Hey guys, butterfly here, back from dead. Well, sort of. Some of you might remember my old account going under the same name. I got sick of being pressured to finish stories I had been working on so I decided to just take all my works off the site and unplug for a while. Don't get me wrong I love you guys, but this site isn't my life. I have a college degree to finish and a crazy adult world to figure out and I just can't dedicate the same energy and time to writing that I could back in high school.
But I still love this fandom and the stories on here so I decided to create a new account and re-post my old stories, but not everything's coming back. There's a lot of reasons for this: poor writing, shitty plot, bad cliches and rude stereotypes being the big ones. So if one comes back that you had liked then yay! but if you don't see it then there's a good chance it won't be coming back. Sorry but that's just the way it is.
And if you've never heard of me... well then this is hella awkward for the both of us so just carry on...
What Lies Behind the Curtain
It's painful to watch America present at meetings.
Not for the usual reasons that most nations jump to. All they see is America: America the idiot, America the lazy, America the naive, America the oblivious. They see what they want and don't deign to look closer. They've never known him, truly known him, not the way England does. He's been allowed past the curtains, has seen what's underneath the carefully crafted mask America wears like a second skin, and now that he knows he can never go back to the way things once were.
The wool has been torn from his eyes, removed at his own stubborn insistence, and now America's act has turned from vaguely irritating to downright pitiable.
Because, as much as America would love to deny it, he's not completely invincible behind his walls.
As a master of building fortresses to hide himself away from the world, England can certainly appreciate the sheer scale of America's mental walls, the towering turrets and thick stone slabs, but he can also see the way it's beginning to crumble. The cracks show in the earnest glimmer of his eyes, in the obscure way he speaks as if he's begging for someone to take him seriously.
England knows that hidden in his pocket is a flash drive, full of innovative ideas and thoughtful proposals that America has spent sleepless nights compiling. Some of them he's collaborated on, others he's just sat back and watched come to fruition. Each time he's called up to present England thinks that yes this will be the one. Yet, when America stands at the front of the room all that comes out of his mouth are ridiculous, inconceivable ideas that even a child knows are impossible. England recognizes that he wants them to figure it out, for them to know the truth, yet America's afraid; afraid of the unknown.
He knows how to handle the world's reactions to America the idiot, knows what they're about to say before they even know it themselves, but he doesn't know their reaction to a competent America, to a smart America, a cunning America.
And what he doesn't know he fears.
However, no matter how potentially fatal the second hand embarrassment is from watching America make a fool of himself on the world stage, what's even worse is what comes after.
"-so anyways I was thinking that we could make like this really big vacuum and have it suck up like all the excess carbon dioxide in the atmosphere and convert it to oxygen so then there'd be no more global warming!" America proposes, beaming out at the faces of the incredulous nations sitting before him.
Germany lets out an almighty sigh. "Amerika, you must know how ridiculous your idea is?" His tone is brutally honest and only England catches the slight wince before America is cocking his head to the side, giving the germanic nation a look of complete befuddlement and nativity.
"What do you mean? I think it's pretty kickass actually! I'm sure if Japan and I-"
"And how pray tell would you pay for it?" Germany interrupts. America hesitates here.
"Well, I mean it would probably cost a lot, b-but I'm sure if enough countries agreed to splitting the expenses-"
"And what if nobody wants to invest in this worthless project of your's?" Russia interjects, merely giving America one of his fake little smiles when America glares at him. "Your economy has seen better days da? Where would you scrounge up the money?"
Everyone can see where Russia is taking this, and England has to hold himself back from getting up out of his seat and socking Russia in the jaw. He hates him even more when he sees the small frown on America's face because it just doesn't look natural on him, doesn't feel right to see it sitting there instead of a smile- even if his smiles these days are more fake than genuine anything is better there than a frown.
"We would most likely have to borrow money from another country," America states, voice much smaller than it was a few minutes ago.
"You would have to borrow more money," Russia repeats, his voice much louder than necessary and this time England watches America just barely hide his flinch. "And who exactly would you borrow money from hm? You already owe China trillions, not to mention Japan and all the other nations you've borrowed money from. Yet here you are, asking for even more."
"Russia is right," China comments offhandedly. "We can't allow you to default on your loans forever. Perhaps instead of spending your time daydreaming you could figure out how you're going to start paying us all back."
America's gaze drops to the ground, and England can see the way the muscles in his jaw tense and relax, tense and relax, again and again as he tries to hold his tongue. They know that anything he says now will only be taken as the whinings of a child denied its favorite sweet. England though has had enough of the world ganging up on his old colony.
"Alright, I believe that's quite enough." His voice is calm and collected, but there is an unmistakable edge to his words. "I am sure that America is planning to pay everyone he owes a debt to in due time, myself included, but we can't simply expect him to pay it all at once until his economy is back on track. Until then I'm sure you'll all make due as you've done up to this point."
"Aw, looks like we made mommy England mad." Mexico sneers at him and England feels his hackles rise at the sheer indignance in the boy's words. "Al parecer, ella tiene que hacer todo de los Estados Unidos luchando por él." He doesn't know what Mexico's said, but from the way America is glaring daggers at him England knows that it's insulting.
