"Engwand?"

"Hm?"

"Why do you do dat?"

England had to finish working on his upper lip before he could answer. "Do what, America?" he asked; never taking his eyes off of the looking glass, as he carefully moved on to another part of his face.

"Dat," America repeated, pointing up to England's face innocently. "Why do you do dat every mornin'?"

England finally glanced down at America to see the curious child pointing at his face. "Oh, you are referring this?" he asked with a gesture to his razor. "I am only shaving." The nation turned back to the mirror to continue his work, but his young colony was not satisfied.

"Why do ya shave for?"

"It's 'Why do you shave?'" England corrected. "And I do it, because I must."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Well…" England tried not to lose focus on his delicate morning ritual, while at the same time, his mind worked to come up with a more informed answer that would satisfy his charge's abundant curiosity. "Because if I didn't…the hair on my face would grow out." The Brit didn't always multitask well.

"Why?"

England rolled his eyes. He was not in the mood for bout with the boy's never-ending questions this early in the morning. He leaned in for a closer inspection of his image in the mirror and tried to ignore America. If he was lucky, the child would notice something shiny in the room and forget all about this shaving thing.

"Engwand!"

But soon, the busy man felt a tugging on his pants and heard his little one's voice crying out with more force. The younger was apparently determined to get his big brother's attention.

"I said why come you gots hair gwowing on your face?"

"Why do I have hair growing on my face?" England tiredly corrected. It seemed like he was constantly correcting the boy's horrid English. Veteran parents that England knew assured him that America would grow out of his little speech impediment on his own, but England just couldn't put up with that bad grammar! How was it possible for this little pup to be the genuine living symbol of his American colonies, if the lad couldn't even use correct English?

England was becoming weary of giving out the corrections, however. The pair had been living together for quite a few weeks now, yet it didn't seem to matter how often England corrected America's English. The instructions always seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Maybe he should just let it go. Maybe America was simply too young to understand the value of proper sentence structure. Perhaps the butchering of England's native language would be something the boy would grow out of as well.

"Yeah!" America affirmed below England; clearly not understanding that his guardian had been demonstrating the correct version of the question for his benefit. "Why come you gots hair gwowing on your face?" he repeated in the incorrect way once more.

England sighed. He wasn't going to get out of this easily, was he? He dipped his blade in the bowl of water on his dresser before continuing his task. "Because…" the nation spoke slowly, still trying to keep his concentration. "…that…that is simply the way man was made," he finally mumbled in exasperation, opting for the typical adult "That's-just-the-way-things-are" explanation.

Surprisingly, young America got quiet after that. The youngster carefully considered the answer for a few seconds before speaking up again. His tiny hands began to rub his soft cheeks, experimentally.

"But my face don't gots hair," he pointed out at last.

"Of course not," England confirmed as he stretched one cheek a bit, trying to get a closer shave. "That is what happens when one is an adult."

"Is dat bad?" Baby-blue eyes suddenly went wide in realization. If England, and every other adult man America knew, shaved his face, then the boy was starting to wonder if facial hair was some sort of awful epidemic that he would have to watch out for in the future. And on that note, did he also have to avoid being infected with caterpillar eyebrows? It was obviously too late for his caretaker's brows. England seemed to have already fallen prey to those thick clusters of hair—which America firmly believed were too strong to be shaved off. Poor England! Maybe America could find a cure for his unfortunate brother one day?

"Not exactly," England mumbled carefully in reply. It was an interesting challenge for him to talk and shave at the same time. "It's normal."

This new information greatly relieved the American boy, but also made the act of shaving more puzzling for him. "Den why do ya hafta shave it off for?" the small colony persisted with ever-mounting confusion on the subject. It was a difficult thing for someone his age to understand. If face hair was "normal," then why go to the trouble of removing it every single morning?

"Oh for heaven's sake!" England muttered under his breath as he rinsed his razor in the bowl once more. Never mind how badly constructed that sentence had been, why did America always get fixated on the silliest of things! Did all children do that? England truly loved America to death, but honestly, the child could be such a handful at times. There were numerous instances when England was at a loss of how to handle the little monkey. See, for all the expertise the ancient nation had collected over the years on various subjects, including battle strategies, weapons handling, sailing, magical arts, teas, embroidery, fine craftsmanships, and many lifetimes more of subjects, England was unfortunately no expert on children.

