I wrote this because I've always liked the relationship between Sealand and England, and I don't think that it gets enough attention. Actually, micronations and their host countries in general are pretty ignored, and I hope that'll change. Besides, I haven't written anything for the Hetalia fandom in, like, three years, so hitting the old fandom with less-shitty writing skills should be interesting. That said, this is probably going to be shit nonetheless, but I hope you can find some enjoyment in it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is set soon after Britain left the EU.

The weather was gray, gloomy, and dreary, with slate clouds hanging oppressively low overhead. One could hardly discern separate masses of mist, as the clouds all seemed to blend together in a blanket of smudged grayscale. It was cool enough to just barely require two layers on the mainland, but over the waters, where the waves white-capped as far as the eye could see, and where the wind gnawed away at one's person until they were numb, it was unquestionably necessary to dress warmer.

Sealand, clad in a long-sleeved sweater beneath an oversized black nylon windbreaker, equally large, fleece-lined nylon pants, and rain boots going up to his knees, stood at the edge of his platform and stared out over the ocean, observing the blurred forms on the horizon that was the shoreline. It was Sunday, and most of the people were in their homes, where it was warm and dry, preparing for the week ahead.

For him, however, it was business as usual.

Living in the ocean certainly had its perks - such as an unmatched view, the ability to fish from one's front porch, and the crisp scent of saltwater in the air - but it also brought a load of work that had to be carried out everyday. Most of it was maintenance, just to make sure that the structure wouldn't go crumbling into the sea anytime soon. But the chores took solid two hours out of his life, and occurred everyday, meaning that the upkeep was a constant that made every day more 'normal'. Even if the work was a pain in the ass at times, it provided a routine for him to fall back onto. A lot of land-dwellers didn't have that luxury.

Sealand knew of at least one who didn't.

As the boy watched a group of waterfowl fly overhead, he thought about what he should do. In his opinion, it was about time for that man to get a taste of his own medicine. But the better side of him was urging him to do something. Being young, he still had that natural desire to prevent seeing his pain reflected in others. Most of the nations, being a great amount of years his senior, appeared to have lost that instinct. That was likely why none of them were currently acting, despite having been subject to similar wrongdoings.

British heritage is no rarity. Of the 200 countries on the face of the planet, only 22 have never been invaded by the British. The empire has owned nearly half of the planet throughout history. Union Jack has flown over nearly every inch of land at some point or another, and in many places, it continues to, with fourteen overseas territories. Britain even as a sizeable chunk of Antarctica, for christ's sake.

It seemed that the one way Sealand could relate to the other countries of the world, the one identifying factor that allowed him to be similar to the recognized nations in any shape, form, or fashion, was the fact that Britain had once been there. It was only the shadow of a larger entity that allowed him to find any sort of kinship in other countries, and Sealand resented that. Yet, at the same time, it was that emptiness that drove him. If it weren't for his loneliness, he wouldn't have developed the work ethic he currently possessed. He never would have undertaken an epic quest just to become recognized as a way of sticking it to that bastard. If it weren't for the bad decisions of an inconsiderate man, he would be a worse person.

Since he was a better person now, though, Sealand decided he wouldn't make such god-awful choices himself.

Turning away from the railing, he walked back into the shelter of his home, heading to the kitchen. After grabbing a package and wrapping it in a brown paper shopping bag for safekeeping, he shoved the item into his coat and returned to the deck with a purposeful stride.

It was easy work getting into the speedboat and lowering it to the water level. Within five minutes he was braving the open waters alone, clenching his jaw so as to prevent his teeth from clashing together with each hop of the vessel over the cresting waves. The wind would catch the craft every now and again, sending it sideways, but Sealand was experienced in traversing difficult waters, and corrected it easily enough. At this speed, the water was as unforgiving as cement, and the salty spray felt like small, gelid needles hitting his face. Pulling the hood of his windbreaker up over his head, Sealand urged the craft onward, enduring the difficult conditions until he hit the shore.

After beaching the boat, the boy tied it to a post at a nearby pier, using a chain and padlock for some sense of security. Then he was off, walking up the rocky beach until he hit a road.

Transportation on land was always a strange thing for Sealand. Since he owned no car, he was forced to call a taxi, the driver of which was invariably surprised at the young boy's situation. It didn't take much observation to see that it was odd for a twelve year old boy to be alone and without transportation in a relatively out-of-the-way area, but money earned their service regardless of its irregularity.

