Thank God it's almost over, England thought while he waited - again - for America to arrive. The git was late, as usual, and it wasn't like the rest of the Allied Powers could decide on strategy without him, not least because he'd go and do his own thing no matter what anyone said and England preferred to know what wild scheme America had come up with this time.
At least there were limits to the madness America could try in Europe, with the war almost done and Germany retreating on all fronts. What he did against Japan didn't concern England nearly so much although he was worried about the way Australia and New Zealand had shifted their focus from Europe to Japan. They were too young to be relying on a nation like America: they needed the stability of the British Empire for a century or two, yet.
"Ah, England," As always, France spoke in his own language, refusing to 'sully himself' with what he considered a lesser tongue.
Lately England had humored him: the subdued, frightened creature they'd liberated simply wasn't France. He wanted the annoying pervert back - France the perverted infernal nuisance was predictable, stable. France the terrified, pathetically grateful wreck was not.
"Do you know where America has taken himself?"
England shrugged. "He said something about an inspection."
Russia's creepy laughter sent ice crawling down England's spine. "Is true. Little America is inspecting the camps."
England's stomach knotted. Those camps were... beyond vile. America might like to think himself a grown nation but the insufferable wanker was still very young. He shouldn't be exposed to that kind of depravity, no matter how powerful he'd become. Though England would never admit it, he still saw that innocent, sweet child when he looked at America. It was part of why his tongue grew so sharp around the lad.
Further thought scattered to the winds when the door slammed open and America breezed in, dragging a battered, bloodied Germany by his collar. He tossed the other nation to the floor with careless force, sending Germany sprawling and no doubt adding to the many bruises England could see through torn fabric. Germany's teeth were clenched tight and his face twisted in a grimace of pain. Both his arms were broken.
America strode to where Germany had fallen, set his boot on the defeated nation's neck. "Sorry I'm late," he said as if he'd been stuffing himself with those wretched burgers of his. "I had a bit of business to take care of."
England's demand died when he saw America's eyes. Those clear sky blue eyes held no hint of sanity.
Russia laughed. "Ah, America. That is not nice of you, having fun without me."
France shuddered.
Dear God, am I the only normal one here? China had sent his apologies, saying he was unable to leave until he'd kicked Japan out of his lands, and that left England to face America... no, what America had become.
America turned to Russia, studying him as though the northern nation was a particularly offensive insect. "You're next, Commie." He could have been talking about the weather. "What you're doing is just as disgusting."
Russia's little smile grew fixed, and his icy aura darkened. "I am not understanding, little America."
America smiled. It was at least as creepy as Russia. "Allow me to demonstrate." Before anyone could say anything, America's revolver barked, and Germany's head became a mess of shattered bone and brain tissue. The body jerked.
France whimpered and buried his face in his hands.
England moved to stand between France and... what was left of Germany. As he watched, the fallen nation's head reformed, making England's stomach churn queasily. He couldn't make himself look away.
"That's the third time today." America said with a shrug. "He stopped arguing after the second time." A grin. "Eventually he won't come back." Now he turned that empty grin on Russia. "And when he stops coming back, I'm coming after you, Commie."