In fact, America was the first child with whom England had ever spent a serious amount of time. Of course, the boy wasn't a normal "child." Like England, America was a human-like representation of land. The young American had special abilities that even the biggest novice on children would know that normal human youth just didn't possess (his buffalo-twirling strength for one). However, because of England's own lack of experience with not only children, but national personified children as well, the man was never fully certain that anything about America was normal. For instance, sometimes England wondered if all children where as hyper and annoying as his new little grouping of colonies could be, or if America was just special in that regard, as well. Other times, England wondered if all personified children were as perceptive as America sometimes appeared to be, or if that was a human trait.

The blonde nation didn't have anything to compare America to. England was the baby of his own family, and he was an island nation, so he had never really had any fellow countries as playmates (except for France sometimes, but even that bothersome wanker had been older than England). The hard truth was that England had grown up very much alone. His childhood had been a harsh time period for anyone to grow up in, but England had had it more difficult than many children his age. Because of what he was, he had had special responsibilities to his countrymen, but as far as any reliable relationships went, England had never really had any as a child. He had unfortunately never been able to get along with his abusive older brothers. Always feeling dejected and pressured, England had made a habit of keeping to himself from a very young age. The closest things he had had to friends were his fairy companions, yet even they could be unpredictable beasts at times. When England took the time to consider it, he was certain that there had been a few times he had played with human children, but those instances had been so rare and so long ago, that the nation couldn't clearly recall much about them.

So that is why America was something totally foreign to England. America was both a human child and, in essence, a newborn national persona. Normal human children were mystery enough to England, but it's not like there were any "What to Expect from a Child-Nation" books that England could look up for a reference, so deciding how to raise America was sometimes tricky.

Besides, the hopeless Brit had no CLUE what a normal childhood was supposed to be like. Most of what he was doing with America was guesswork. In the beginning, England had figured that acting as the lad's "big brother" would not be at all difficult. After all, England was a land representative himself, so he had concluded that he and America couldn't be too different from each other. And besides, he would be the one in charge! America might have been young, but the lad would certainly understand the basic protocol of subservient nations, right? Even England had learned those hard lessons very early in life. In the height of England's naiveté, the man had convinced himself that owning America would be similar to having a highly domesticated and well-behaved pet.

Needless to say, it hadn't taken long for that illusion to shatter. Currently, after many weeks and much trial and error with his adorably troublesome colony, England was at long last starting to feel like he was getting the hang of this child-care thing. In the end, it wasn't so bad, but it was not what England had been expecting at all. But the biggest surprise that had come of it, the one thing that England had never, ever expected to happen, was that he had become so emotionally involved with his newly-acquired colony. In the beginning, the goal of obtaining America all for himself had spawned from England's desire for the rich profit that would come with a secure stronghold in The New World. He had never had any intention of harming little America (as long as the child behaved), but in England's mind, America had been little more than a goldmine of natural resources, ripe for the taking. Of course England had always planned to take good care of America—or at least, of America the boy. Why would he abuse such a valuable possession? But in the empire's mind, the boundaries had been clear between America and he. America was his subordinate. He was America's sovereign. England would treat the boy well, and America would come to serve him well.

But once again, the strange child of the American lands had managed to burst all of England's expectations like they were nothing. And all America had done was love the other. America, in all his innocence, had embraced England as a beloved big brother from the very start. America's honest adoration for England had totally blindsided the former pirate. England had tried to fight it at first, but in the end, it had been no use. Bit by bit, America had chipped away at all of England's defenses and had snuck his way into the proud kingdom's heart. Now, even though the "Master/Subject" boundaries between the two nationalities still technically existed, they were no longer of great importance to the Englishman. England saw America as the brother and companion that he had never had. America was England's little miracle. The old country, who had grown so accustomed to looking out for number one, had never dreamt that he would ever be truly loved by anyone else, nor that he would come to care for any one person more than he did for himself! Yet, here he was. England could hardly believe it, but he honestly loved America more than anything else in the world. Even so, just like with any little sibling, America still managed to get on his new big brother's nerves every now and then. Like now, for example:

"Because if I didn't shave every morning," England replied in an irritated tone, "I'd soon have a full-grown beard on my hands!" With that, England raised the blade once more, and began attending to his jawline. "Or rather…" he muttered in thought, afterwards, "on my face…I suppose…."

