Ok, here's another little idea I just couldn't resist putting my own twist on, hope you enjoy!

America walked down the empty, echoing halls of his home, lost in thought.

A week from now it would be July 4th, his birthday. The day that, centuries ago, he looked scornfully down on England, on his knees, sobbing in the rain.

Every year since we made up I've invited him to my party, every year he ignores me on the day.

Was there something holding him back? America pondered this as he arrived at the stairwell to the basement, his boots clicked on the cement stairs as he made his way down into the dank hallway below his home. He walked all the way to the last door, took a breath as he raised a gloved hand to turn the handle. His hand trembled and he dropped it to his side again without touching the knob. The last time he'd stepped in this room, he'd shed his coat from his back, the one he'd been wearing July 4th, out there in the rain, and draped it over a chair in what was formerly the bedroom he'd sleep in whenever the british troops were running rampant nearby.

That had been July 5th, 1776, when he'd finally arrived home a free country.

He'd not set foot in there since.

America shook his head hard, than pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose again and firmly gripped the doorknob, exhaling and trying to relax himself, he pushed the door open.

It creaked horribly on hinges that hadn't moved for over two hundred years.

America reached into the inner pocket of his bomber jacket and removed a pack of matches, he lit one and lit the fresh candle that was still sitting where he'd left it on the table by the door.

He was half expecting it not the catch, but it did, and the american was amazed, he felt as though he'd just returned from a days work exploring the frontier, with his fur cap still perched on his head.

Not a modern day country that was one of the most powerful in the world.

His old cot was pushed up in the corner, and next to it was the rocking chair.

The same one England rocked me to sleep in, telling me fairy tales while I sat in his lap.

America smiled sadly at the memory. Those days when he believed in never land, in a kingdom far far away, in once upon a time and in they lived happily ever after.

Draped across the back of the chair was the red, white, and blue long coat.

Setting the candle down on his bedside table, the nation carefully, very carefully, lifted the coat up from it's position.

It was faded and dirty, bloodstains still splattered across the edges.

He smiled, happy the thing was still in one piece as he laid it gently out on the cot, knowing to much jerking could tear the ages old fabric. Alfred took one last long, nostalgic look around the room before turning and, lifting the coat carefully to be sure not to damage it, he made to leave. His long strides had carried him halfway to the door when he noticed out of the corner of his eye, several things hidden by shadow, crammed beneath the bed.

Turning round, he set the precious items he'd come down there to collect back on the cot and knelt, peering under the old wooden cot.

He felt himself dragged by unforgiving hands into the pasts that he'd tucked away into the back of his mind.

"Seriously? YOUR JOKING!"

Arthur sighed, seated in the rocking chair in that same small room. Alfred trusted Arthur as a man not to tell his redcoats where his home was.

"Afraid not. Your people are getting too riled up, I have to bring more troops in to contain them, less they get to cocky and try to start something."

"You already have hundreds of your damn lobster backs in my cities! What am I too you now, your property!? My people want freedom, is that so wrong!?" Alfred's temper was flaring dangerously as he yanked at the front of his plain workman's white long sleeve, trying to find something to do with his hands other than punching the irritatingly aloof nation before him.

"America, I don't like it as much as you."

"Oh, I know you don't like as much as I don't like it, because if you didn't like it as much as I don't like it, YOU WOULDN'T DO IT!" Alfred exclaimed, throwing his arms out to his side.

Arthur stood up, shaking his head.

"Your to young to understand this."

"Don't play your senior superiority card! I'm plenty old to understand what a tyrant is!" Alfred spat.

The englishman crossed his arms and raised a single, overly bushy eyebrow.

"Tyrant, you say?" He asked, Alfred could sense his rage bubbling just below the surface of those calm words.

A younger, more obedient, more dependent Alfred F. Jones would have backed down at this moment, sticking up his nose and stomping out of the room, unofficially announcing his brothers victory in the argument.

That Alfred F. Jones was gone.

"YES! Your nothing but a sly, underhanded, unfair, nation with HORRIBLE EYEBROWS!"

Alfred was not afraid to jab sharply at Arthur' insecurities about his eyebrows.

"Why you...ungrateful child! I saved you from those savages! Gave you a modern world to live in!"

