Maybe

Summary: Maybe...Maybe...Maybe...Maybe...America was just deluding himself.

England was a good older brother, and a great father figure...

It started in 1761; the fifth year of the French and Indian War.

"Good morning, America" England smiled kindly with a happy twinkle in his eye, despite the slight pained look at the physically sixteen year-old nation. "Yo, Britain, dude!" He grinned widely (falsely) in greeting. ""What's up?" He asked, already knowing what the answer would be. "Nothing much, I just have one hell of a barmy hangover. Don't drink when you get older, okay?" England chuckled as he sat down and began eating the breakfast the cook made. (After America turned physically fourteen and he got to eat some of Scotland's food when he visited, not haggis, he determined that England's food really did suck, like everyone else said, so he made England get a cook.)

"I wouldn't dream of it! Why did you start drinking last night anyway, hypocrite?" America asked cheekily, determined to let not let him figure out that everything wasn't alright. "Humph, cheeky twit. France and Spain signed an alliance called the Family Compact on August 15. The terms of the agreement states that Spain will declare war on me if the war doesn't end before May 1, 1762" England huffed, already getting a bigger headache at the mere thought of it. "What do you think the King will do?" America blinked towards him. "He probably won't agree to it, and just as well" England huffed again before ruffling America's hair affectionally. "I'll see you later, America" he smiled sweetly, walking out the door.

...When he wasn't drunk...

"You stupid bloody brat!" England slurred as he swayed on his feet slightly. America remained silent, admitting neither defeat, nor compliance. "This is all yer fault, we're going bankrupt over your ass since we have t' send my bloody fucking army to protect and fight for yer worthless ass" he sneered as he took a step forward, causing America to take a step back. "Where the bloody fuckin' hell do ye think yer goin'? Come 'ere, now" England snarled, but America stayed where he was. A silent sign of defiance.

One that drunken England would not tolerate. "How dare ye?!" He snarled as he lunged at the smaller nation. Hopefully, America would be able to clean the blood out from the rug before the next time England came into his room or got drunk again.

...America never told anyone, not even his brother...

"A-Alfred, w-what happened to your lip?" Canada asked softly. "Huh?" America asked stupidly. "Oh! You mean this! Pretty cool, right? Well, some guy was picking on a girl so I decided to be a hero and save her. He managed to get a punch in, but this is nothing compared to what happened to him!" America laughed obnoxiously, not willing to tell his brother who really busted his lip. This was the first time he ever called himself a hero. It felt somewhat natural, but how could anyone be a hero if they couldn't even save themselves?

...Because, really, who would believe him? England was a really nice guy when he wasn't drunk or stressed or you weren't the enemy...

"'Ello- America, what happened to you this time?" England sighed as he spotted the busted lip that he himself had unconsciously caused. America told him the same story he told Canada, and it worked, as per usual. "Hero, hm?" He questioned as he held America's chin loosely in his hands, inspecting the busted lip with a frown. "I really wish that you would be more careful, no matter how noble the reason you got your injury" England sighed, placing a loving kiss on America's forehead.

America's cheeks turned a little rosy, but he just grinned. "What are you talking about, old man? I'm always careful!" "Old man?! Who are you calling old man, you little twit?" England huffed angrily. It would come to bite America in the butt later, but he enjoyed this carefree bickering and fighting.

...America continued to just take it. It wasn't like it was everyday, anyway. England only drank himself into oblivion about twice a week, and he hardly ever hit him that hard, anyway. It was mostly verbal abuse. He could take it, he was a hero...Or, at least, he told himself he could take it and was a hero...Because it was better than believing drunken England's words.

"You're useless! You'll never be of any worth! It's all your fault! Everyone hates you and wishes you were gone! You're worthless! It's all your fault! You're an idiot and no one could possibly love you! You're fat, ugly, and stupid, 'Murica!" England slurred a minority of the insults he had for America.

