England sighed.

It's been a bloody long day for the allied forces and it's by far not the end of it. They've been having one hell of a crisis, something about France and Germany. That damned pretty boy couldn't keep it to himself — of course he couldn't.
But now it was time for a break. Ten minutes of calm as long as long as he'd stay away from the other nations. They left the room one after another, returning to their bosses for support or some bollocks like that. Finally the last one left (China) and England could relax. He kicked his chair against the nearby wall, feet on his notes and head thrown back. He breathed in silence.

America muttered.

Shocked, the blonde returned to his formal position after he noticed not exactly everybody has left. Well, England couldn't be blamed for not noticing the usually loud and obnoxious youngster. Yet there he sat. Glasses pushed up into his hay coloured hair, hands literally shredding the notes in front of him and eyes wide, starring into nothingness as if he'd seen England on Halloween. England had never seen him like that — wait, incorrect, he did look like that when they were on the battlefield and out America-friendly-food.

Jokes asife. The cheerful and happy man sat there like it was 1781 all over again. England waited for some idiotic comment on how he let his British manners slip until he realised that the other probably didn't even know that he was present. Lucky.

Eventually he rose from the creaky wooddn and walked to the other end of the long, grey table. He could almost feel the negative aura surrounding America when he put a hand on his shoulder.
'A-America?', he inteded to sound confident and relyable but all that descended his mouth were those four broken syllables which always made him feel kind of weird.

The man before him slowly turned around and tilted his head just slightly upwards to catch England's eyes. Their height difference was quite big these days so not much effort was needed.

'You should eat more proper food!', America would've screeched on a normal day. The fact that he didn't was just another indicator that today wasn't a normal day for him at all. America's eyes vanished behind heavy eyelids, eyelashes starting to bathe in his tears.

'Woah, woah...!', England took a step back, swallowing. What was going on?

'England! There's something terribly wrong with me!', he exclaimed hastily between sobs which was almost comical coming from America, by the way.

England's mother instincts kicked in and he quickly sat beside the crying men also called one of the most powerful counrties on the whole planet on France's seat.

'What's wrong with you besides—' No.
No insults now. He's hurting. Shut your filthy mouth, moron.

America calmed down, taking deep breaths and focusing his gaze on his hands.

'Arthur', he whispered. England winced at the sound of his name. 'Your name's Arthur Kirkland. That's what those closest to you call you. Arthur. That's your name on TV and during public speeches. That's the fucking name you told me about after you returned half dead on that stormy night.'

England narrowed his brows in confusion. He couldn't dollow the other's thought process at all. This was weird. Was he crying about his name. Could this all be nothing more than a joke?!

'What's your problem with my bloody name you wanker?!'

'Please, England, let's talk like normal people for once, shall we?'

The older slowly lowered his finger pointing at America which he didn't even remember having raised. 'I've talked abou this with a lot of nations younger than me. Iceland, for example, told me he could see it when he closed his eyes, Wy and Hong Kong, too. They see it, Arthur, they see it!'

'Please don't call me that', England cut in. 'And what are you even talking about?'

'The names! The names!', America whisper-shouted like it was a secret that should be kept from the other nations. 'I don't have a friggin' name!'

'You do't?', probably not the right thing to say but England did it anyway.

Even more uncertain than before, America continued, Voice shaky. 'I've never even got close to finding out what my name is. Everybody has their own unique story about how they've finally found out. And I still don't have the slightest clue', desperation and selfdoubt reflected themselves in blue eyes. 'I'm worried, England', America fumbled with his hands. 'Maybe I'm fading, maybe I'm dying... am I fading, England?!'

He stared directly into his former guardian's eyes. He could feel that this question meant so much more than the words he put it in.

'No', he stated clear and loud. 'Just because you don't have a name yet doesn't mean you're a goner. You're just too inexperienced. Don't beat yourself up over something you can't control. It'll only hurt your people and you most of all.'

America stared up at him.

Up?

When did he stand up? When did he put his hands on America's shoulders? When did he get so close to America's face with his own?!

'Aww England that's totally going in today's report!', the old America shone through the tears and messy hair. He wiped his tears and put his glasses back on his nose. A happy smile plastered America's face before he pulled England in a tight hug. Although England was standing in a rather uncomfortable position he still returned it and oatted America's soft hair.

'You know what Iceland also told me about?', America asked, breaking the silence.

'What?'

'He could hear Norway calling out his name in memories of his early years which he had forgotten until then.'

England hesitated. Iceland and Norway were brothers by blood if something like that was even possible. He hoped America wouldn't get his hopes up too high — why would he even want that? Nevertheless was America squeezed tighter to England's body before latter pulled back.

England sighed...

...of pure happiness.

I'm so sorry that the first version was such a mess! I don't know how it happened but now it should be okay. Thank you so much ElricGurl for making me aware of this!