The drive to London was just over two hours, and Sealand took no interest in any of it. He detested car rides simply because they made him feel so confined. He'd much rather be traveling there in a boat, with the open sea around him and the wind in his hair - even if the weather wasn't exactly desirable at the moment, he would feel infinitely more free. In the cab, he was reduced to incessant, awkward fidgeting while listening to the bad music choices of an apathetic driver.

Once arriving in London, Sealand paid the driver an obscene amount of money. Taxis weren't cheap, mind you, and the only way that he was able to afford the thing was because he was actually rather good managing his money. One had to be when they were so isolated. Besides, he didn't get out very much, so there wasn't a lot he could do in terms of wasting it. He just saved it until he could leave and do something useful with that cash.

Whether or not this would be useful remained to be seen.

Sealand stepped out of the car, looking at the seemingly normal townhouse before him. It blended in rather well with the other buildings surrounding it. If one didn't know precisely who resided here, it would be easily overlooked.

The sky was cloudy here as well, but more so than back at home. A storm was clearly coming in, as the horizon was swelling with a dark, purplish-gray streak that ushered in a cold wind. Sealand took a moment to observe it, ignoring the sound of tires against asphalt as the taxi drove away.

Looking back down to the dwelling in front of him, the micronation had to pause to gather his nerve. He had quite a lot of memories of this place, and nearly all of them were fond. He could recall running around the house as he pleased, exploring every nook and cranny of the place. It was all so pretty and grand and beautiful. He'd wanted to have a place like it when he got older.

Walking up to the tall, oaken door, Sealand stood on his toes to grasp the brass knocker. He rapped the door thrice, then returned to his normal stance and waited.
One second passed, then two. Ten, fifteen, then twenty more, and Sealand began to think that no one was home. Just before he turned away the doorknob twisted, and the familiar face of his closest relative appeared in the now fully-exposed threshold. Emerald eyes gazed down upon him with an expression of genuine surprise, which morphed into vague vexation.

"Oh, it's you. What - have you come to mock me?" he asked, a bit defensively.

A frown crossed Sealand's face upon registering the nerve of this man! Why did he always have to assume the worst? Keeping his head held high, he made eye contact with Britain, a bit of irritance crossing his own face, but his words kept tentatively polite.

"No, Arthur. I've just come to talk."

This clearly caught England off guard. He had been expecting some sort of nonsense, given Peter's usual childish antics. He'd thought that perhaps the other had only come here to stir up even more drama over his departure, as if there wasn't enough already. He certainly hadn't been prepared for the serious tone the kid had taken up, which made him seem jaded and many years older than he actually was. He'd even used his human name, which was off-putting, since the larger country was accustomed to being called Jerk Britain, or some variant thereof.

In all honesty, England was almost alarmed. Had something horrible occurred?

"Right. Well," he said, made somewhat awkward by the novelty of inviting the peculiar, mischief-making child into his home, "Come in, then."

Sealand watched as England stepped aside, ushering him in. He stepped over the threshold, his boots making small thuds against the hardwood floor of the foyer. He could remember sliding around on it in his socks when he was younger, much like Tom Cruise - albeit many years before Tom Cruise was even born. Instinctively recalling the rules of the house, Sealand removed his boots there, hearing England's gentle chastisements from long ago about scuffing the polished floor.

England lingered as he did so, somewhat impressed by the show of good manners, but not showing any such emotion. He led Sealand to the bookcase-lined living room shortly after, sitting him down at a needlepoint-stitched chair and taking a seat himself upon a small sofa, across a coffee table that was strewn with miscellaneous papers and important-looking folders.

At first glance, Sealand felt as if he had unwittingly stepped back in time. But upon a second, more observational gaze, he began to notice just how absurdly unaltered the place was.

Everything was precisely how he recalled it, down from the antique, maroon cabriole-legged sofa to the thoughtfully-placed tapestry area rug, which displayed the scene of a countryside lake in muted colors. The walls were still a dark brown color, and the left side of the living room still supported a massive framed map depicting the British isles. Sealand had gazed at that map many times, learning the land that he'd come from. It was astonishing to see that the place had been nearly completely unaltered by the passing of seventy years. Even the papers strewn about the room were familiar, as they accumulated in places he would have expected them to.