"I preferred freedom in a freaking teepee to being a slave to you! And...LITTLE, OH REALLY!?"

Alfred stalked up to Arthur, standing at his full height, allowing him to tower several inches in height taller than his caretaker.

Arthur glared up at him, emerald eyes unafraid.

"I don't like the way your taking this, America." He said simply.

"Don't like the way I'm..." Alfred broke off, breathing sharply, face turning red with bottle up fury face as he turned and leaned on the wall with one hand, eyes fixed on the floor before he covered them with his other hand trying to get himself under control.

"Just get out." He hissed finally.

After a few moments of nothing, no response as Alfred firmly refused to look up. America opened his mouth to repeat himself.

"Didn't you hear me? I said get out. Out of my house, out of my land."

With this, Arthur stalked to the door and left without another word, which surprised the american, who was expecting to have to literally throw the brit out.

He was gone, and just like that, Alfred, a proud American, made his decision. He would fight for his freedom, he just needed to figure out how.

America blinked after reliving the painful memory, after that talk, he'd hatefully shoved all things that connected him to Arthur under the cot, not wanting to look at them. A stack of storybooks Arthur had once read to him by candlelight, using magic to make the pictures leap off the pages, a chessboard with the pieces scattered about beneath the bed, Arthur was always better at chess than Alfred was. What had surprised him the most at the mere sight, though, was pushed farthest to the back, as far out of sight as possible.

Did I actually keep this...?

His stuffed bear, the one England had sewed for him by hand when he was no more than two feet tall.

Tears pricked his eyes at the sight of the beloved old stuffed animal still in one piece, dusty and disheveled as it was. The ribbon around it's neck was wilting, it's button eyes seemed dull.

But it was in one piece.

America reached under the cot and, as if handling glass, lifted the bear from the position it had landed in, crumpled on it's side.

He sat back on his knees and held it down in front of him, he could remember how he'd taken such good care of the bear, when he'd first been colonized. England had made it for him long before he'd made the toy soldiers, when he'd learned that America had no toys of his own except the ones his natives had woven for him, out of grasses or other items available to them. Even when he'd grown into a teenager he'd kept the long loved toy on his bookshelf, occasionally fixing the ribbon bow tie around it's neck to keep it in presentable shape.

What had happened? He'd loved England...no, he'd loved Arthur like a brother. And Arthur had loved him back. Yet the rulers, the colonists, Alfred had rebelled against England. He'd rebelled against King George, he'd rebelled against unfair taxes, he'd rebelled against many things.

But he had never wanted to hurt Arthur.

Not my brother...not my big brother...

Alfred didn't feel the hot tears rolling down his reddened cheeks, all he knew was that that time was gone.

He couldn't get that back, to much had happened between them to ever return to that time of brotherhood and laughter and playful banter over the dinner table.

Alfred stood up with the bear in his arms, still holding it as though it were some priceless treasure, and, forgetting entirely about the coat still laying on the cot, he turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Arthur sat at his desk, shuffling through his mail, the sun was just beginning to set over the two story cottage out in the countryside, and he was preparing to retire for some light reading and a cup of tea, planning on spending the following day at home, trying to ignore the date printed out on his calendar. He blew a stray strand of blonde hair out of his emerald eyes as he tossed all of the letters related to his work to one side, he could go though all that tomorrow. When he reached the bottom of the pile he let out a very long, very drawn out sigh.

An invitation to America's party. Honestly, he knows I won't come, all I want to do tomorrow is pretend that it's just another normal day.

He was just about to toss the letter that had crossed an ocean to reach him into the garbage when he noted a small note on the outside of it, written in America's simple block print.

I know you'll just throw it out again, this time, can you at least open it?

England rolled his eyes as he dutifully lifted the letter back up and reached for his letter opener.

The git better consider this his birthday present.

He thought as he slit open the top of the letter and pulled the out it's contents.

To his surprise, two pieces of paper fell out, the first was a generic invitation, same he got every year that was sent to everyone else that America wanted to invite.

The second was a plain white piece of paper with a small caption written on it, still in America's handwriting.

Arthur scanned the page.

I just went into my old bedroom for the first time since 1776 a few days ago, and I have some things I want to say to you that I could never say to your face. You raised me. It's thanks to you I am where I am now.