...It was okay, wasn't it? He didn't mean it. England took care of him when he wasn't drunk. England loved him when he wasn't drunk. He didn't mean to. He didn't even know he was doing it. He didn't mean to. He didn't mean it. He didn't mean to call America mean names and to hit him so hard...England loved him when he was sober...He didn't mean it...Besides, it was America's fault, anyway...America said or did something to piss drunk England off...It was America's fault...

"Would you like to go to the theater with me?" England asked America as he lay sprawled on his bed one day. "Hm, a play? That sounds kind of lame" he shrugged, turning around on the bed so that his black eye wasn't seen. "It isn't lame, this I promise. It's a wonderful play inspired by Shakespeare's-" England was cut off by his young charge. "Shakespeare? No, thanks. Besides, I don't want to see some stupid romantic play with lovey - dovey crap" he huffed defiantly, ignoring the slight growl England gave when he was interrupted and Shakespeare was insulted.

"Actually, this play is a story with deceit, lies, murder, and suicide. It's called 'Hamlet.'" England smirked, knowing that he caught his young charge's attention. "What time are you going?' He asked lazily, still not turning towards England.

"In thirty minutes. Now, show me your face" England commanded, knowing that something was up. "No way, dude! I'm the hero and no one bosses me around! If I don't want to look at you, then I won't!" America snapped, surprising England. "What happened?" England asked softly and America grew angered. "Nothing! Leave it alone!" He snapped irritably, ignoring the instant regret and fear that he just made things a lot worse for himself later.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Why are you so damn pissy right now? I just want you to show me your face so I can see what happened. What did happen?" He asked, now worried instead of stern and angry. "Nothing! I just got a little bit of a black eye, it doesn't even hurt, so it doesn't matter" America lied. "Who did that?" He could hear the frown and worry in England's voice. It brought tears to his eyes. It wasn't fair! Why couldn't England remember?! If he did, then he would stop! So...why didn't America tell him?

"I already told you, it doesn't hurt, so it doesn't matter!" He snapped, getting under the covers and hiding his face in the pillow so that it looked like he was about to take a nap. England got the hint and left quietly, but not before ruffling America's hair softly. Salt water didn't taste very good.

...It did hurt though, not just physically, but emotionally as well. England couldn't remember...And that was one of the worst parts...It slowly got worse until England was drinking almost every night. At that point, the French and Indian War was over. England had started taxing for the most outrageous things and his people were growing poorer and poorer. Now, it wasn't just him that England was hurting, it was his people, too. Until the Boston Massacre, it wasn't physical. He knew that his people had antagonized the soldiers first, but that didn't give them the right to shoot.

Now England was drinking every night. America never fought back. Not until it started hurting his people. After that incident, he moved out of England's house and into one of his own people's...

"I'm sorry," England would apologize when he was sober, "but it is out of my hands." This is yer fault," England would snarl when he was drunk and America had been forced to go over to talk, "if you weren't such a fucking retard, maybe you would find a way out of this yerself." Then he would hit him, but that was okay. England really didn't mean to.

...Then he and his people couldn't take any more, so the Revolutionary War begun. America could be woundless for more than a week at a time because he no longer visited England. France had somehow figured out that England hurt him sometimes when he was drunk and decided to help him gain independence. That was one of the reasons, anyway. When they won, he had been so relieved.

But he remembered when England broke down crying in front of him. Before that, he remembered being so absolutely livid at England. It wasn't America's fault, after all! It was England's fault! He shouldn't drink so damn much! He shouldn't have taxed the colonists! He shouldn't have fucking abused America while he was motherfucking drunk! It wasn't okay! It wasn't okay! IT WASN'T OKAY! It didn't matter if England didn't mean to! IT! WASN'T! OKAY!

Then England started crying and all the anger evaporated...England didn't know what he was doing...And even if it wasn't okay...it wasn't entirely England's fault. So instead of saying all those things and making England feel like a douchebag, he simply said, "I remember when you were great, Britain." (He hadn't really meant the "Great Britain" pun, but it happened.)

