Arthur Kirkland's Problem

Chapter Eleven:

I don't own Hetalia, because Hidekaz Himaruya does! Lucky bard...

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       Alfred blinked awake, the room blurry. He rubbed his eyes, trying to remember where he was. He looked around the room, and it all came back to him once his eyes fell on a bundle of blankets on the bed across from him.

      Britain was asleep, curled up like a small child, his Union Jack comforter only covering his upper torso. His bed was a mess, leading Alfred to the inference that he had rolled a lot during the night, and he had thrown his pillow completely off the bed. Messy blond hair, golden in the sunlight streaming down from the curtain-less window, covered his left eye, his right shut peacefully; his mouth was partially open, announcing softly that he was breathing lightly and regularly. America grinned- Arthur probably wouldn't wake up for a while.

        He stood up, in only his boxers, and walked over to his ally. He brushed the hair out of Britain's face, touseling said hair affectionately. Arthur smiled in his sleep, body curling around itself even more. America blushed lightly, also smiling; he had almost forgotten what England's sincere smile looked like- he hadn't seen one in a long time... His heart couldn't stop pounding, beating so loud that Alfred was afraid it would wake Arthur.

        He pulled his hand back quickly, dropping the hair he had been messing with, trying to ignore how Arthur frowned when he did so. "M'erica..." he murmered in his sleep, still frowning.

       U.S.A.'s heart stopped. He wasn't suppossed to know about countries being humans! Had his subconsious called out to him? 'No,' he told himself sternly, 'He's probably just talking about the actual place, not me...'

        England shifted sharply, his Union Jack sheets falling off him. He was still frowning, but now it seemed more... Alfred couldn't quite remember what the word was. But he didn't like it. England twisted again, his legs uncurling themselves. 'Is Iggy having a nightmare?' America wondered. 'Should I wake him up?'

       England twisted again, breathing becoming ragged; America decided to wake him. He grabbed Arthur's shoulders and shook them so hard that his head was rolling back and forth. Couldn't control his super-hero strength, I guess...

       Britain's eyes snapped open, looking frantically around. The green orbs lingered on America for a moment, as if confused as to who he was, then narrowed when he finally did recognize him. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked venomously.

        "You kept twising in your sleep! I figured that I should wake you because the hero I am doesn't let people have nightmares when he's around! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" America replied brightly.

        "Well don't! It's none of your bloody buisness how I'm sleeping! And you're not my hero!" he hissed.

        "Of course I'm your hero, dude! Who'll protect you when you don't have your gun and bad guys are closing in? Who'll sweep down and save you, just when you think that all hope is lost? Me!"

        "Not even in your dreams, tosser!"

       America placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. "I'm hurt, dude." He broke out snickering. "But seriously, why were you holding a gun yesterday?"

       "It's none of your concern!"

        "Yeah it is- I'm your hero!"

        "You're not my hero!"

        "Yes, I am."

        "No, you're not!"

        "Yeah, I am."