Happy belated birthday, Alfred! And please forgive me if any of the characters are OOC. I love angsty!innocent!depressed!Alfred a little too much for my own good!

England glared at the sun shining from outside his small English cottage. Why did it have to be a nice day today of all days? Why couldn't it rain? Or, the most wishful question of all: why couldn't he go back in time and right whatever wrong he ever did to America and his people? Why?

But he couldn't. Today was America's birthday, the fourth of July and it was the day America's Declaration of Independence was signed. The day that America officially wanted to be free from his big brother, England, who loved America deeply, so deeply that England felt ashamed to admit in his mind that his love for America was not just a brotherly love.

He groaned and downed the rest of the wine in his glass. He didn't want to get drunk this year, but the thought of alcohol was much too tempting for his vulnerable mind. He had wanted to be a man this year and deal with the pain. Maybe that would be next year's resolution. Right now, all England needed was a drink. And he needed it badly.

He didn't care that it was still only ten in the morning. He really didn't care. All he needed to do was forget. Forget America. Forget the Revolution. Forget the Alfred F. Jones who stole his heart from the moment England laid eyes on him. It used to be true, pure, brotherly love. But as America grew older and hit his teens, he found America's blue eyes shining in a way that was much too beautiful for England's mind to handle. All in all, as America grew older and stronger, he also became even more beautiful, and to put it delicately, England was a goner. It really wasn't decent the way his mind would wander with America around.

Oh yes, he really needed that drink.

But then, suddenly, his phone rang, and England didn't even bother to check who was calling before saying harshly into the phone, "Hello?"

"Ah, mon ami, thank goodness you're not already drunk!" France exclaimed, and England felt extremely annoyed at the Frenchman.

"Why the bloody hell are you calling me, frog?" England didn't even bother to let France speak before he said, "Are you just calling to remind me what day it is? Because if you are, I'm not an idiot like you, and I already bloody know what the bloody day is!"

"Actually, Angleterre-" France began before England interrupted him.

"Or are you calling for America to get me to go to his stupid party? Because you and he already know that I do not want to go!" England screamed into the phone.

"No, Angleterre, I'm calling because Amérique is missing!" France shouted, immediately shutting England up.

"What do you mean by 'missing'?" England laughed nervously, trying not to sound worried. "You better not be making this up, frog, because it's not funny!"

"I'm afraid that I'm not making this up, Angleterre," said France solemnly. "Canada tells me that he's been missing for a few days now."

"What?" England screeched. "And you didn't think to tell me sooner?"

France laughed uncomfortably and said, "Well, I thought you wouldn't-"

"Wouldn't what, frog? Wouldn't care?" England all but bellowed into the phone. "He could be dead at this moment, and you didn't call because you thought I wouldn't care?" England's voice broke just then, but he managed to say one more thing before he hung up, "I'll be right there."

England got off the jet as quickly as he could, not even bothering to thank the pilot. He walked across the tarmac and hopped into the black vehicle waiting for him. He was glad that he was able to take the private jet here. He would've had to wait at the airport for five hours for the next flight to JFK if he didn't take the jet.

All during the flight, the only person he could think about was America. France managed to contact the pilots on the jet and told them to tell England to meet him and Canada in America's apartment in Manhattan. England, thankfully, had been to America's apartment before, so he knew exactly where to go.

Oh, I hope to God that the lad's all right. He's much too reckless sometimes, and he can be such a major idiot, especially with maps. Maybe he went to go visit some historical sites or something. Maybe he's not really missing. Maybe France and Canada are lying to me and just want to have a good laugh. No, I know Canada is not like that. It was probably France. Damn that bloody frog! He's probably lying to me! I'll probably arrive at America's apartment during the middle of his bloody party, and everyone will laugh at me! But maybe France is telling the truth. He sounded serious. Then again, the frog could be a good actor, but just thinking of France being good at anything makes me want to vomit.

England was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice that the car had stopped, and that the driver was calling his name.

"Mr. Kirkland? Mr. Kirkland? We're here. We're at Mr. Jones's apartment building."

"Oh, right, yes, thank you," said England, rushing out of the car to get his suitcase out from the trunk. "Thanks again."

"No problem, Mr. Kirkland," the driver said politely. He was American. That only made England's heart clench in worry once again. "Have a great day, and welcome to New York!"

"Let's hope it turns out to be a great day," England muttered under his breath as he took his suitcase and started walking up the stairs. He refused to take the elevator because of his last experience in the building's elevator. Let's just say that England had been stuck in the elevator during a brief power outage with a drunk woman and her drunk boyfriend. Not a pleasant experience at all. It permanently scarred England.

"Ah, there you are, Angleterre!" France said, opening the door before England had a chance to knock. "Finally. I was wondering what took you so long!"

"Hello, England," a quiet voice piped up, and England looked around, wondering where the voice came from. Perhaps he was hearing things. "I'm right here."

"There, Angleterre," France said, turning England to face someone who looked eerily like America. "Do you not remember Canada?"

England's mouth dropped open when he realized that he'd forgotten again. "Oh yes, hello, Canada."

