This is my first Hetalia fic. I based it a little on the historical trends that actually existed around the time of the Revolutionary War, but let's get real here; I'm mostly writing it for the fluff. Also, I decided not to use the unofficial human names for the characters. I personally dislike them, so I'm sticking with 'America' and 'England,' and... well, that's really about it. (Note: I do not own the characters... obviously.)

"It's gotten so much bigger," a young, blonde man wearing glasses and a brown leather jacket whispers to the dry, salty air of the Oregon coast. He's sitting at the top of a tall sand dune, looking out at an endless expanse of dark water and gray sky.

America really isn't the type to waste a lot of time ruminating about the past, but winter tends to put him in that sort of mood. The passing of New Year's reminds him of how small his house used to be, how once it barely extended beyond the Appalachians. All of the interesting people who used to live in the vast land of the West, and the terrible fate so many of them shared.

And that's not all.

He remembers the kind words of his protector, the way he used to feel that he could rely on him for everything. Even when England selfishly dragged him into European wars, America was okay with it. It was nice, being a part of a big and powerful empire – he felt safe and comfortable in the shadow of his "big brother."

At first, anyway.

America watches a little girl chasing after a flock of crying seagulls down by the water's edge. Her parents follow her at a leisurely stroll and scan the sand at their feet for shining bits of agate. The mother points at a bunch of little holes as they appear in the sand behind the retreating waves, and the father explains that there are lots of little clams buried there, using the holes like a swimmer might use a snorkel.

England used to teach America things like that – useless things, most of which have long since been forgotten. America misses it, sometimes, when he attends meetings with England and all the others. His once-dear friend is so detached now, so preoccupied with other nations and other problems. America wouldn't be where he is now – who he is now – if it weren't for England's lessons, so he wonders again how things came to be this way.

How his reasonable requests for respect and accountability had been so easily shot down. How small issues had become big ones and how he had been forced into an independence he wasn't sure he wanted and didn't think himself ready for.

"Because he wasn't above using me to his own benefit…" Because he had been so ready and willing to sacrifice America's independence, so eager to force new rules and taxes and leaders on a nation that had been allowed to govern himself for so long. Because the world had revolved around England, and no rebellious adolescent was allowed to suggest that it didn't.

Still, there hadn't been any hatred between them. There had been misunderstandings, clashing needs and interests, frustration, and finally desperation, but never any hatred. War had been a last resort, the unavoidable climax to empty negotiations and the certainty everyone had held that grievances could be resolved with words.

And England finally grew tired and sad, lost his will to fight and reluctantly gave America the independence he demanded. America gained the acceptance of England's old acquaintances and immediately turned his eyes to the future in an attempt to forget their past.

A happy ending with just a touch of bitterness. They had soon found a new normal, even worked as allies at times, but their old relationship had never been restored. America and England were equal in status, and this was the cold world of adulthood that America had so recklessly sought.

"I needed you back then, you know."

America turns suddenly at the familiar voice, and his eyes widen in amazement. England isn't looking at America; he's watching the waves and the family and the swaying grasses amidst all the sand.

"England?" America reaches up and touches the edge of the green coat in order to reassure himself that what he's seeing isn't just a figment of his imagination.

"I was told I could find you here. It's going to rain."

America sighs, hugs his legs to his chest and cradles his head between his knees. "I don't want to leave yet," he says stubbornly.

"What are you, a little kid?!" England snaps. He's looking at America now, and it's just like it always is at meetings. America can feel a distance as vast and endless as the ocean rising up between them. His eyes sting, so he reaches up to rub at them.

"I'm not a kid anymore," America whispers. There must be sand in his eyes, because they're still burning and now he can feel moisture on his cheeks. Maybe rain…

England smiles and sits down next to America. "I guess you're right…" He has a really nostalgic look on his face, but America doesn't see it because he's too preoccupied with the damn pain in his eyes. "But, jeez, you're still so immature. Adults like you always wind up as good-for-nothings in the end."

"Who's a good-for-nothing, jerk?!" America feels the weight of England's arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he looks over at the other man in surprise.

"Maybe I am," England sighs. "You were thinking about it again, right? It was like I said – I needed you, but I probably should have listened more to what you had to say."

America blinks stupidly and tries to think of something to say in response. "How… how did you know I was thinking about that?"

"Idiot. Why else would you have that look on your face?" England questions as he reaches over and uses his thumb to wipe away a stray tear on America's face.

"England, you cheater…" The wind kicks up suddenly, and the two have to close their eyes as the fine sand is lifted toward their faces. "Why didn't you just read my mind back then, too?"

England shakes his head incredulously. "I'm not psychic. You're just too obvious."

America does his best to ignore this insult, and he sighs forlornly as the family of three finally makes its way up the path that will take it away from the beach and the coming storm. "Why did it turn out like this?"

"I was under the impression that you liked being your own boss," England says half-accusingly.

"I do! I definitely do! I just miss some things…!"

As America casts about desperately for the words he needs to express his feelings, England chuckles and puts a steadying hand on the other man's shoulder.

"Everyone feels that way sometimes. But you know…" England's voice is suddenly velvety. It sounds both dangerous and tempting, and America isn't sure how to react when his companion leans closer and kisses him on the corner of his lips. "...this is also something you can do as an adult."

The seagulls cry loudly as a few light drops of rain hit the shining, white sand. Everything around them is in motion, but it seems to the two men that everything is frozen, motionless and still like the final moments of a long battle.

"Th-that's sexual harassment," America stutters at last. "D-don't joke around about things like that…"

England's eyes narrow and fill with sad, unvoiced apologies. "Guess I misunderstood again." He stands to leave, his boots making little squeaking noises in the sand as his full weight pushes down into the soft surface. "Sorry about that, America."

"Wait." America grabs desperately at the edge of England's pants. "You didn't. You didn't misunderstand." He stands, stretches a little to ease the stiffness in his legs, and then wraps his arms around England's waist. "Thank you," he whispers.

England's so warm, America thinks to himself. It's beyond satisfying, the way he feels right now. It's like all the pieces have come together, and his worries about the past have been laid to rest. He never would have expected something like this to happen, but there it is. The real beginning of a happy ending.

England smiles, places his hands over America's and lets the wind ruffle his hair. "Let's come back here in the summer. I'd like to see more of the Pacific."

"I've got more than just beaches to show you," America replies confidently. His house has gotten a lot bigger since the Revolutionary War, after all.