"But dat would be fun!" America suddenly exclaimed from below.

England glanced down at the smiling child.

"If I could gwow a beard, I'd wanna keep it, and make it weal wong!"

The older nation snickered, despite still being annoyed. He turned back to the mirror and began scraping his neck. "Beards are unseemly," he instructed. "You won't be growing one as long as I'm around."

"But why?" America sounded very disappointed. "I wike beards! Why do people shave if da hair is s'possta be there? And even if ya shave it, it just gwows back again." The boy clearly did not understand the point of the ritual.

Well, England had had enough by this point. "It's…a matter of principle," he stated firmly, as he finished the up on section he was working on. Once that was done, he turned his full attention to his adopted brother. Seeing that a teaching moment was greatly wanting in this situation, England pointed the razor at America (not threateningly, but as if it were a school instructor's pointer), and launched into a full-blown, highly educated, lecture on the ways of the world. The man looked a little silly, speaking so importantly with shaving soap still dotting various parts of his face, but England wanted to get this conversation settled and out of the way. He wanted to clear up all confusion for his little brother so that that there would be no more irksome questions to worry about.

"See here lad, civilized society will not take one seriously as a gentleman if one has an unkempt appearance. Whiskers and beards give off such an impression. One must always strive to look one's best, and a clean-shaven countenance looks the best, by far. Shaving is much like any other type of grooming. In the same way that one combs the hair, or washes the hands every day, a proper gentlemen must also discipline himself to shave the face every morning in order to prevent his appearance from getting out of hand. That is why this custom is quite important. Do you understand?"

America cocked his head and stared with wide, blinking eyes at his parental figure. What was a kid supposed to say after a lengthy and wordy explanation like that? "Uh…okay," the mixed-up boy managed at last.

England had used a lot of big words that America didn't understand, but the bright-eyed tot decided it would be best not to question his guardian, further. That last statement had sounded more like an order than a question. England had apparently been expecting America to understand, and America didn't want to disappoint his big brother. The boy didn't want to be looked down on as a dummy who couldn't understand something that was (apparently) a very simple issue. If England said shaving was important, then it was important. Case closed…for now, anyway.

England smiled. "Good." His message had been received and understood by his young protégé. How pleasing. Maybe his teaching skills were improving. It was exasperating work at times, but when all was said and done, it felt good to impart some knowledge on the younger, more impressionable generation. Now England could return to his shave with no further interruptions.

Meanwhile, America was mulling over something new. From his spot on the floor, America had watched England as he started to shave again. England's morning routine was nothing new to the nipper. America was one of those early riser children, so he usually witnessed this shaving event every morning, but this was the first morning that America had started to ponder what it all meant. And after the conversation that had just occurred on the subject, America found that his interest had been all the more tweaked. Little eyes paid special attention to England as he brushed away the soap with his razor. The boy circled his guardian, as if trying to get better viewpoints on a fine art. England, unaware that he was being watched so closely, continued in his work like nothing was wrong. America finally had to cock his head again. He still didn't understand the logic behind shaving, but now that he really thought about it…the prospect did have a strange attraction to it.

"Engwand?" America tugged on his elder's pant leg once more.

"Yes?"

"Dat wooks wike fun. Can I twy?" America held out his hands as he spoke, fully expecting to have the razor blade handed to him.

England started at the new question. He looked down at America and his upturned hands. "You want to shave?" he asked in a surprised voice.

"Uh-huh!" America stood up straight as he spoke. "I wanna be a…a gen-twul-man, too!"

England just couldn't help grinning at his sibling's too-cute desire, but he also had to shake his head at it. "Alfred, you are far too young for shaving," the older blonde chuckled out, while turning back to his looking glass.