Canada looked disappointed, and proceeded to stand slightly behind France.

"What are we doing here?" England asked, starting to get impatient. "Do you know something I don't? Or is this a joke?"

"No joke, Angleterre. I don't know what's going on either. Mathieu, mon cher, tell us what you think about Amérique's disappearance, s'il te plaît," France said, kissing Canada's cheek, making the Canadian blush.

"Well, w-when Alfred and I were kids, he used to be really good at hide-and-seek. He was the best. You couldn't find him unless he wanted to be found. He said that he never played hide-and-seek with you because he always wanted you to know that he was there for you, not hiding. And I think that now, this is one big game of hide-and-seek, and I'm not sure if he wants to be found at all."

By the time Canada finished talking, England felt tears come to his eyes, but he blinked them away rapidly, hoping the Frenchman didn't notice. He did. But this time, the frog gave England a sad smile, instead of the mockery that England expected.

"So, what are we going to do? Sit around and wait until America wants to be found?" England asked, feeling hopeless. Who knew how long it would take for America to stop hiding?

"No," said Canada, looking around the living room of America's apartment. "When I couldn't find him, and he didn't want to give himself up yet, he would leave notes with a hint as to where he was. We need to look." Canada went into the kitchen, leaving England and France to look at each other blankly before looking as well.

France left to go to the guest bedroom, and England decided to try to look in America's bedroom. He blushed slightly at the thought of being in his bedroom, but he quickly pushed away the indecent thoughts and found himself in a room that was much neater than any room he'd ever seen. He expected America's bedroom to be as untidy as the rest of his apartment, but this was a pleasant surprise. America clearly remembered to clean his room like England told him to when he was still just a little boy. England smiled fondly and looked around at the walls, which were blank except for a big American flag that was taped above the headboard of the bed. England chuckled. America taped an American flag to the wall. Beside his bed was a nightstand, and England was pleasantly shocked to see that there was a small British flag lying beside a notebook.

England looked around for a few more moments before he realized that there was a single slip of paper lying on the center of the impeccably made bed. He delicately took the paper from the bed and read it.

Artie-

Come to the place where you fell.

~Alfred

England's thick eyebrows knitted together as he tried to make sense of the message. This was the hint that Canada was talking about. Now, he just had to find out what America meant by it. What place did he fall? He never fell. He…

Yorktown. The place where England fell all those years ago to a strong, young nation called America. America wanted him to go to Yorktown, Virginia. On the battlefield. He didn't want to have to go to the place where he lost the sweet little boy who he loved so dearly. Where he lost the boy with the brilliant blue eyes who had chosen him to love that day when he could have chosen France. He had to go. He had to swallow his pride and be a man. He had to find America.

England stumbled out of the car, breathing in the fresh air. It was now eight thirty in the evening, and he just arrived in Yorktown. Specifically, at the battlefield. He couldn't believe that he managed to survive in the same car as France for the past seven and a half hours, especially when France and Canada had been having word sex for the past six hours. England shuddered at the memory of it.

France and Canada dropped England off and were waiting in the parking lot. Even though Canada was worried about America, England told him that he would find America himself. It was his responsibility. After all, if America had wanted Canada to find him, he would've addressed the note to Matthew. But it was addressed to him, even if he hated being called 'Artie'. He only tolerated it when America said it.

He walked past the old cannons, suddenly feeling nostalgic. He remembered this. All of it. He remembered marching with his soldiers, having a bad feeling. In the end, he couldn't shoot America. He couldn't shoot his former colony. He couldn't shoot Alfred F. Jones.

He looked around for America when he reached the center of the battlefield, but instead of a loud, obnoxious, annoying, hamburger-eating, beautiful, stupid American, there was a note. He opened it and read it, trying hard not to feel so disappointed that America didn't show himself yet.

Artie-

You know where to find me now.

~Alfred

And it was true. England did know. With all these memories that America had purposely tried to bring back to England, the older nation knew exactly where the American was.

Williamsburg.

England stood in the house that he and America had lived in during colonial times, feeling apprehensive. It's been years since he's been to this house. Centuries, really. He wasn't sure if he could do this. But he had to. He had to find that stupid git. He was done with the childish games that America was playing. England swore that when he got his hands on that bloody bastard he'd-

Boom!

The older nation jumped in surprise, but then realized that it was only the sound of a firework going off. He looked at the sky. The sun was setting, and he estimated that the fireworks would start in about thirty minutes when it was fully dark out.

He let out a breath and walked purposefully up the hill and to the front door, which he found unlocked.

"Bloody git, somebody would've broken in if I didn't lock the door," England muttered, locking the door with a small, fond smile on his face. He was about to go to the spacious living room when he saw a note on the first step leading upstairs.

Artie-

You used to take me up here all the time to watch the stars. Maybe we can watch the fireworks instead.

~Alfred

England smiled and climbed the stairs eagerly, two at a time. At least he knew that America was all right. He wasn't dead, or ill. He was alive, and within a few days, this event would be forgotten, and England would once again be left by himself with his feelings for the obnoxious American, never to be truly noticed and respected by his former colony. His pace slowed and he hesitantly climbed up the ladder to the roof, where he saw America sit, facing the sunset, his back turned to England.

