's gaze was capable of holding. Those blue eyes met bloodshot, tear-filled emerald ones as America murmured softly into the rain.

"What happened? You used to be so great..."

At that, England gave a choked half-cry, half-laugh, covering his face with his gloved hands. In between mostly incoherent sobs, he got out what he knew was coming, had known since the moment his colony had demanded independence.

"Just go... you've won... y-you're the great one now," the last part was whispered, nearly lost in the darkness and the rain.

England didn't miss the exuberant cheering of the American soldiers as they marched away, out of sight. He definitely didn't miss America standing there in the rain for the longest time, watching his broken former caretaker. Only when America was gone did England stumble to his feet and limp away in the opposite direction.

However, he did miss America's last backwards, pleading glance before he disappeared over the horizon.

That same America was now sending pleading glances at the heavy wooden door he was standing in front of, dripping wet.

"Oh, come on Iggy," the nation complained, rapping on the study door that connected to his bedroom. "I don't want to stand out here."

Truthfully, part of him didn't want to be there there at all. That was the selfish part of him, the part that wanted to be warm at home in America, sleeping and dreaming about his birthday tomorrow. The other, sensible part of him knew something was up with England and it was his job, as a hero and a friend, to find out what.

So, instead of curled up at home, he was standing in front of England's door, shivering.

Just when America was preparing to break the door down, a muffled voice rang through the wood. "Shut up and go home, you git," the slightly slurred voice of England called.

Despite the cold, America felt himself grinning as he knocked against the door around where England's head would be. "Come on Iggy, it's freezing out here. Pwease..." he pouted.

"No." was the curt answer, and America pouted more.

After a moment, though, there was a tired sigh. "I don't suppose you'll leave, will you."

"Nope!"

After a pause, another fatigued sigh reached America's ears. "Fine, get in here." And the door swung open.

Before him stood England, dressed in a forest green sweatervest that would have looked out of place on anyone but him. His blond hair was scruffier than America's, and his brilliant emerald eyes were slightly bloodshot as he turned away from the younger nation towards a cabinet. America hung his damp leather bomber jacket on the coat rack, slipped off his shoes and trailed after him.

"Here," England turned, having retrieved what he wanted from the cabinet and handing it to America. He looked down bemusedly and realized England had just handed him a shot glass.

"What's this for?"

"It's only polite to offer your guest refreshments if you plan on having some of your own," the older nation said as he shut the cabinet doors, turning towards an armchair near the fireplace and seating himself it it. America sat tentatively across from him, just now noticing the opened bottle of run on the coffee table. "And I'm certainly not going to stop drinking," he added, pouring himself a shot and taking America's glass to do the same.

"Wh-Iggy, you're gonna be hung over tomorrow!" America protested as the older nation downed his alcohol.

"That's the plan."

At that, despite his mask America felt a pang of hurt. Why would England want to get drunk before his birthday? Did it have something to do with him? Lost in his thoughts, America took a sip of his drink before coughing, the unfamiliar drink burning his throat slightly.

England chuckled at him. "Never been too good at holding your liquor, eh America?"

America scowled at him, setting the glass down. "You're much worse, old man!"

England's expression fell to a melancholy one. Shadows flickered along his cheek in the firelight, and his blond hair seemed to be glowing.

"You're right," he said suddenly. "You're better than me at a lot of things." America's eyes widened at his blunt tone and opened his mouth to argue but the other cut him off with one sharp hand gesture. "Including war."

"Wha-"

"I mean, those bombs on Japan? Bloody brilliant!" The other man went on as America gaped, his green eyes shining more and more. "Should've dropped one on Germany, the bastard."

"No!" America didn't realize he was moving until he was in front of England, looking down at the smaller nation with a pained scowl. "Iggy, t-that was horrible. It nearly killed Japan. Why would we want to hurt Germany like that? It- it'd cause him a lot of pain!"

Despite the fact that they had been in a war at the time, America didn't fully understand or like the reasoning his boss had behind the two atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He went along with it, partly because it was his boss, and partly to end the war effort, but afterwards felt horribly guilty anytime he saw Japan for years. Trying to fathom dropping one of those on Germany, it was impossible.

In front of him England scowled up at him, cheeks aflame. "Yes, and he caused others a lot of pain, too!" He snapped, and America watched him instinctively clasp his hand near his heart, where the younger country knew there lay scars from the London Blitz. America winced, his hand twitching towards his chest where there, too, lay scars from the Burning of Washington during the War of 1812.

It had been England who had caused him that pain, the England that was standing in front of him defiantly. The England that now, was suddenly turning away from him to face the blazing fireplace.

"Y-you've caused a lot of pain," the almost inaudible whisper made America jump and then flinch, his heart filling with guilt as he stared at the smaller England's shoulders shaking slightly.