"You better watch your tongue boy-"
"Ooh I'm so scared," Mexico rolls his eyes, "What can possibly be more frightening than a decrepit little island? Oh no, someone save me!"
"I ruled a third of the world while you were still in diapers," England snaps, his face burning with indignant embarrassment. He can just barely hear the low growl coming from America up at the podium. Italy, who is closest to the front of the room, scrambles out of his seat and all but throws himself into Germany's arms, while Japan gives the situation an appraising look.
Mexico looks thoroughly unimpressed. "¿Y ahora? No eres nada ahora. Una pequeña chuchería inútil para colgar fuera del brazo de América."
"¡Cállate!" The words come out of America like a snarl, and England can see that he's absolutely murderous. Everyone can feel the temperature in the room drop as Mexico turns and the two of them stare each other down.
"Usted piensa que usted me puede asustar todavía?" Mexico scoffs. Then he grins and England can hear the alarm bells blaring in his head as Mexico lifts his chin and gives America a haughty look. Japan takes this as his cue to strategically duck beneath the conference table.
"No eres un héroe. Estás cayendo Estados Unidos. Estás desmorona en polvo junto con la isla decrépita que tanto amas."
What happens in the next ten seconds is a blur, but the look on America's face just before he lunges at Mexico will forever be seared into England's memory. The way the blood drains away and the maelstrom of desperation and fury in those stormy blue eyes will haunt his nightmares. America knocks Mexico to the floor and together they roll, throwing wild punches and vicious kicks as they snarl at each other in Spanish. The rest of the nations jump to their feet and rush over to try and pry the two of them apart. Spain and Germany manage to get a hold on Mexico while Canada and Russia restrain America.
"I believe that it would be a good idea to continue these talks tomorrow when we are all more level headed," Germany declares, and everyone nods along in agreement. England follows behind Canada and Russia as they drag America back to his hotel room while Spain and Germany carry Mexico off in the other direction.
"I'll handle things from here," England tells them when they finally deposit the young superpower on his bed. Canada seems wary of leaving his brother alone in such a volatile state, but with a quick glance between him and America he seems to make up his mind, and with a firm nod he and Russia leave. The room is silent aside from America's ragged breathing as England decides what to do next. He wants to know what Mexico said to so completely unravel him, but decides against asking immediately. It will only serve to wind him up even more. No what America needs to do right now is relax.
Nodding to himself, England disappears into the bathroom, thankful that the hotel they were staying in had a fairly large and luxurious bathtub and begins to run the water. As the tub fills he takes one of the hand towels folded above the toilet and fills up a glass of warm water before returning to the main bedroom and making his way to the bed, careful to make sure that America isn't taken by surprise. He dips the hand towel in the water before setting the glass on the nightstand beside him and then turns his attention to America. Mexico got him pretty good, England can only imagine the deep purple-blue his cheekbone will be in the morning, and the split lip doesn't look like it's doing him any favors either. He dabs at cut on his lip and America wordlessly allows him to tilt his head just enough to wash the blood off his cheek. Next he moves to his hands and gently picks them up one at a time and washes off the blood on his knuckles. Some of the blood is his from the skin breaking, but most of it isn't and England is viciously pleased with this fact.
Once all the blood has been washed away and the cuts cleaned he reaches for America's hand and the other nation allows him to pull him to his feet. Nimble fingers make quick work of his dress shirt, sliding it off his shoulders and letting it flutter to the ground. He'll take care of clean up later. Right now he's focused on damage control. He takes only a moment to admire America's bare chest before he's moving on, unbuckling the man's belt and pulling down both his trousers and pants in one go. Wordlessly, America steps out of his clothes, and kicks his shoes and socks off. While America is doing that England works on ridding himself of his own clothing, making his own little pile by his feet.
When they're both naked England takes America's hand once again and leads him to the bathroom where the tub is nicely filled by now, warm steam curling around them as they enter. He tests the water, noting that it's pleasantly hot, just short of scalding, before shutting off the water flow and carefully making his way into the tub. He spreads his legs and looks up at America, making a small gesture for him to join. He hesitates only a second before he's climbing in as well, settling in between England's legs. It's a bit odd being the big spoon in this situation, what with his smaller, scrawny frame and America doesn't quite fit as neatly as he'd wish, but the feeling's easy enough to push away in favor of focusing on the nation in front of him. Reaching out he rests his hands on America's shoulders and proceeds to draw him back so that he's resting against him.
They stay like this, America silent as England runs his hands over his shoulders and down his arms, trying to will the tensed muscles to relax themselves. Though the silence is uncomfortably heavy, England doesn't push it. One thing he has learned over years of dealing with America is that he'll talk when he is ready and only then.
After a few minutes, he finally feels the tight muscles begin to unwind themselves and relax, and he hides his smile in America's hair as he nuzzles it with his nose. A few more minutes and America releases a sigh, the first noise he's made since being dragged from the conference room. England still doesn't try to get him to talk, simply running his hands through damp locks as America continues to relax against him, letting his head loll on his shoulder.