"Pwease?" America pleaded, sweetly.

"You do not even have any hair on your face to shave," England brought up the key factor needed to justify a shave, which America was clearly missing.

America didn't care. "But I wanna shave, wike you do!" his little voice persisted. "You said it's important!"

"I did—for grown men," England replied more firmly. By now, he had finished his shave and was clearing his dresser top.

"But I'm big enough," America muttered, stubbornly. His tiny fists were clinching and his lips were sticking out in a pouty way. The boy was trying to look serious, but his willful, childish expression only made him look cuter.

England's emerald eyes only sparkled at the adorable tike, as he shook his head once more. "Not big enough this time, lad," he said with a pat on America's bed-head. "Sorry." With that, the nation cupped his hands in the basin of water and began rinsing his face.

America whined and pouted more. This was not fair! His brother was always telling him that he was a big boy, and that he should act like it. But then, England would turn around and say he was too little to do the things he really wanted to do. America was at a loss again. Why was it that he was "big enough" to pick up his own toys, learn manners, and not to throw tantrums, but not big enough to shave?

"But—"

"No buts, young man," England spoke through the handkerchief he was using to pat his face dry. "You may shave when you are older. I want no more complaints out of you. Understood?" England was avoiding America's eyes and doing his best to sound stern. It was not always easy for him to put his foot down with those cute, blue, puppy eyes pleading with him. Still, this was something England knew he couldn't give into. He might spoil America in other ways, but he would not allow his child to do something that was unsafe.

America looked down and whined like a dog that had just been kicked. England took a deep breath. He had to hold strong.

"You pwomise?" America asked; eyes filling up fast with crocodile tears.

England kneeled down and ruffled America's hair, trying to cheer the boy. "I promise," he assured as he did so. England prayed that was the end of it, but when America's head came up again, the man could see in his face that he hadn't quite given up, yet.

"But Engwand—"

"What's say we find you a sturdy breakfast, eh?" England cut in, quickly.

Just like magic, America's wet eyes cleared and the boy's face brightened. "Bweakfast?" he exclaimed. "Yay!" he cheered before jumping into England's open arms. "I'm hungwy!"

England let out a sigh of relief. "Do tell," he said with a happy sarcasm. Of course America was hungry. Was there ever a time he wasn't? Thank goodness for the lad's bottomless appetite! If there was one parenting-America-trick that England had learned, it was that the mention of food usually worked wonders on the colony's disposition. Most of the time, it even made America forget all about everything else.

England lifted America up, beaming in secret pride that the special trick had worked once again, and headed for the kitchen. "Well, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?"

A few days later….

"Come on, Engwand! Wet's go outside!"

England stumbled along as the tiny Hercules pulled him away from his half-eaten early breakfast. The nation protested through a hard yawn. "Not this early in the morning, America."

It had been a late night. The time had finally come for England to tackle a workload of official business that he had been neglecting for some time. The poor representative had spent half the night on paperwork. He had been writing letters, mostly; letters that would be addressed to government officials all throughout the British colonies and in England. The colonists were unhappy again. It seemed those people lived to complain over every little thing. If only they knew how much unnecessary work it created for the blonde, English gentleman.

At least England could be glad of the fact that little America did not seem to be affected by the ill-will many colonists felt towards the crown. Usually, if a country's people were up in arms over any certain issue, the nation's representative might experience an attitude change that reflected the opinions of the populace. Yet, America was still just as attached to his big brother, England, as ever. As it was, the boy didn't even know about the developing problems in his colonies. That was strange, because even if a country's human personification, by some miracle, remained unaware of their people's strong feelings towards the government, they usually at least had a sense that something was wrong. And yet, America seemed to be going on about life as he always did. To the boy, all was well in the world and there was nothing but plenty of sunshine heading his way! England took America's unchanged feelings, and high spirits as a good sign. He hoped that they meant the complaints were nothing serious to worry about. Still, the empire didn't want to tell America about the recent troubles. There was no reason for the boy to be bothered with adult matters that would be solved any day now and would soon be forgotten.

"Den we can pway inside!" America proclaimed. "Come on!"