"Oh, here we go, some sort of attempt to touch my heart and make me come your stupid party out of guilt?" Arthur breathed to himself, still, he elected to finish reading whatever his former ward had to say.

But I remember when you were the hero.

Arthur's eyes widened at the sentence.

I remember you, sailing to foreign lands, doing incredible things no person ever thought possible, I remember the time when you were great, when you were one of the most powerful, largest empires in the world. But I remember you during the revolution. So superior, a band of farmers and small town men in rags with their hunting rifles could never defeat the mighty british army.

Well I did, and it's about time you get over it.

I don't know what you think coming to my party will do. If you come will if signal you being defeated? If you come will it do something to your pride?

I just want you know that I still love you, I jumped into two world wars to drag you out of the deep end, remember? I just want you to feel the same way about me.

If you can't come to my independence day as England, the nation, maybe you could still come to my birthday party as Arthur, my big brother.

I just want my brother back, is that so much to ask?

Arthur was well aware of the burning behind his eyes, he was well aware that he was humiliated by what a terrible deed he'd been doing, avoiding America's birthday, avoiding celebrating the day that had held so much pain for him. He thought back, almost unconsciously, to the last time he'd set foot in that bedroom the american had spoken off.

"YES! Your nothing but a sly, underhanded, unfair, nation with HORRIBLE EYEBROWS!"

Alfred was not afraid to jab sharply at Arthur' insecurities about his eyebrows, and the brit was at a loss for what to say.

'How dare he speak to me like that!' The nation thought before retaliating with his own hurtful words.

"Why you...ungratefully child! I saved you from those savages! Gave you a modern world to live in!"

"I preferred freedom in a freaking teepee to being a slave to you! And...LITTLE, OH REALLY!?"

Alfred stalked up to Arthur, standing at his full height, allowing him to tower several inches in height taller than his caretaker. Arthur felt the shock all over again that this boy who had once been so small, so helpless, was now a towering giant over him, yet still Arthur forced him down below him.

He planned on keeping it that way, he couldn't lost America, he simply couldn't.

Arthur glared up at him, forcing his emerald eyes to appear unafraid, hiding behind a mask of cool superiority.

"I don't like the way your taking this, America." He said simply, hoping to defuse what was quickly turning into a fight.

"Don't like the way I'm..." Alfred broke off, breathing sharply, face turning red with bottle up fury as he turned and leaned on the wall with one hand, eyes fixed on the floor before he covered them with his other hand trying to get himself under control.

"Just get out." He hissed finally.

Arthur's face looked broken for a moment, America, no, Alfred was in pain, caught up in these matters when he just wanted to live peacefully on his own, like before any of the europeans had arrived.

For a moment, the englishman reached toward his little brother, wanting to put his hand on his shoulder, to speak calming words, to do whatever necessary in order to bring back that cheery smile and the sparkle in those crystal blue eyes.

"Didn't you hear me? I said get out. Out of my house, out of my land."

Arthur felt pinpricks of heat behind his eyes at these words. The harshness behind them made him fear, for a terrible moment, that his superiority act had pushed Alfred to far. That his cold stand offish facade had finally brought the american around to hate him. Couldn't he understand he didn't want to do this to him? If he had the power he'd have stopped it long ago, but he was a nation, and had

He dropped his arm weakly to his side, fingers curling in slightly as the lost expression over took his face, and he turned and stalked from the room before Alfred could see the tears falling.

Arthur stared down at the paper in his hand, realizing only now that his hand was trembling slightly and that tears were yet again fighting to be acknowledged.

Just like the feelings lying deep inside him, buried away in his heart, slamming against prison bars. That little boy he had found out in the grasses, what had happened to him? That little boy who loved his big brother and played with his toy soldiers and ran to the door crying out his name when he would come to visit. Even when he'd grown older, what had happened to the chess matches that Arthur would let him win? To the teasing, or the fighting, or the cackling of his booming laughter whenever he'd grow an inch taller and England would feel as if he'd shrunk. Back when Alfred had been waiting for him to come home with a brand new story of his heroic adventures that day, a brilliant new pun about the size of his eyebrows, or at the very least the only thing the american could cook, an apple pie, for dessert.