America moves his hand, lifting it above the water and reaching above his head to where England's hands are. He takes one, their fingers twining together, and brings it back down to his chest, England feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his hand.
"H-he-" America breaks the sentence off, and England can feel the deep breath he takes as he tries to speak again. He presses a kiss into his hair, silently encouraging him. "He said that I was falling. That you and I were fading away." England's hand pauses only for a moment before resuming its task of winding through America's hair.
How dare Mexico say something so horrible. It's a universal fear that every nation shares, the terrifying thought that one day they'll cease to exist. Older nations like himself and much of Europe have seen nations come and go constantly, but the younger ones have yet to witness it themselves. The closest they've come to seeing a country disappear was at Prussia's dissolution, but the nation had simply taken on the duties as Eastern Germany and thus saved himself from crumbling away to dust.
Yet the fear still lingers.
And England knows that America is soso susceptible to his fears. They're a constant hum in the back of his head, making him second guess everything he says and does. He remembers the paranoia that had taken hold in him in the fifties, that had nearly pushed him over the edge if England hadn't been there to catch him before he fell.
"That is preposterous," England scoffs. "You're much too powerful to simply fall just like that."
"Rome fell." England feels his chest tighten for a moment at the quietly spoken words.
"You and Rome are nothing alike," England replies quickly. A lie. America and Rome are much too alike for England's comfort at times. "He was in much more dire straits than he was willing to acknowledge."
"He still fell." England's lips press together. The ebb and flow of power is something that every nation experiences. For a long time he'd held that power himself, had hoarded gold and jewels and colonies until his empire was bursting at the seams before it all slipped through his grasp. Despite it all though, he's content with what he's become. In his experience it's the nations that cling too tightly to that power that fall, the ones that refuse to let go and accept their new role in the world behind the scenes.
America though, America has always been different. At least, that's what he believes and England supposes he has no one to blame but himself for that. From his inception he's been at the center of the world's attention- since the day news of the New World came to Europe. He's never known what it's like to not have everyone's eye on him, doesn't know what to do with the fact that countries like India and China are beginning to rise above him, so he tries to maintain the only position he's ever known and ignore the way his influence is ebbing. England can see it all from his vantage point on the sidelines, and his heart aches to see the turmoil inside the man he loves.
"Retirement isn't as horrible as it sounds," England says softly, a small smile gracing his face as America makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. "I'll be right beside you after all."
"I'm not an old man like you," The unspoken yet lingers between them.
"No, no you're not," England breathes. For a minute a calm silence settles over them, and England thinks that if they don't get out of the tub soon they'll become nothing but prunes, but he can't find the heart to get America to move when he's so relaxed for once. Instead he decides to ask him another question that's been nibbling at the back of his head.
"So, what was the real presentation that you were going to give today?"
"Huh? Oh yeah, so my scientists have been working on devices that would act like air purifiers. They'd filter the air so that there'd be acceptable amounts of carbon dioxide in the air. The leftover carbon caught in the machine would be used by scientists, pharmaceutical companies, and really anyone else who would need it. There's already some of this type of thing being done, but there's a lot more research that needs to be done in order to make it more efficient." England nods along.
"And you would need money for the research?" he surmises. America nods his head in affirmation.
"Yeah, and I want to try and get this going on a global scale ya know? The bigger the think tank the better the results right? Japan's also got some guys working on something similar, so I was thinking about bringing this to him and combining forces. It'd also make the whole thing a little bit less expensive on all of us." England once again is stunned by America's creativity and his willingness to include other nations in his plans. He still can't believe that at one point he thought America was nothing but a bumbling idiot without a filter.
"That sounds wonderful dearest," England tells him, and he truly means it. "I'll speak to the Prime Minister about this, but I'm sure he'd be more than willing to lend you some aid." America tilts his head and sends England a grateful smile.
"Thanks babe." A moment later a shiver races up his spine. "Water's getting cold." Indeed the water has gone lukewarm and now borders on cool.
"To bed then?"
"Yeah, bed sounds good." They're both quick to get out of the water and just as England expects his skin is all wrinkled up, but seeing America walk around the room with that soft smile on his face England can't find it in himself to care all that much. After toweling off the two of them crawl under the covers. They've missed dinner, but after such a draining day all England wants is to curl up with America and shut the world away. Food can wait until tomorrow.
Tonight it's England that spoons America, and though England secretly enjoys having America's arms wrapped around him most nights there's something equally comforting about being able to secure the younger nation to his chest. Within minutes America's breathing deepens and evens out. England can feel himself getting closer to nodding off himself, but in the meantime he allows himself to indulge in the nation beside him, feeling the muscle rise and fall beneath his splayed hand, the tickle of golden hair against his cheek, the smell of the sea and the mountains that is uniquely America.
"America?" England whispers curiously. When America makes no movement that indicates he heard him England lets out a sigh and shifts closer.
"Do not worry about falling darling.
For I will always be there to catch you."
Also when I deleted my stories off of here I didn't always save copies of the finished product so if there's something wrong in the language department let me know!