England lagged behind America on the way to the living room. That area was a favorite place of America's for indoor play. The room was large and open. Many neglected toys were strewn across its floor. England cursed to himself every time he saw those toys. He kept meaning to pick those up, but he never seemed to get around to it. It had been impossible the night before, because of all the urgent paperwork. But as if that undesirable business had not been bad enough, America had woken up in the middle that night, as well. Getting that boy to sleep at night was usually difficult, but it never mattered how late America fell asleep. That little rascal's body seemed to have an inner timer that went off and woke him in the middle of every single night. England had been forced to take a time out from his busy work to coax America back into slumber.

"We can pway piwates!" America was going on in excitement. He ran in circles around the living room, calling out suggestions for playtime. "Or Indians!" he offered. He seemed to be having a hard time making up his mind.

All this time, England was groaning. The idea of running around the room with America was making his fatigued muscles ache. He didn't even think that his mind had enough strength play along with imaginary games.

"America—"

"Or piwate-Indians!" America switched gears again and came up with a whole new game. "You can be a-captured by da piwate-Indians, and I can save ya!"

Oh good heavens, did he have too? After last night, all England wanted to do was take a holiday from grueling business and (as much as he loved America) the sounds of a small child vying for his attention. Getting back to the previous night, after America had been put to bed for a second time, England had returned to his work. Hours later, as soon as all the work was complete, the weary nation had fallen asleep at his desk. However, it seemed like no sooner had he fallen asleep, than he had found himself aroused by the sounds of a crying child.

It turned out, America had wet his bed again. England had been furious with himself! He had known that he shouldn't have given into the boy's request for a drink of water, after America had woken up the first time. Well, he had paid dearly for it. America and his mattress had received a thorough cleaning after that. America always hated washing of any kind, so that had not been an enjoyable experience. Once the mattress had been rinsed and left outside to air out, England had finally been able to turn in with America in his own room. But by then, there had only been about an hour or two to go before morning. Energetic America, like always, had risen with the sun, tugging England out of bed along with him.

Now, as England watched his little bundle of joy bouncing around the living room, he repeated a solemn vow to himself that he had taken up not too long ago. Only a few short weeks after the day England took in America, he had made a vow that he would do his best to NEVER look down on the honest work of housewives again! In all of his long days on earth, England had fought countless trying battles. Many in which he didn't sleep for days at a time! The hardened Englishman had lived through hundreds of tribulations that had pushed his mind, body, and soul to their limits, but none were so testing as parenthood! Attempting to run a household, while single-parenting a messy, hyper-active child like America, was truly a battlefield in its own rights!

England's original plan had not been to raise America himself. Originally, he had perceived that the best course of action would be to hire a few servants to deal with the primary care-taking of the child, once he gained full possession of him. England would have overseed the care of America by coming around to check on the lad whenever he had the inclination. Of course, all this had been dreamed up long before England had come to care for America the way he currently did, and it had all changed when England had won the rights to America from France.

Getting America had not been easy. England and France had once both owned territories which they believed belonged to the boy. England had his colonies and France had had his lands in the west. The rival Empires had been at odds over who had the true rights to the boy of America for a long time. They continued to argue over it all throughout the course of the The Seven Years War and the closely related French and Indian Wars. The dispute had seemed unsettleable. Each nation had possessed what they felt was a rightful claim to American lands, but which one should get the American child?

Wanting to end the long debate, but not wanting to share the lad, the competing nations had once decided on a whim to let the boy chose for himself who he wanted as his "big brother." By some unbelievable stroke of luck, America had chosen to stay with England! Still, France had not been ready to give up. He had continued to fight in the war with the hopes that he would eventually win, and be named the owner of America once and for all. Sadly for him, he had actually lost soon after that. However, England could not have been happier! Spain had received France's portion of land in the west, but had shown no interest in sharing the young American personification with England. The Spaniard adored children, but must have felt too burdened already with all of the other child lands he had to deal with. And so England had at long last been crowned the legitimate guardian of little America.

