Better bruises than scars.

America strolled down the street, eager to get to his destination. The pavement was still damp from an earlier rain shower. It always seemed to rain here. Well, that was England for you.

America rounded a corner and a small, rose covered cottage came into sight. This was the home of his old friend, England.

He grinned excitably, swinging the plastic white bag filled to the brim with cheap junk food, as he strolled towards the house.

He jumped over the front gate, rather than going through it. If England saw him, he would be scolded but he didn't care. He thumped on the door loudly with his knuckles.

"Yo England! Guess who, Dude?" He was taught by England to always knock on a door before entering but if England didn't answer within the first 30 seconds then America would just barge in anyway. After barely 10 seconds, America pushed on the door, forcing it open with his crazy strength.

The door felt like it had already been forced open as one of its hinges was already broken. He thought that seemed a little strange.

He stopped suddenly, sniffing the air curiously. It smelled different from usual. It smelled smoky….

He wandered a little farther down the hallway, expecting England to charge out and scold him for coming in and breaking his door without permission but when no angry English man appeared he began to sense that something might be wrong.

He made his way into the kitchen and frowned when he saw an ashtray, filled with used cigarettes. England didn't smoke.

America looked around the kitchen, leaving the plastic bag on a counter top. The place wasn't messy, it never was with England's need to be clean and tidy, but everything seemed out of balance as if someone had went around, touching things or moving things on purpose.

He heard movement from the living room and headed in that direction. He could already guess who he would see when he rounded the door but he still wasn't sure what he would find but he knew that it might be bad.

He stopped in the door way and stared into the living room. The room looked someone had tried their hardest to destroy as much as they could.

A mirror was smashed from a punch and several books were torn in half through the spine and thrown onto the floor. Some pillows had been ripped open. A vase of roses was sideways, spilling out water and flowers everywhere. The flowers and other things were stomped on repeatedly.

A man stood in the middle of it all, staring out of a window. He took a deep breath of his cigarette and released the smoke seconds later. He obviously hadn't noticed the blond American staring at him. The smoke travelled slowly up pass his emerald eyes which were always noticeably greener than England's. It pushed up pass his fiery red hair, which clashed with his bright eyes, before disappearing into the air. His blue uniform stood out and he changed the weight from his left foot to his right.

He looked up suddenly, noticing that someone was watching him. He frowned in displeasure before suddenly smirking. It was a cruel smirk that looked down on the young American.

"Ahhh…. If it isnae the wee bampot bairn. Looking fer England?" He paused as if waiting for an answer and took a puff of his cigarette. America just stared frowning but almost angry.

"Lucky fer ya. I was just leaving. See ya soon, wee broth" He waved at the sofa with the hand which held the cigarette, scattering ash everywhere. The sofa was turned away from the door, and therefore America, but it was clear that England was lying there, probably bruised and battered.

The Scotsman brushed past America, being sure to slam his shoulder hard with his own. The American stumbled back a little, mainly to give the green-eyed man more room. The Scotsman took a right and headed down the hallway towards the door. America watched him, suddenly calling out without even thinking.

"Why?..." Scotland stopped but didn't turn back.

"Whut?" He snapped impatiently and America looked flustered and sounded a bit lost and confused.

"I said 'Why?'! Why do you do this?" The Scotsman made to turn his head and look at the blue-eyed man directly but stopped himself. He stared at the door a moment, looking like he was pondering what to say. He reached up and scratched his back, almost massaging it or rubbing it in thought with his free hand. He snuffed out his cigarette in a close by plant pot.

"Becuse I can…." He slammed out the door and left noisily, with his hand still on his back.

America walked over slowly to the sofa, after Scotland had left. He peered over the edge and frowned hard as he stared door at a semi-conscious England.

His uniform was messed up and dirtied from dirt from some of the surround smashed plant pots. His left eye was red and slightly swollen, and clearly going to be a bad black eye. His cheek was red from a slap or a punch. His nose was bleeding heavily and blood was smeared messily across his face. His limbs were sprawled out messily as if thrown onto the sofa by someone else. He opened his one good eye and smiled slightly.