Back during the war, England had been exceedingly busy. Even when he came home during 'rest' periods, he stayed up late into the night planning and preparing to take on the Axis. The house had constantly been filled with loose leaf paper, the outdated reports being tossed into a bin in the far corner - which now was in the same place, and overflowing, just as it had then. Things that could prove to be of use soon were stacked in a pile on the nearest bookshelf, and whatever he was working on would likely be cast about the coffee table, where he could contemplate them while sipping his afternoon tea. Both of those groups were present yet, but instead of relating to war plans and military reports, they were discussing his complex economy and international affairs.

"So, what have you come to me to discuss?" England asked, watching over the boy with what appeared to be an expression of both suspicion and concern.
"Well.." Sealand began, feeling a bit awkward, "You made a big decision. I didn't want you to be completely alone because of it."

The words took a few moments for England to comprehend. Not only was such sympathies uncommon in general, but he never would have expected it from anyone, much less the vivacious little micronation that seemed to hate his guts. But once he came to reassure himself that he wasn't insane, and that Sealand had actually said such a thing, England began to realize that this would be a much more profound meeting than he had initially thought it to be.

"And, uh, I got you something." The smaller blonde said quickly afterward, pulling a brown paper package from his slicker. He handed it to England, who took it in a state of near shock.

"Peter, are you trying to-"

"Just open it, you git."

Hastened somewhat by those words, England redirected his attention to the gift, and slowly began to pull away the brown paper bag. After unraveling it, he saw that it was a bag of Da Hong Pao tea, which would probably last him about a month.

While it was true that Sealand often proclaimed his extreme dislike of England, there was no doubt that the boy was British. He'd inherited far too much from the larger island to be able to deny his bloodline. The kinship showed not only in his appearance, but in his attitude, manner of speaking, and in his extreme fondness of tea. When it came to a taste for the beverage, the two were nearly identical, the younger having ascertained quite a bit of knowledge about the subject while in England's care. The boy had been raised on Earl Grey, but he'd always enjoyed trying other types outside of black tea, such as the green and red teas of Asia and Africa. With such great literacy, - and the time to go through the trouble of obtaining rare brands - he had been able to get England the gift that he, and only he, could appreciate to a great extent.

"Peter, this is very kind of you..." England said, looking back up to the other with the same expression of astonishment, "Thank you - but why have you done this?"
"I - well..." Sealand shifted a bit, seeming oddly flustered by the question. In all honesty, he'd just felt bad for England, but he couldn't just outright say that without looking weak. Besides, there was another way of looking at it that had assisted him in making the bold decision to go through with this, and stating that alone would be justification enough. "You might be an insufferable disgrace to the Kirkland name, but I'm not."

"I'm- pardon me?" England responded, raising a brow as he scoffed, clearly ruffled at the statement. In a manner that was half amused and half contemptuous, he responded, "Why, I defined the Kirkland name! If it weren't for me, you wouldn't bear it. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even be here to say such ridiculous things."
In that moment, Sealand transitioned from day to night. In an explosion of fury, he exclaimed, "Do you expect me to care? Why should I, when you treated me as if I weren't even here in the first place?!"

The instantaneous mood swing caught England off guard, and he was left absolutely speechless as he watched Sealand stand. The effect that would have been had with most other nations was lost by the boy's lack of height - at his full extension, he was only as tall as England when the latter was sitting. However, his change of expression was still quite profound; His entire body was taut with rage, and was visibly quivering, whatever inklings of goodwill that had originally driven him to visit England having vanished. Already his eyes were misty, making the bright cerulean of his irises appear like a tumultuous ocean.

"Was that your idea of family? Casting me aside and pretending like I didn't exist after the war was over? What, you couldn't have found some other use for me?!" Sealand continued, his hands clenching into fists as his raised voice conveyed years of pain and loneliness that had built up in his chest, not unlike oil beneath the sea floor. He hadn't expected to become so impassioned upon deciding to visit Britain, but he was far too caught up in a confusing whirlwind of emotions to notice that it was getting out of hand.

"You never cared so little about any of your other siblings! When America got tired of your shit and claimed independence, you cared enough to declare war! I see now why he left - anyone in their right mind would be ashamed to share your blood!" Sealand continued his verbal slaughter unrelentingly, and all England could do was take it, stunned by every moment of it.