But getting back to the moment in which America had chosen to stay with England; by that certain moment in time, England had become too addicted to America's affections to even consider giving him up to random servants! America had chosen to stay with him! He had won the boy fair and square! America was his, and nobody else's! It had been at that moment that England had made the decision that he would be the one to raise America. He would be the one to support the American youngster as his primary caretaker, at least until the boy was a little older. England had not wanted to leave the vulnerable little tot in the hands of just anybody! And besides, how hard could it be to bring up a child? If human women could do it, the Great British Empire could certainly do it, right?

What on earth had he been thinking?

England couldn't believe how easily he was finding himself succumbing to the weariness of everyday tasks and child-rearing! He must have been getting old. That was the only explanation for it. There were days when England couldn't wait until the boy was old enough to care for himself.

"Why don't you play with your toys?" England tried to suggest.

"Okay! Wanna pway wif my Noah's Ark?" America asked, not getting that England had meant that he should play by himself. "You can be Noah's wife! You do good girl voices!"

"Oh Alfred," England sighed and ran a tired hand through his own hair. "To be honest, I'm not sure I'm feeling up to it, lad."

"Or we could pway wif my spinnin' tops!" America went on, without listening.

"Alfred—"

"I know! Wet's pway wif my ball!" America picked up a small ball and threw it at England.

England was barely able to catch the ball before it flew past his head. "Not in the house!" he suddenly shouted. "How many times do I have to tell you, that?"

America put his hands behind his back and shrank his head into his shoulders. "Sowy," the little one apologized shyly as he shifted a foot around on the floor. "But what are we gonna pway?"

Here, England simply dropped the ball and spoke bluntly. "I am not going to play anything right now, America. I am rather tired. I think I need a small breather." And then, England turned and headed for a nearby chair.

But America did not like this idea. He dove for England and gripped onto the departing nation's shirt. "No!" he cried. "I wanna pway wif' you!"

"I play with you all the time."

"But we always pway after bweakfast!"

"Exactly my point. I am always playing with you. I simply can't keep it up."

"But Engwand!"

"Alfred, surely you can entertain yourself for a short hour," England said as he sat in his favorite chair.

America's paled in disbelief. "An OW-WAH?" he exclaimed; the shock causing him to exaggerate his own impediment.

England merely made himself comfortable, and reached for a newspaper he had been wanting to read. America tried begging and pleading a little more, but England took it as an opportunity to practice his resolve as the official authority. He refused to move from the chair, and after getting tired of the begging, he warned America that the more he whined about it, the longer his "breather" was going to last. America finally gave up, but instead of playing on his own, he chose to pout on the floor. Every minute or so, the youngster would ask England if the time was up, yet?

"You could be having a grand time playing with your toys, instead of sulking," England finally commented.

"But Engwand!" America complained. "I'm BOR-WARD!" To a child, there is no worse fate than being "bored."

"I don't care," England stated firmly. He really was too tired to deal with America's petty complaints. "You're not getting any sympathy from me simply because you are choosing to have a horrid attitude. I'm not getting out of this chair for a good hour, and for your information, asking if the hour is up every few seconds is not going to make the time pass with any more speed. I don't want to hear that question again. The hour will be over when it's over. Rest assured, I will be certain to let you know when it is."

America responded with an exaggerated whine.

"Stop that," England ordered.

"But it's no fun pwaying by myself!"

"Would you prefer a strapping, instead?" England asked calmly. In reality, England had never laid a hand on the child, and doubted that a good reason to do so would ever come up. In England's eyes, America was a good boy, he was just…very lively. When it came down to it, England was hesitant to punish his sweet brother in that way. Since England knew what it was like to live with physically abusive older siblings, the last thing he wanted was for that cycle to be repeated with America. He feared that he would be too harsh if he ever tried to physically chastise the tiny colony. Still, he believed it was good to keep the threat there. That was usually all it took for America to behave.

As predicted, the affect was instant. America ceased all whining and became quiet. "No," he eventually grumbled in a defeated tone of voice.

"Then behave yourself."

America sniffed.

"Oh come, now!" England broke. "It's only for an hour," he encouraged. He tried speaking a little more positively. Maybe he could convince the American lad to have fun on his own. "Just look at all of your nice little toys! Why not pass the time with them?"