"I-England..." he trailed off, eyes wide and not sure what to say for once in his life.

At America's words England spun around, eyes suddenly shining with anger and a bright film of unshed tears. "You bloody bastard! Why couldn't you think about other people when you revolted? Why couldn't you think about me, dammit!"

America stood, wide eyed as England collapsed into his chair again, hands over his face. "You used to, at least. You used to depend on me for everything, and then...

"Then you wanted your independence. I-I didn't want to give it up, because then you wouldn't need me anymore. Nobody'd need me and I'd be free to just... fade away..."

England's admission was cut off by a choking cry as America dropped to his knees and wrapped his long arms around the other man, burying his face into the green fabric of England's shirt. "Wh-what are you-" He stammered, his voice shaking slightly.

"Shh," America's hushed whisper interrupted, "England..." His blue eyes squeezed shut as he murmured against the other's shoulder what he had felt for a long time. "I didn't want to leave you... I wanted to stand by you. As an equal, as a friend..."

He lifted his head and met England's emerald gaze straight on, feeling his heart start beating out of his chest.

"As a partner." And he lowered his neck to softly press his lips against England's.

All that existed for a precious moment was the feeling of England's slightly chapped lips against America's. The next moment, he drew away with a horrified look from his forwardness as random thoughts flew through his head. What if England hated him more? What if he thought America was laughing at him? What if-

England leaning forward to kiss him back wasn't on that list of what ifs, but it was definitely the most favorable outcome.

America gave a little noise in his throat and wrapped one arm around the smaller man's waist, pulling him nearly off the chair and leaning heavily on America. England moaned breathily against him, sending a jolt of excitement down his spine, and wrapped one of his own hands around America's neck to tangle in his hair.

When the two finally broke apart from lack of oxygen, both nations had flushed, glazed looks. They met gazes, and then toppled over as England wrapped both his arms around America and hugged him, sending the two backwards to rest of the floor with one surprised yelp.

"Ah! Dude-" America started, then froze as he heard a slight sniffling coming from the nation currently curled on top of him, his expression softening. He lifted one hand to run it through the short blond hair still shining in the firelight as England nuzzled into his neck more.

"D-d-dammit, I was s-such an idiot, America," he whispered.

America slung the other hand to rest on the small of England's back as he reassured him. "No, you weren't. You were just scared," he said quietly.

"Y-yeah, b-but I just hurt you and- and pushed you away, and-"

His chin was lifted by one of America's steady hand, moving his gaze to meet the other's blue ones. As he suspected, England's emerald eyes were shining with tears, and as he watched one lone tear escaped and ran down his cheek. Before the other had a chance to swipe it away America dashed the tear away with the pad of his thumb, England's eyes widening and trembling more.

America shushed him softly, like how England used to do to him as a colony when he had a nightmare or was scared. "It's okay. Let it out," he murmured.

The dam of England's feelings broke as the blond buried his head in the crook of America's neck and began to sob. The younger nation whispered incoherent nonsense to him, occasionally hearing assorted swear words or even once, the word 'love' that shocked him.

Eventually the sobs receded to sniffles and then silence as England's breathing suddenly evened out and America realized he had fallen asleep right there. Chuckling softly, he muttered an "old man" at the sleeping figure before easing himself to a sitting position with England still sprawled on top of him, easily sweeping him up into a bridal carry and heading into the other room. The ease in which he could pick England up worried him for a moment- was the other nation really as weak as he thought he was- but then he shoved it away to the back of his mind as England grabbed the front of his shirt.

Nudging the door to the bedroom open, America made his way in the dark to the bed and set England upon it gently, sitting and slipping the other's shoes off. He thought for a moment about pulling the sweatervest off, but decided against it and walked around to the other side of the bed, sitting down and staring at England's sleeping face.

The blond looked so much more relaxed than he did during the day, than he did moments ago. It made America start to realize just how much England had needed him.

He swore he'd always be there from now on.

The first thing England noticed as his eyes fluttered open was the raging headache pounding against the insides of his head. The second was the body pressed up against his, curled into him.

Eyes widening, he glanced over and relaxed subtly at the sight of America curled around him, one leg over his own and an arm beneath England's shoulders.

He could only faintly remember what had happened the night before; namely the kiss and crying all over America. There was something else though, something tugging at the edges of his memory...

Right before nodding off, America leaned over and pressed a featherlight kiss to England's forehead.

"I'm never gonna leave ya again, England," he whispered before succumbing to sleep.

Smiling fondly, England sighed and closed his eyes again, deciding not to get up for a specific reason, besides the fact of his monstrous hangover.

He had someone to depend on now.

Author's Note: Yep, ANs at the end now too. Horrible ending and OOCness, huh? Well, please read and review! And Happy B-day, America/Alfred. We love you!