Requested By: Faith Altoire and an anonymus reader.

A/N: So, this is only rated for mild violence. Honestly.

England never knew it, but when I was little, I used to...well, watch him. No, he never noticed...and no, it wasn't creepy. AND NO, I would never do it again. (Ok, I totally would.)

I remember sitting outside his office door, clutching desperatly to my toy soldier. It;s dull paint was starting to chip and the hard wood was beginning to splinter my hands, but I didn't care. The small protectors were my best friends, and Arthur had given them to me. His little face stared at me, but I was busy staring at Arthur.

Watching Arthur work was always one of my favorite things to do. His bushy eyebrows furrowed together in thought as he filled out each long document in front of him. The candle light flickered off the paper, and the words on it were much too advanced for me. My eyebrows scrunche dlike Arthur's, and I had to repress a giggle.

Maybe, I thought, maybe one day I would fill out documents the way he did, no matter how boring it looked.

He cursed and dropped the pen on the desk, wiping his sweaty palm on his pants. The work must've been tiring, and hard. He sure looked it. The bags under his eyes did not do justice to his face, the dark lies and deep frown wrinkles againg him.

I did what any logical brother would do...I got him tea. The dark substance bounced in the porcelain with each step I took, nearly spilling as I knocked on the door.

He looked up with weary eyes, but his tired demenor seemed to melt away as I handed him the cup. He smiled and ruffled my hair, destroying a steriotype as his lips pursed to reveal pearly white teeth, delicatly sipping the tea with an air of refinement. I scuddled from the room, liking our routine.

I remember thinking that I would take a bullet for him. I would've done anything to preseerve the brotherly relationship we shared, to keep him by my side, happy as he was...at least when he wasn't working.

Years passed and I finally understood the words on those documents and I was ready to set them into use. I was a man then, and I could take care of myself...not that Arthur would ever believe it. I was full grown, my toys soved in a closet, collecting dust with the spiders (which I still wouldn't touch), and my teacup high on th shelf, cracked and dull with age. IT was a sad teacup, really. Coffee was my new thing, earl gray just didn't do it for me anymore.

I stood in front of the mirror the day of my victory, a rare luxary that I didn't care for. I looked ratty- beaten, worn. My hair was near brown with dirt, greasy and sticking to the collar of my torn shirt.

I looked as though someone had thrown me in one of those giant saw things that cut trees. And if they had existed back then, I bet someone would've tried it.

I remember looking over the battle town grounds, blood of both the guilty and innocent watering the feilds.

My heart beat in my ears as I ran, my hair barely mocing from it's heavy set, greased place on my head. My musket was splintering my hands, but at that moment, I didn't care.

I was fighting Arthur again, and it slowly ate away at me.

I was holding my gun to him by the end of it, but I couldn't pull the trigger.

His own eyes were tired, and the bags looked impossibly bigger on his slim sloppy hair stuck up everywhere, and his thick eyebrowa were furrowed in both annoyance and confusion...and...hurt. For once, he didn't care that he was caked in mud, and that it was slowly seeping through his clothes as he sat there, at the mercy of my gun.

And I was so fed up. So angry. So done. All I wanted was a chance, an oppurtunity to show him how good I could be too. And I was consumed with one thought.

How much I wanted to shoot him.

A decision I will never forget, but always regret.

Today, and everday, I have, an always will fill out paperwork with those long, complicated, not-too-hard to understant words. And everyday, my eyebrows furrow like his always did when he wsa deep in though, only no one ruffles m hair and tells me I did good, because I gave that up for freedom.

I sighed and sat back in my chair, desperatly wishing for a distraction. Which came in the form of a doorbell.

I bolted from my chair, swinging open the door with ease. I leaned on the frame, casually flipping my hair out of my face.

"Sup?" I wwasnted to appear nonchallont, not as if I was avoiding work...I was, of course...but still.

Drunken mumble were my return, and I knew right away what kind of night it was going to be.

Arthur had shown up at my house. Drunk. Again.

It seemed whenever he needed to drown his sorrow in whiskey and rum, he managed to tell the cab driver he lived here. Why? I wish I had an answer.

I sighed and pulled him inside, helping him to the couch. "Come on you old drunk, on the couch." I sighed, fed up with this shit. "Why do you always have to show up here?"

He rolled ovver lazily, spouting some English curse or another.

I sat on my Lazy Boy, turning on my tv. "I was going out with my girlfriend tonight ya know." I pulled the guilt card on him...even though we didn't really have plans. I vaguely wondered if he felt guilt in his drunken state.

He just rolled over, throwing his arms around as he spoke. He looked like one of those rag dolls little girls play with. "Can't you spend some time with your bloody brother?"

I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep myself composed. He was piss drunk and his words were empty. He was acting like a child.