What had happened to that?

Arthur crumpled the letter into a ball and held it in his hand as he dangled his arm down to his side and rocked back into his chair, putting the hand to his face, gritting his teeth as he struggled against the tears building up in his eyes.

America laughed madly as the Italy's hit the dance floor, showing off some incredibly impressive breakdancing moves, Romano spinning on the backs of his shoulders and launching himself up onto his hands as he rotated, Spain watching in awe behind him. Italy himself was spinning his legs around and around and balancing his entire body weight on his arms as he let out a very drawn out Ve~!

"You go, Vargas bros!" He cheered as the two of them twirled back onto their feet and bowed to the applauding crowd in unison.

"Why can you not be that physically fit in training!?"

Germany and Prussia were on their nineteenth round of beer and, after Germany yelled at Italy, were laughing at China, who was currently hyperventilating, sitting on his knees in a daze on the floor after Russia snuck up behind him and stayed there for a solid fifteen minutes before China finally noticed him.

And almost passed out in shock.

"Why are you staying back here, da-ze!? It's your independence day, time to party! Who wants to do Gangnam Style!?"

South Korea had leapt up behind America, throwing his arms over the taller nations shoulders before shouting the suggestion, most of the countries were either drunk or very happy go lucky, so nearly everyone in the room agreed.

As much as America didn't want to miss the sight of Russia, Belarus, Ukraine, Germany, Prussia, France, Italy, Switzerland, (How? What? Where? When? Why?) Spain and Romano all lined up in a row doing Gangnam Style, he recognized this as his only chance to slip away.

He snuck back inside from the very large outdoor first floor deck that everyone was settled on to enjoy the party. He took the stairs up to his roof, and stepped out onto the deserted level, only things up here were the air condition system and the occasional bird hopping across the space before flying off.

Oh, and England.

America had to do a double take when he saw the brit doing a crash landing to the side of his roof, summer salting several times before skidding to halt.

He stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off, scanning the area as America retreated into the shadows of the doorway he'd just come out of. His form was missed by the man's emerald eyes.

"I say, I fly across the bloody ocean to get to this idiots party before nightfall and what welcome do I get? I crash on the roof! I swear I thought I raised the git better than this but, oh no..."

"...Arthur?" America finally whispered, coming out of hiding.

England left the ground for a moment, jumping in surprise.

"Oh...America, hello. Umm, everyone else is downstairs, assume?"

Alfred gave no response as he took a few strides, enough to bring him within an arms length of the brit that had just flown across the ocean to make it here on time.

"You got my letter?" He asked.

"Course, why else would I be here. Now, as the host, I don't think it's polite to leave all your guests who literally travelled from every corner of the world to be here." Obviously Arthur was attempting to avoid the conversation.

"Arthur, why are you here?" Alfred asked finally.

The soft hum of the music coming from several stories below them was the only thing that penetrated the tense silence that followed.

"W-Why am I here? Silly America, you sent me a bloody invitation, remember? You know your not that old yet." Arthur tried to pass this off with a choked laugh but knew he failed.

"You haven't come to my birthday even once. Never have you come to celebrate it with me. So what changed your mind?"

"Oh, I don't know, the letter you sent me to change my mind?" The brit deadpanned as he moved to go downstairs.

Alfred sidestepped to block his path, and this brought them a few inches closer.

Arthur looked up into those crystal blue eyes, like he had centuries ago.

"No. I won't take that as an answer. I want to know. Why?"

Arthur sighed, staring down at the his polished boots for a moment to collect his thoughts.

"I've not been good to you. You were right, in those conflicts you intervened to save us. I never thought of it as you saving me. So I thought about what you put at the end of your letter. Perhaps as England, a prideful nation, I would never be able to bring myself to attend a party celebrating a day that I was defeated. But, as Arthur, as your...well as a person I can make that trip, if it would mean that much to you. If it would make you happy on your birthday than I can drag myself out here for a handful of hours each year."

"Not as a person, Arthur."

Arthur looked up, and saw a light behind those blue eyes.

"As my big brother, right?"

America grinned, crossed the distance, and hugged England.

Arthur went stiff as a board and stuttered uncomfortably before, after a moments hesitation, he return the embrace.

