G8 nation meetings in the United States of America were guaranteed to raise England's blood pressure to headache-inducing levels, and this one was worse than most. Usually when the git hosted them he'd choose a nice, isolated place where there was no danger of anything slipping and flew them into and out of private airports. This time, though, the season was all wrong and winter storms had played havoc with flight schedules, and New York's airports were utterly insane.
That was the start. Then there was the way America's face was everywhere. Posters advising travelers of the latest idiotic security measures, advertisements, everything. The American media actually talked about the nation as though they meant the personification, and that on its own was enough to make England's skin crawl.
Having to share a taxi with France didn't help his mood, and being greeted with knowing looks from the hotel staff when he checked in – and not the kind that assumed the frog would be spending more time in someone else's bed than his own, either – was quite enough to have England ready to unleash the full might of the British Empire on anyone who looked at him the wrong way.
It was small consolation that he wasn't the only one who was uneasy: Germany appeared more than a little disturbed, as did Italy Romano. Italy Veneziano was, as always, oblivious. China, too, seemed to find the whole thing rather strange, if the way he pursed his lips was any indication, and Russia had lost that little smile of his for a perplexed expression that was somehow more worrying than Germany's frown.
Worse, Prussia and Canada sat side by side, and both of them were giggling. Whatever that joke was, England didn't want to know about it.
Germany glanced at his watch and sighed. "Well, it appears America is late, as usual." Even though he spoke English well, he'd never managed to soften his accent.
"Of course he is." England didn't bother to suppress sarcasm. The others knew what he was like: they could bloody well live with it. "He wants to make a big 'heroic' entrance."
That made Canada and Prussia giggle even more. Prussia's hiss-snickering might be annoying but it wasn't overly loud, and Canada rarely raised his voice, so it wasn't as though they were disrupting anything, but still... "Just what are you two gits laughing at?"
Russia smiled then. "Ah, England, is probably bad idea to ask. Prussia might tell you."
Germany's nod of agreement wasn't surprising. Prussia had been a Russian client-state for the forty years of the German Democratic Republic, and he'd raised Germany. Both likely knew Prussia better than they liked.
England's short alliances with the man had been purely military and soon over, and Prussia was annoying then.
America breezed in to the conference room then, all brilliant blue eyes and blindingly bright smile and loud, "Dudes! Sorry I'm late, the interview for the Daily Show ran overtime."
The... what? For a long moment England couldn't even think. Interview? Daily Show? Just what kind of madness was this?
China recovered his voice first. "America? This is a very bad joke."
America looked confused. "Joke? Why would you think I'm joking?"
Both Prussia and Canada were having trouble breathing.
"You expose yourself to your people?" Germany demanded loudly enough to make England wince.
America flinched from the shout. "Hell no, I'm not a pervert! I just talk to them, do interviews and stuff."
Silence. Well, almost, since Prussia's wheezing gasps and Canada's soft laughter were quite clear.
Italy Romano exploded into a tirade that mixed Italian and English and more or less translated to, "What kind of idiot are you letting everyone know what you are?" England lost count after the third 'bastardo'.
"Ve... I think America likes to talk to his people." It was possibly the most sensible thing Italy Veneziano had said at one of these meetings, ever.
America turned that too-bright smile on the Italian. "Well, yeah, dude. It's cool. You should see the politicians trying to suck up to me to get me to approve what they want. Man, those guys are the biggest crooks."
Finally, finally, England found the ability to speak. "You can't just tell everyone what you are, you git! They could do anything! They could haul you off to experiment on you, use you in wars, anything!"
"But... they've always known." America folded his arms. "Like, forever. It's just how it is, isn't it?" A little uncertainty leaked into his voice.
France sighed. "Oh, America." He shook his head. "Did England never tell you your nature should be kept a secret?"
The thunderstruck expression on the superpower's face said clearly that England had indeed overlooked that part of America's education.
The explosion of shouting that followed left England torn between wanting to kill his fellow nations and wanting to get intimate with the nearest bottle of half-decent rum. Possibly he should do both, then his headache would be better and he'd be sure it wouldn't recur for a while.
"That's enough!" Prussia's voice cut through the noise, his old battlefield roar. "America, you remember what I told you about how things are done in Europe, right?"
"Well, yeah, dude. Is it still like that?"
Prussia nodded once.
America shrugged. "Sucks to be you guys, then." He smiled around the room. "I've never hidden who I am from my people. I don't have enemies on my borders, and even my civil war was over states who wanted to secede, not someone trying to take over." He made a face. "It sucked, but it wasn't like anyone wanted to control me." A shrug.
England fell into the nearest chair and cradled his head in his hands. "They all know about us, too, don't they?" he moaned.
"Well, duh. I never said so, but I had people asking about other nations back when I was a colony."
How could America be so relaxed? The dangers... Dear God, the things that would happen when a nation was captured by enemy soldiers in wartime, back in the old days. They'd gone into hiding to protect themselves from that, and here was America, bloody Alfred F Jones further out of the closet than a flaming queer in Soho.
Canada spoke then, his soft voice for once heard by every member of the G8. "How else do you think we keep such large lands unified without the kind of army Russia has?" he asked. "Our people all know who we are, although I'm not all over the TV and Internet the way America is."
It was too much, England thought. Far too much. The rest of the G8 could do whatever they chose, but he was going to find some rum and get intimate with it before the implications of the whole mess could catch up with his mind.
Then he was going to find Prussia and force the maddening git to tell him everything he knew about it.