"Furthermore, why did you ever make me, if I meant almost nothing to you?!" Sealand took in a shaky breath, his lungs beginning to burn. "Agh, you're a low, worthless bast-"

A drop of saltwater broke free of his left eye, running down his cheek. The sensation stopped him, as it had caught him by surprise. Raising a hand, Sealand wiped it away, coming to realize just how bothered he'd become. In his outrage, the boy hadn't even realized that he'd been driven to tears, though he was now acutely aware of it thanks to the stinging of his eyes and the cool sensation of the trail the water had left. Looking down to his hand, he stared at the drop as it was soaked up by his skin, in near disbelief of how weak he'd turned in front of a large country.

He looked back up to England with a gaze of ice, and seethed the dreaded words that made him wince.

"I hate you."

The boy turned and began to leave the home, widening the distance between them at a brisk pace.

England, released from his immobilizing stupor, leapt up from his sofa, the tea dropping from his hands. In an instant he had caught up to the boy, a hand reaching out to grab his wrist.

"Peter, wait-!"

"Don't touch me!" Sealand responded, pivoting on his heel and slapping England's hand away, "Don't you ever touch me, or so help me, I will-"

Caught up in emotion himself, England hugged the micronation, kneeling as he did so.

Sealand protested, hitting and scratching and kicking and flailing in an attempt to break free, but it was ineffective, as England was infinitely stronger than he. After thirty long seconds of fruitless struggle, he was coerced to stop, though he continued to voice his displeasure.

"Let me go, you wanker!"

"No." England responded decisively, tightening his grip around the boy and picking him up. He turned and walked back to the living room, sitting down and placing the kid on his lap. Once there, he continued to embrace him, running a hand through his blond hair, which he noticed was bare, as it was one of the rare times that Sealand was unable to wear his usual sailor outfit.

England had been through quite a lot over the years, and he'd made many decisions that he'd come to regret. When one existed for so long, it was inevitable - naturally, every country had a growing list of things they wished they could change. Seeing just how much he'd hurt a child was one of the most profound things that had ever happened to him, and in that moment, he was overcome with guilt.

The second world war was quite possibly the most traumatic thing that England had ever gone through, as it was for many other nations who were involved in it. Despite being on the winning side, he'd been badly beaten, and his main concern was rebuilding and trying to come back from the edge of hell. With so much work to focus on, he'd more or less forgotten about Sealand, who had served him faithfully throughout the course of the war, regardless of the fact that being born into a world set on destroying itself was a terrifying thing for a young lad.

Even after recovering, England had made some conscious decision to leave him be. At the time, he'd been sure that Sealand would be fine. He was a Brit, and if there was one thing that England had learned from years of colonization, it was that the Brits could take care of themselves, especially if they were separated from the mainland by the sea.

Then, Sealand claimed independence.

Although it was absurd, England only took it as further reassurance that Sealand was fine on his own. Brits were perfectly capable of caring for themselves, especially when separated from the mainland by sea and claiming independence.

Now, it was painfully clear how much of a fool he'd been. The claim of independence wasn't a show of self-sufficiency. It was a way of asking for attention. Sealand had thought that he'd be able to get England to notice and appreciate him again if England had to struggle to retain his loyalty. But it had only hurt him in the long run when England failed to show any sign of caring.

He could only imagine how devastating that must have been. Did he really make Sealand feel so small, insignificant, and worthless, to the point that he'd thought England hadn't even noticed his absence?

Damn it. He didn't know if he could forgive himself for that.

As he sat there, holding the boy in his arms and stroking his hair, it began to rain. The soothing sound of water crashing against the roof pulled England out of his thoughts, and he realized that at some point, Sealand had stopped resisting the gesture. He now rested with his head against England's collar bone as he compliantly leaned into his chest, arms wrapped around the larger nation's torso as he returned the hug.

England sighed, looking down to the top of Sealand's head in remorse.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I shouldn't have abandoned you. That was irresponsible, and you were kind in visiting me in spite of that-" he stopped upon noticing that Sealand's eyes were closed, and he was breathing with the regularity that only sleep could bring. Rationalizing that the poor child was tuckered out from the outburst and the traveling it took to get there, England patted his head and took in another deep breath. "Well, that's perfectly fine." he murmured, petting Sealand's soft hair once again and consenting to hold him indefinitely, dozing off himself as he listened to the rain outside.

A smile spread over Sealand's lips as he too began to fall asleep.