"But I wanna pway wif you!" America threw himself at England's feet in one last desperate plea.

England could feel himself starting to weaken at those pitiful dramatics. America was giving him that irresistible puppy-dog look, again. He had to close his eyes to the boy and remind himself that he was the one in charge, not a toddler. "I will be right here if you need me for any emergencies," the resolved country calmly promised, after a steadying breath. "You may play quietly in this room, or sit there and mope. It is your choice." And with that, England held up his newspaper shield once more. He was very tempted to offer some sort of reward to America. He would often promise his adopted sibling special treats in return for good behavior, but he knew that doing so now would only make more needless work for him later. The child couldn't have everything his way, and it was time that he learned that.

At the foot of the chair, it took a few more protests in the form of whiny noises for America to finally get that England was purposefully ignoring him. Angrily, the little colony sat on the floor with his back to the older land. His big brother could be so unfair sometimes!

America was planning to stay sitting there on the floor, set definitely in his unhappy mood during the full wait for the hour's end. Of course, it was not easy for the hyper and easily distracted child to stick to this commitment. Soon, he began shifting around on the floor. Then, he began to idly fiddle with a toy in front of him. And then two…then three. Before he realized it, America was playing cheerfully with his toys; his decision to sit still and sour-faced, long forgotten.

England fully relaxed once he noticed that America was playing. He happily settled back in his chair and read his newspaper. It felt so good to just sit and read for enjoyment. It seemed like forever since he had been able to do that. And there was something quite comforting in hearing the noises of his little brother's own enjoyment in the background, as the mini landmass conducted his imaginary play.

"Engwand, wook!" America did not completely keep his activities to himself, however. "I'm making da animals march!"

England peaked out from behind the newspaper to see that America had lined up his wooden Noah's Ark figures on the floor. "That's nice, lad," he quickly approved. He didn't mind if America spoke to him, just so long as he was not depending on him for his main entertainment.

Luckily, America was content in his own world, but he continued to give England little updates on his play time happenings. England acknowledged these small outbursts, but gradually paid less and less attention to his young ward. The empire's answers slowly became mechanical. He would speak to America without looking, and without even knowing what he was affirming.

"It's a pawade Engwand!" America might say. "Wook!"

"I see," England automatically respond. "That's very nice, America." And it went on like that.

"Engwand! Da wions are chasin' da cows! See?"

"Um-hm. So they are."

"Engwand! Da ewephants sat on da ducks and smushed dem!"

"Yes, yes, very nice."

Before long, England began to nod off. The newspaper seemed less interesting as his weariness overcame him. He battled to keep his blood-shot eyes open, but each blink was lasting longer and longer….

"Engwand?"

England made a groggy noise from behind the newspaper.

"Engwand?" America tried again. "My ark needs a wabbit. Can I go get my bunny from my woom? Engwand?"

"Hm?" England lightly exclaimed with a sleepy jolt. His head involuntarily jerked up. "Oh! Yes. Fine, America. That's fine."

"M'kay!" the child said as he ran out of the room. He had no idea that his half-asleep guardian did not quite realize what was going on. "Be wight back!" America called.

England only grunted and snuggled further into his seat.

America looked all through his room, but his bunny was nowhere to be found. Just as he was starting to get upset, the lad remembered going to bed with England after he had wet the bed the night before. Maybe he had taken his bunny with him?

The tiny colonist quickly ran to his guardian's room to check it out. Sure enough, there was his bunny sitting on the bed. It had been there the whole time. America smiled with relief and playfully scolded his pet for "hiding" in England's room. After pulling his stuffed rabbit off the bed by one of its long ears, America turned and clumsily skipped his way to the doorway. He had been trying to master skipping for the past few days. He wished that England would show him how it all worked again, but the older man refused to demonstrate the proper skipping method anymore. America didn't understand why, but England claimed the action made him look and feel silly. America, in his very young mind, thought that skipping seemed like a fun trick. He was personally amazed that England had the coordination to perform it so easily. But then, that was just another one of the many great things that America's cool big brother could do. America was sure that with practice he would be a master of skipping in no time, just like his big brother, England. The child wanted so much to be able to do everything England could do.