"America," said England, and he was worried when he saw America flinch at the sound of his name. "America, are you all right?"

"I'm just fine, England," America said forlornly, stressing England's name. "Just fine."

"You don't seem fine," England commented, sitting down beside America. America turned away from him, and England was starting to feel extremely worried. "America?"

"Stop calling me that!" America burst out, his blue eyes flashing with anger before he turned around again.

"Stop calling you by your name? What else am I going to call you, you bloody git?" England asked, laughing nervously, trying to make the conversation more lighthearted by joking around.

"Call me Alfred," America said in a small voice, and England just noticed that America had wrapped his arms around his knees and was talking into his arm like a little boy. England sensed that he was also crying. Something was seriously wrong.

"Alfred, can you tell me what's wrong? Why are you crying?" England put his hand on America's shoulder in a reassuring manner. "Tell me. You can tell your… big brother." England managed to say the words after two hundred thirty six years. He could feel the hurt of America's betrayal, fresh in his mind now, but first, he had to know why America was hurting. America was always so happy, so lively, so infectiously gleeful that it made England want to stay around him forever to feel young and happy and free again.

"I don't want to tell my big brother! I want to tell you!" America jumped up and glared down at England. "But you still see me as your little brother, don't you? Don't you?"

England didn't remember a time when America had been so mad at him, besides the Revolution. He didn't know what to say. He stood up and was about to try to calm the younger nation down, but America started laughing bitterly.

"Always just your little brother. I've always been that to you. I bet you've never considered me an actual nation anyway. You still think of me as that little boy in the meadow. I'll never be your equal. I'll always be your little brother. Always."

"Hey now, that's not tr-" England began when America looked at him with the saddest expression England has seen since the end of the Revolutionary War.

"But we both know it is. You probably don't get why I'm so upset about being your little brother. You probably don't know the real reason why I became my own country." America's head hung low, and England stared at him, waiting for him to continue. Waiting for him to make England understand. "I love you, Arthur, but I already know your response. I'm only supposed to be your little brother. And you're supposed to only be my big brother. But I haven't seen you as a big brother for a while now."

England really didn't know what to say now. America felt the same way he did. But should he tell the younger nation? He didn't know. It was logical to, since America had just confessed, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. It was cruel to hold it back when America confessed the love he's had for centuries to him.

"I really don't know what to do. I've done everything I can to make myself look like more than a little brother to you. I became my own nation, I betrayed you, I insult you every meeting but I apologize anyway because it's the mature thing to do, and I even started wearing these glasses after the Revolutionary War to make myself look older to you!" said America, unnecessarily pointing to his glasses.

"You don't really need glasses?" England asked, shocked.

"Well, now I do, after using them for so long," said America, and he looked down again. "I understand if you hate me for loving you. You probably think I'm disgusting for loving my 'big brother' in a non-brotherly way. You have no idea how many times I've imagined us doing things that are extraordinarily un-brotherly."

England blushed, but put his hands on America's shoulders, shaking them lightly. "I don't hate you."

"I knew you wouldn't," said America, smiling sadly, making England's heart break just a little more. What he would give to make this beautiful boy smile like he usually does. "You just don't love me. That's fine, I guess. Everything will go back to normal. You, me, fighting, you beating up France, you know. The usual."

"Oh, dammit, you idiot!" England couldn't take seeing America sad anymore, and he grabbed the younger nation and pressed his lips to the American's. America just stood there at first, but after he felt England's lips move against his, he tried mimicking the motion, but failed, much to England's amusement. He pulled back and watched the younger man with a small smile. "Are you all right?"

"That was my first kiss," said America, ignoring the question, and looked up at England with such innocent eyes that reminded England of when America was still just a little boy. A little brother. England's eyes widened. It was America's first kiss? But, how? America was a good-looking lad, was he not? There had to have been some girls. But from the look on America's face, all his thoughts were immediately vanquished. It was America's first kiss.

"I love you, you know, and not as a brother," England whispered into America's hair. "Not since I saw you at Yorktown. I'd have never told you, but when I saw you standing there, ready to fight to be your own country, for the briefest second, I was proud. I was proud before I felt betrayed."

America's eyes widened from behind his glasses. "Really?"

"Yes. Now, if you'd like, I'd be happy to give you your second kiss," England said, smiling playfully. It's been a while since he's felt so young.

"Do you wanna watch the fireworks instead?" America asked, his smile once again happy and lively as he pulled England's arm so they could sit right next to each other.

"Of course," said England, giving America a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, one more thing," said America, turning to England, and he leaned in close to the older nation's ear. "You found me."

"Happy birthday, Alfred," England said in response, and they both turned to watch the sky, their hands clasped tight, as the night exploded with red, white and blue.

So, that's it! Sorry if the ending's bad or rushed, but I couldn't think of a way to end it! Once again, sorry if any of the characters were OOC, and I hope this wasn't too bad! Don't flame, and please review!