"Didn't I tell you not to come today, wanker?" He said it quietly and in an almost sweet way. America didn't know what to say.

England tried to push himself up into a sitting position and groaned loudly. He stumbled backwards, panting like a dog that needed water, after America pushed down his palm gently to stop the battered nation from stressing out his body more.

"What the hell do you think you are doing, you git?" He said angrily but it sounded so weird with how weak his voice was in comparison to what he was saying. America sighed.

"Just tell me where the first aid kit is." The blond country looked at him in a glare that looked painful which soon disappeared.

"Top, left cupboard in the kitchen…" He said grudgingly but despite his frowning and sighing, America knew he was secretly pleased at the help.

After wiping up England's face and placing an ice pack on his eye and some bandages on his bad bruises, the green-eye country sat up so his wounds on his torso could be taken cared off. He gingerly removed his shirt, wincing when he bumped his arm against his stomach. America began to wipe any red or inflamed areas on his back.

They were surprisingly less than he thought there would be. Scotland obvious knew how to throw a punch so it hurt a lot but didn't leave a mark. Or if it did, not a big one. He was a little impressed by it actually.

"Hmmm… me too…" America paused, not realising that he had voiced his opinion out loud.

"You shouldn't let him hit you, you know…." England sighed and turned around to look at him with his green eyes. He was smiling, his eyes looked sad but he was still smiling. America frowned at this with a small pout. "I'm being serious." England sighed softly but still kept on smiling. He was also looking out of the window Scotland had been staring out of.

"I know…. But I don't mind it if it's today…." America moved around to the front and began wiping there.

"Well, you should!" He was really annoyed with England's submissive attitude. Usually England would fight back when Scotland got too violent but today it seemed like he just stood there and accepted every blow.

"It's okay." America fumed, turning slightly red in the face.

"Okay? It's not okay! Look at all these bruises!"

"Better bruises than scars…"

He answered simply in a quiet voice. America stopped in his tracks again and looked over England's body more closely. It was pale, probably from lack of any sun in this rainy country thought America, but had no permanent marks. No scars. America shook his head, confused by the Briton's words.

"I don't understand what you mean."

"16th of April…."


"That's the date. 16th of April…." America rolled his eyes as he finished his first aid.

"Did Scotland hit something loose cause you're not making any sense." England just smiled slightly and pulled on his shirt again.

"It doesn't matter I guess…."

He buttoned his shirt, standing up and wincing slightly. "So do you want some tea while you are here?" America perked up suddenly.

"No but I forgot why I came! I totally bought some amazing snacks for us to eat!" England raised an eyebrow. "Junk food?" "There's nothing junk about my food!" England rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I'll make the coffee and tea and you prepare the food."

"Sure Dude! But snacks don't need any preparation so I'm already finished my part."

England scowled. "Get out two plates out then."

"Okay!" The two made their way into the kitchen to eat the junk food (sorry – I mean 'snack' food) that America had brought around earlier.

(A/N - lol summiting this gave me the giggles. Because I'm lazy at writing full titles I just use the first letter of each word to make them shorter. So "What a brother. What a bother." became... *giggles maniacally to self*... WabWab! Lol - it's not even that funny!

Anyway - this whole thing is mainly about Scotland and England's relationship, so some bits will be fluff, some will be funny and some will be down right sadistic! This first bit is going to be angsty and violent though. The whole fan fic will (hopefully) be a small collections of different stories (different lengths - some one shots and some a couple of chapters) showing different aspects of their relationship. REVIEW AND SEND IN SUGGESTIONS! Though I already have a vague plan.

BTW - I'm scottish but I will TRY to be unbiased... Except towards America... I visited there last year and loved the heat. What I didn't love was that someone thought Scotland wasn't a real place... *sigh!*...

BTW.2 -

Fer - for

ya - you

If it isnae the wee bampot bairn - roughly - If it isn't the small stupid/idiot child

Broth - brother (cause scotiish people are too lazy to make whole english word)

becuse - because (another prime example of laziness on Scotland's behalf...)

I promise a better next chapter (hopefully) and France with his accent! Though I'm dreading that part...)