"Ya know..." He said, rolling over to face me. "You should...should come home." He looked pretty serious, and if I hadn't been sitting in my (rather cushy) chair. I might have falled back...if heroes did that. (which they don't.) That one stung.

"This is my home."

He shook his head, throwing my own tv remote at me. "Ow!"

He frowned and sat up, chugging something foul from his flask.

I rubbed my head, trying to get the stinging to stop. "Batard, would you calm the fuck down? You're piss drunk."

He frowned, throwing a magazine at me. "Boy, who taught you to talk like that? It's horrid."

I huffed. "You did old man, I'm a grown up now dumbass." I was confused. Usually when Arthur was drunk like this, he was complaining and screaming- out of his mind emotional. Now he just seemed...calm. Like someone hit a madman with a stungun.

He opted to just glare at me before cuddling with the pillow. "Where's my little boy? The one who brought me tea, and crawled into my bed with a nightmare? Who almost cried when caught him snogging with his first girl, or begged me to make him another toy? Or tie his tie?"

The pillow was headed straight for my face, and I did nothing to stop it.

"Give him back." He frowned as the last of the alcohol dripped onto his tongue.

I was nothing short of shocked, not even caring about the pillow that was now in my lap.

"Give my Alfie back." My heart skipped a beat. He remembered my favorite nickname.

"Arthur...I'm an adult now."

He snuggled the arm of the couch, having run out of things to throw and hold. (unless he wanted to throw his flask, or the table) He frowned, and a couch cushion hit my head. Apparently he wasn't out of things to throw.

"Where's my Alfie? You're not my Alfred, he wouldn't talk to me like that."

I sighed and got up, taking the couch cushion with me. I put the cushion back on the couch, sitting next to the very drunk Brit.

"Arthur, I'm still that Alfred." So that's what all the drunken drop-bys had been about. It was a bad situation, and I wasn't really sure how to diffuse it.

"Liar."

So I told the truth. The first response that came to mind.

"No, I'm not. I still can't really tie a tie, and I kept all of the toys you made me." I sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. He jerked away, and I didn't question it. "Sometimes, I STILL want to crawl into your bed, like, when there's a thunderstrom and stuff." He seemed to be more interested in what I was saying, turning suspiscious, hazy eyes on me. "And I REALLY don't want you to evver walk in on me and my girlfriend."

He scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. You certainly weren't very good. I almost pity your g-"

"ANYWAY." He just chuckled in response to my scowl. "Anyway...I could still make you tea if ou want."

He blinked and tugged at the edge of my shirt. "Oi, make me tea." I frowned.

"Sure, if I have any. Just sober up old man."

He frowned, shaking his empty flask over his mouth. " ' am."

I couldn't help but crack up. Arthur always was an amusing, if not annoying drunk.

I stood, heading toward the kitchen. "Don't break anything." Too late. I heard something smash, praying it wasn't my xbox. (I could live with just about anything else.)

I grabbed a coffee cup, filling it with tap water. I put it in the microwave, carefully listening for signs of movement in the other room.

No such sign came as I dipped the teabag in the oversized cup. It wasn't the gormet tea I was sure Arthur was used to (since I used to make it for him), but it would do. He couldn't even see straight, let alone name tea brands. He wouldn't notice the difference. I walked back into the room, setting in down on the table. "Here I, Earl Gray."

"Now close your eyes so I can give you a proper reward." He reached his hand up, so I knew he wanted to ruffle my hair. I leaned down with a sigh, letting him have his way.

"Lad, it's time to come home." I heard a gun cock and I knew it was his. It was aimed at me head, and then it fired.

And then I took a bullet for him.

I remembered something as the red substance pooled around me, soaking my clothes and ruining my jacket.I remembered that they were right. Those smart guys who thought of everything.

Blood did run thicker than water.

Apparently, not thick enough.

Of course, I didn't really die. I'm a country! And a pretty badass one at that. But life has changed since that night. Arthur became a sort of hermit after that, like one of those creepy guys that lives in his basement.

It didn't last too long though, and it shortened as I bagan bringing him teac every week. I couldn't be there all the time, I DO have a life, but tea was a good way to find comfort in each other, as brothers. It was actually a relief, knowing Arthur missed our life together course we could never go back to our old lives. I'm my own man, not a little kid.

But everytime I see him, Arthur looks just a bit better, just a bit happier.

So maybe I still watch him sometimes...the way his huge eyebrows scrunch together when he's thinking and the way he sicks out his pinky when he drinks tea. And maybe my girlfriend desn't let him come over anymore.

But we're getting somewhere. Back to brotherhood.

"Come on lad. back to the meeting."

"But Iiiiggggggggggyyyyyyyyy."

"Oh belt up and come on." His smile was contagious, even more so than my skillful pout. He reached up and ruffled my hair, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Alright, alright." And I followed my big brother back into the room, glad we were rebuilding our relationship.

1:22 am. Clock it. Reviews make me smile, and my dropping grades almost worth it.