America stumbled a little on his long shirt a few times, but he soon made it to the doorway with little other trouble to speak of. The boy was feeling proud of himself for the progress he had made. He had not tripped and fallen down once that time! Ha! He was so going to be the king of skipping one day. He might even be better than England!

Satisfied with himself, the boy hugged his bunny close and started to walk back to the living room. England was probably wondering where he was. But something made America stop halfway down the hall. He looked back toward England's room. He recalled noticing something out of place in that room. The tiny start of an idea suddenly wormed its way into America's head. If what he had seen was real, then he might be dealing with a golden opportunity. His appetite for adventure and adult pursuits was now hungry for more than just skipping. He walked back to his brother's room and peered in. He was right! England had left his shaving things out!

England usually put up his shaving equipment every morning, but that morning he had neglected the chore. Maybe it had been because America had been whining about his empty tummy and England had been so tired from the previous night's escapades that he had decided to let the cleaning go for that moment. Neither one of the lands had thought much about it at the time. England had been focused on feeding his little brother, and America had practically forgotten all about his desires to shave.

However, now that America had noticed England's sharp razor, just sitting out in the open, unguarded, the desires for that forbidden object were swiftly resurfacing. That razor, in all its glory, was suddenly looking very tempting to sparkling, little boy eyes, far away from any immediate adult supervision. America just gazed longingly at the tool on England's dresser. Should he? He really wanted to…but England had told him he couldn't...no wait. Didn't England say that he could shave when he was older? America looked down the hallway. No England…. Well, that was a few days ago, so technically he was "older" now….

And that was a good enough loophole for America!

It's my first fan fic of the new year! Yay! Sorry to those waiting for the next "Prussian Training" chapter, but it's been FAR too long since I've written a Brother England/Chibi America thing! I missed it, and I think I needed a break from the other story, so I reached deep into the far corners of the documents folder of my computer and decided to finish this super old story. It's not the best, but it was one of the shortest story ideas that I had to work with. The next part will be up today. And fear not. The next thing I get out will most likely be "Prussian Training," now that I've got this done.

Oh, and yes, I've always loved America's little baby talk speech impediment from the 1st volume. I finally decided to experiment with writing it. I might go back to my other fics with toddler America one of these days and change those, too. I don't know. What do you think? But don't get on to me because not every single word with an r or l was switched to a w. The reason for that is because 1. I don't imagine America's speech impediment was extremely severe, just enough to sound cute. And 2. Trying to do that with ALL r and l words while making it look right and readable at the same time is just impossible!

EDIT: More on the baby-talk thing:

Thanks so much to the honest reviewer who was able to tell me they didn't care much for America's baby talk! I wasn't sure myself, how I felt about it. I had always liked the idea of America talking like that from the first time I read it in volume one (and I think I read somewhere that the Japanese version has America speaking baby-talk too), but never wrote it myself because it's difficult to write like that and make it readable, and I know some people find written out accents, speech impediments, and grammar mistakes unnecessary and distracting. I was just inspired by another fic I read a while back (which I thought was a pretty awesome story!) that used America's cutsie speech, to try and write America like that and see what people would say about it. The response has been largely positive on Deviant Art, but I'm sure it still annoyed some people, as it did for the reviewer here.

Well, I really wasn't sure what to do. So, I thought about it for a while, and after taking both sides, mine own leanings, and the advice from others into consideration, I decided to keep the speech impediment (at least for when America is a toddler. He will lose it pretty quickly as he get's older), just tone it down some. Sorry if that might disappoint some people, but so many people (including myself) liked the speech, that it seemed a shame to get rid of it. I will do my best to keep it toned down, though! I changed this fic to try toning down already. And I also changed this chapter a bit to show England trying to correct America's grammar. I do believe that he's a total grammar nazi. ^^ I hope truly hope that is satisfying enough to my readers! I really appreciate all of the constructive criticism that was given to me on this! Thank you.

END EDIT

The toys mentioned were a few examples of the kind of things colonial children played with.