Story: Sticks and Stones, Chapter 3 - Reminiscence
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia...

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"I'm sorry, but that's really all I know."

Canada had just told England everything, or at least everything he knew so far, regarding what was going on with America. England mentally cursed himself, knowing who was to blame for this. Sighing painfully, he finally managed to bring himself to talk.

"No, it's fine..." he said softly. "I, um, really do have to go now... but I'll try to see what I can do..."

"Okay. Bye..." Canada replied, before he heard a beep and the phone was hung up. After putting it up, England turned around. As he stood there, he contemplated his words to America, and what had led up to it, which was still as clear as day to him. Every single word and emotion replayed in his head, practically haunting him. He hadn't meant to come off so rudely that day, and he had to admit what America had said was somewhat true.

"Hey, dude, England, why don't we go somewhere to eat later?" America ran up, wrapping an arm around the Brit. He gave wide grin. "There's a new restaurant down the road from here. I've heard that they have some amazing food. We've got to go there!"

England only scoffed in response, turning his head away. "Knowing you, it's probably just some greasy fast food restaurant, so no."

"Aww...Come on...Please? I can't just go alone, dude." America whined.

England glanced over at him in the corners of his eyes. "Is that so? Then don't. It probably would do you some good, anyway. With your all-hamburger-diet, and the way you constantly stuff you face, I'm surprised you haven't choked to death yet."

America's smiled faded, before he stood back, folding his arms. "Well if that's the way your going to be, I guess it was pointless trying to be nice to you, bushy brows."

"Shut up, you immature brat!" England fumed, bolting up from his chair. Clenching his fists, America suddenly seemed extremely agitated. He assumed it was mainly because the comment referred to him still being like a child.

"!"

"Empty show-off!"

"Stuck-up!"

"Self-centered!"

"Conceited!"

England folded his arms. "I am not conceited. You're just obnoxious, and reckless!"

America pushed him against the nearby wall. "What the hell do you know!? You're just a prick, along with with everyone else, who's only there to judge and me for every mistake I make, when I'm only trying to be me! You're just a damn stick-in-the-!"

England met his eyes, seeing how serious he actually was. He didn't exactly want to argue, but nor did like the fact that this was America, who he'd raised since he was a child.

"And I told you before, all you are to me is a damn idiot, so get the bloody hell out of my face!" he shouted.
But America didn't budge.

"At least I can cook! At least I can do something right, rather than insulting everyone I know!"

"Fat !"

The Englishman shuttered as he thought back to the look on his brother figure's face, before he'd ran out of the room. The look in his eyes was filled so much hurt, and what was probably bent-up frustration, directed not only at others, but himself as well. He knew he should have done something back then when he'd apologized, but the question was what? What could he have possibly done to make up for what he'd said to him? What could he possibly do?

He was never the best at expressing his feelings towards others, nor was he the best at showing concern for those he cared about. America was probably still so mad at him even if he denied it. The last time they'd spoke was at the last world meeting; A.K.A., about three weeks prior. He sighed. He had never told America the truth about why he hadn't wanted him to leave him, had he? It would probably somewhat surprise America, as it had nothing to do with control, or anything of the sort.

Well that was somewhat it for him as England, but Arthur Kirkland was different. He'd wanted nothing more than to protect America, Alfred; to protect his little brother from the rest of the world. He wanted to keep him safe, no matter what. England had been aware that if America gained independence, not only would he would he be left alone, but what they once had would forever be gone. He still cared so much for America, regardless if he showed it or not. He wished more than anything else that he could go back and relive those days. However, he couldn't, and never would be able to.

But, it still hurt, every last bit of it.

"Angleterre~!" France's voice suddenly echoed throughout the house, snapping him from his thoughts. Startled, he immediately jumped, as arms wrapped around him. A dark blush of embarrassment, and awkwardness covered his face.

"France? What are you doing here, you frog?! And how the bloody hell did you get in?!" England demanded, struggling around in the Frenchman's arms.

"Well, you don't have to be so rude." Francis told him, somewhat irritated by the insult. He then smiled. "The door was left unlocked, so I thought I'd let myself in, non?"

Finally, England managed to pull himself out of France's arms. He turned around, meeting his eyes.

"This is my house! You have no bloody right to just walk into another person's house as you please!" he exclaimed, before briefly gazing away, with slight sad expression on his face. "Besides, I really don't have time for this... So, please, just leave..."

France gave a worried look, before he spoke, gently placing a hand on England's shoulder. "Angleterre, you don't look to well. Maybe you should-"

"I'm fine, alright?!" England abruptly cut him off, before he could finish his sentence. France edged back a little, slightly startled by the Englishman's abrupt tone. He then gave a sad smile. England saw it, and suddenly found himself shaking many emotions.

"Why are you looking at me with pity?!" he demanded. "I already said that I'm completely fine, didn't I?! So, you have no right to look at me with those I eyes like I'm not! I'm telling you I'm fine... I'm..." he'd suddenly found himself wiping tears from his eyes.

"Sometimes, you should know that it's okay to ask for help." France smiled warmly, seeing as he was beginning to let it out. "You have my shoulder to lean on, Angleterre. You should trust big brother France, non?"

"France, I..." England couldn't say anything more, but France could read it in his eyes, what he wanted to say. He walked back up to him, pulling England into a warm embrace. For once, he willingly allowed himself to return the embrace, as he rested his forehead against his chest. Francis placed his chin on his head, as he gave another smile.

"Now tell big brother what's wrong, will you?"

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A/N: What did you think? Good? Bad? Horrible? Got suggestions, or ideas for the future? Grammar errors? Feel free to let me know. ^^ Thank you so much for all of your support.