When they separated Arthur found a fond smile on his face.

"So Iggy, did you get me anything cool?" Alfred asked, still grinning.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the nickname and the question.

"Aren't you a greedy little child?"
"Little, huh?" Alfred asked in a good humored tone as he put his elbow up on the mop of blonde hair and leaned on him.

"I meant in age!" He grumbled, well aware how much taller the american was as he shoved past him and headed for the stairs.

Alfred quickly overtook him, grabbed him by the wrist, and ran, laughing, through the halls of his home, dragging an amusing looking Arthur behind him.
America burst out onto the patio, where Russia was cossack dancing and everyone was clapping their hands in a rhythm for him.

"Hey everybody, look who showed up!"
Everyone turned to look at Arthur, who yanked his wrist from Alfred's grasp and crossed his arms defensively.

"About time you stopped crying about it and showed up, aru!" China exclaimed rudely from somewhere in the crowd of nations before everyone started clapping again, the music belted out louder than every, and many other's joined Russia in doing dances that originated from their homes.

Korea was rocking Gangnam Style again, Russia was still cossack dancing, and Spain was twirling Belgium round and round. The Vargas brothers were performing a break dancing routine they remembered from who knows when, and Switzerland and Liechtenstein were doing a dance made Japan look away and grimace as China waved his overly long sleeves gracefully, spinning in time with the music.

Everyone was having a great time.

Britain had been roped into the fun, now doing a face paced ballroom dance with Seychelles as America somehow managed to start up a line dance with the drunken germans, vodka happy sisters of Russia, and Austria, how, when, and why he was there, no one was sure of, but the man sure could move his feet.

England smiled, dipping Seychelles and sending her twirling dizzily off only to have Taiwan get shoved into her place by Hong Kong.

This was going to be a chaotic evening.

The party was still going with no plans on stopping until dawn, but Alfred had wandered up to the roof again for a few moments, yet again feeling the need to breath for a few minutes before rejoining the fun.

To his great surprise Arthur followed him.

He leaned on the edge of the roof next to him for a few minutes before turned to look him in the eye.

"I'm really happy you finally came." Alfred said, and he really meant it.

Arthur nodded, "I'm sorry I never came before. I was afraid it was a day you'd rather celebrate without me. Honestly, it was because I being a coward, hiding from something like this."

Alfred threw his arm over Arthur's shoulders, a smile yet again on his face.

"Thanks, bro."

Arthur smirked.

"Don't thank me yet."

Alfred looked on quizzically as Arthur pulled out his wand and spell book.

"Fingers crossed." He murmured as he flicked the wand and pointed it upward, muttering some words under his breath.

The first sparks lit beneath the roof, and Alfred's eyes widened with wonder as they went hurtling up into the midnight sky. Exploding into flashes of red, white, and blue, forming stars. After this they formed a bald eagle, which screeched loudly, it's cawing a creation of Arthur's magic, and swooped down over the house, circling it a few times before dispersing into more red, white, and blue fireworks with another call loosing from it's beak.

"Arthur..." Alfred whispered as the extravagant and obviously magical firework show continued, one explosion causing a cowboy on horseback to go galloping across the sky, turning and spinning his lasso in the air, throwing the lasso around the house itself, the lasso exploded into sparks when it tightened. After that the sky scrapers of New York rose up gracefully, these fireworks were spinning and popping into the iconic images of the United States of America.

After several minutes of a grand, glowing, ear popping light show, the finale began, all of the sparks reforming, billowing out, and forming the stars and stripes. The flag that held Alfred's pride rippled in waves of light across the sky, he could hear the other nations on the deck below oohing and awing, they too were enjoying the magnificent display.

When it finally flickered from view Arthur had tucked away his spell book and wand and was looking over at Alfred. The taller wasn't ashamed of the tears in his eyes, caused by the gorgeous, sparkling display in the star spangled sky from the last person he'd expect.

"Well, happy birthday, Alfred." Arthur said finally.

Alfred was speechless, and didn't know what else to do but drag his older brother into a hug.

Another family fluff-ish shot I just had to do comes to a close. I hope you enjoyed it! Please review and let me know if I should do more involving USUK brotherly!