...After a couple centuries, they were on good grounds again. They weren't exactly best of buds, but they weren't super angry or depressed with each other either. He remembered a long, long time after that when England asked him out to drinks. He had been scared, but had gone through with it. After all, they would be in a public place so England wouldn't be able to hurt him or anything like that.

He had been scared once he noticed England getting tipsy, and even more so when he was fully drunk. He had been calmed though when he realized that England was just acting depressed and kind of amusing while drunk. He had to stifle laughter when England muttered to himself, "Am I Catholic or Protestant? God, I just don't know."

When the bartender asked if England was okay, America came up with an answer rather quickly. "He always gets like this when he starts drinking" he soothed the waiter simply. "You don't know me!" England shouted indignantly and America tensed up instantly, looking over at England with wide eyes. He was terrified and could hear his heart beat loudly in his chest and the blood roaring in his ears. "I'm the United Bloody Kingdom and I can hold my liquor better than you any day!" England shouted, hitting his own chest with one hand harshly, indicating himself.

When America was satisfied enough that no, England would not hurt him this time, he responded, "Dude, calm down." Then England was suddenly smiling and saying how he was just saving him from "France-face" and how he felt bad for how France was treating America.

England was then suddenly sobbing and saying "I thought maybe we could be friends and bond over our mutual hatred for France, but uh-uh. You don't want to be friends with me, you just wanted to tell me not to tell you what to do, but you didn't know what to do anyway. And I think that's just-" England wailed and become incoherent at that point, so America decided to take him home.

Only when he was in front of the house did America become absolutely terrified at what could happen. Who knew where any of the other Allies were? What if they weren't there and-and England got violent? What if his violent pirate side came out? He wouldn't know what to- His internal panicking was interrupted by a tug on his sleeve.

He froze and glanced down at where England was laying bridal-style in his arms. "Yeah?" He asked, clearing his suddenly dry throat. "'R you 'kay?" England muttered with glossy green eyes looking at him questioningly. "...Yeah, I'm okay" he finally smiled down at England as he set him down on his feet so that America could open the door.

England leaned heavily on America, but he still managed to open the door. "Sleep with me, 'Murica" England muttered and America's eyes widened considerably. "W-what?" He squeaked and England shot him an annoyed look that caused him to stiffen. "'M not France, just lay down with me" he muttered again and America hesitated.

"Now" England glared at him sharply and America choked at the familiar glare. Oh, of course he got the glare a lot when England was sober, but this was when he was drunk. Full-blown drunk. This glare was normally accompanied with pain when he was younger when England was drunk. His eyes watered without his consent and England frowned. "H-hey, 're you 'kay?" He frowned as America continued to tremble slightly.

"Y-yeah, let's just lay down, okay?" He asked, voice uncharacteristically soft. "...'Kay" England frowned as he laid down next to America. England quickly fell into a dreamless sleep, but America stayed awake the whole night. England forgot about it all in the morning like he always did, but America remembered it clearly.

America thought that maybe England wasn't a violent drunk anymore. Maybe they could go drinking together again sometime when America wasn't so scared about it that he could actually have a good time. Maybe everything could be alright again. Maybe he wouldn't have to be afraid and sad anymore.

Maybe...it was just this one time that England wasn't violent when drunk. Maybe if he went with England drinking somewhere more remote or was alone with him while England was drunk, he would get angry at America for something like he always did when he was sober. Maybe he would hit America. Maybe he would say some mean things. But if he did, he didn't mean to, right? He didn't mean to...He wouldn't mean to...If he did it again, he wouldn't mean to...Maybe America would tell him and then they could help each other. Maybe everything could be okay again! Maybe America wouldn't be scared to just tell him! Maybe they would be happy! Maybe it would never happen again! Maybe America could think that it wasn't his own fault!

Maybe...America was just deluding himself.