Busby's Chair. A chair so evil it is said to have sent countless men straight to the bowels of hell. A chair so evil that no human can sit on it and live. A chair so evil, its only match is Russia. A chair so evil, it acts as England's ultimate weapon.
America had teased England one too many times, and now England wanted revenge. Even America couldn't escape Busby's curse, especially since he was nowhere near as evil as Russia.
"Today, the teasing stops forever!" England announced to the empty meeting room triumphantly. That upstart ex-colony of his would finally meet his match today. Sure, he had said that a few times now, but today, today he had a plan. Russia would not show up early. England made sure of that by sending an "anonymous" love letter to Belarus, who immediately assumed it was from Russia. The poor Nation had last been heard shouting at Belarus from behind his heavily locked door. There was no way he would show up before America today.
"Ah, England! Good morning!" Target sighted. America entered the room, much louder than he really needed to be, his brief case in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. "Geeze England, you look like shit. Have you not been sleeping well? All that tea getting to you or something?"
England took a step back, not having realized just how close America had gotten in order to examine him. Did he really look that bad? Sure he hadn't slept recently, but how could he? He was only in the middle of a huge war, and constantly worried about what America would do or say next. How was he supposed to sleep?
"I'm fine, America," he snapped, turning away. He glanced at Busby's Chair out of the corner of his eye. Yes, Busby's Chair. It would end today. "Just take a seat."
"Whatever." America shrugged and moved to sit…in a seat across from Busby's Chair.
"Ack, America, you idiot! That's France's chair! Sit in your chair!" England shouted, gesturing towards 'America's' chair.
America gave England a look that clearly said he thought that he had finally gone insane. "Are you sure you're feeling ok, England? You normally fight to have France sit somewhere else anyway."
"Just. Sit. In. Your. Chair," England growled.
"You're so weird," America muttered, but he stood up and began to move to his rightful seat, feeling slightly uncomfortable when he noticed England watching him intensely.
And watch America intensely England did. America had gone from being a source of happiness in his life to the bane of his existence. What happened to the cute America? The one who looked up to him like he was the greatest? The one who listened to him without shooting back a jibe? The one who clung to him and begged him not to go? The one who used to care about him more than any other Nation? The one that he used to raise and—oh shit!
England shook his head, finally coming back to his senses. This was America! He pretty much raised that Nation! And now he was trying to kill him? What kind of Nation was he?
"America! Don't sit there!" He shouted, noticing America hovering over Busby's Chair in a move to sit down.
"What the hell, England?" America grumbled, attempting to stop himself, but slipping, falling straight onto Busby's Chair. The chair started to glow, but America stayed oblivious. "Sit down. Don't sit there. Sit here. Don't sit here. What the hell do you want me to do, England?"
England on the other hand, was staring at America in shock. He had sat in Busby's Chair. Any moment now America would be dragged off to hell, and it would be England's fault. How would England ever live with himself?
But then the unexpected happen.
The chair exploded.
America landed on the floor, his coffee spilling over his bomber jacket and notes, but very much alive.
"What—what happened?" England asked, staring at the spot where Busby's Chair once sat.
"I don't know, but that was kind of awesome, don't you think?" America grinned, getting to his feet. "But now I've got coffee everywhere. Ah well. The hero will persevere!"
The room was silent for a moment before America walked over to England, snapping his fingers in front of his face. "Are you alright, eyebrows? You look like you've seen a ghost. Though, considering it's you, you probably did. Come on, let's go get some more coffee before the others show up. I hear it's going to be a late meeting, anyway. I guess Russia has barricaded himself in his room? I don't know. Let's go!" America grabbed the stunned England's arm and led him out of the room.
Neither one saw the remains of Busby's Chair disappear in a puff of smoke, and neither one heard the sounds of countless disembodied spirits whispering, "The amount of awesome. It was too much for the great Busby's Chair!"