Summary: England could see the mystical, and America could not. Instead, what America could see, were ghosts. A series of drabbles in which the US of A lives his life while trying his hardest to not let anyone in on the secret. Not even the ghosts around him.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, only the plot.
Drabble #1
A Normal World Meeting
America couldn't really say he hated World Meetings. They could get really interesting, especially when being able to see and hear two different fronts—both the dead and the alive.
"You bloody frog!" England screeched, attempting to punch the Frenchman in the face. Said Frenchman ducked, chuckling as he did so.
"Ohonhon~ Angleterre," France smiled, blue eyes holding a malicious glint. "Your days as an Empire are truly over~!"
England's face was an angry red. "I'LL SHOW YOU 'OVER,' YOU FRENCH WANKER!" Out of nowhere, he was suddenly holding a rapier. "C'MERE YE BLOODY CAN OF USELESS MONGRELING WORMS!'
France's face drained of color and bolted, the furious gentleman-gone-pirate hot on his tail.
Above the confusion, transparent men made of a silvery-white essence floated over their heads, all wearing clothes of times past.
"Haha! Go get that intrepid Gaulish fool, my Lord!" exclaimed a man in knight's armor, brandishing a sword caked in silver blood. He had several arrows protruding from the base of his neck, helmet not to be seen. America had no idea who that was, probably just some soldier who fought for his ex-mentor.
"What are you doing!?" shouted a man in French, eyes full of fury. He wore scaled armor and chainmail, a nasty wound to the side. "DON'T RUN AWAY, NORMANDIE! TURN AROUND AND STICK A SWORD IN THAT TROPHY!" America strongly suspected the man of being William the Conqueror, but he wasn't all that sure. The American didn't like him. No, it wasn't because he called England a 'trophy,' among other nastier things. Nope. Nu-uh. England could stick it.
A red-headed lady in a 16th-centuryy noble dress looked at the now swearing England with a fondness that America had never seen someone else administer the island nation. She had an aura of strict authority, though she had mischievous eyes and a cunning streak that went hand-to-hand with her queenly, ladylike presence. Next to her, a 17th-century nobleman sulked. Every time this man attempted to open his mouth, eyes full of malice, the lady shut him up with one look. America noticed the other two squabbling ghosts giving her a wide berth.
Wow, would'ya look at that, thought America amusedly. Shakespeare is in the room again.
And so he was, the silvery essence of William Shakespeare scribbling madly over a long roll of silvery parchment, looking on gleefully at the madness of the World Meeting and at the historical figures around him. Every so often, he would bow at the 16th century Queen of England, muttering something about "crafting a new play in thy honorable name, your highness." Victor Hugo hovered around the English playwright like a puppy, Miguel de Cervantes rolling his eyes in amusement at the younger's (in death terms) excitement. Those three were always stuck to the hip, America could swear on it.
America winced when the knight pounced on William the Conqueror and then was dog-piled under some random 14th, 15th, and 16th century dead French soldiers.
The World Meeting was being held in France, so it made sense that there was an over-abundance of French ghosts, the English ghosts not that far behind. Geez, talk about rivalry.
It was better than TV, that's for sure.
"VIve la FRAncE!"
Ohhhh that's so gotta hurt. Ouch.
"What does Amerika find so interesting in the ceiling, da?" America nearly experienced a heart attack, his hands twitching once from being startled. Still, he was America, so he was able to somewhat cover it up. He turned to the Russian, fake smile plastered on his face. Russia was also smiling at him like that, except his violet colored eyes held a hint of curiosity.
"HAHAHA!" he laughed obnoxiously, mentally slapping himself for letting his guard down. Stupid! "I was just thinking, of course!"
"Mother Russia didn't know that you had enough brains to think, da."
America's eyebrow twitched, smile not shaking. He was vaguely aware of some of the Nations eavesdropping on them, and even heard one of the ghosts from above snicker.
He could also see General Winter giving him the stink eye. The Nations around them shivered, the temperature in the room having fallen a few degrees—America saw Russia's smile become strained.
Still, America was unperturbed by the Personification of Winter. "Obviously, I have more than you, Communist Bastard."
"Kol kol kol kol—"
"BAHAHA!"
"Oh dear," said a familiar voice. From the corner of his eye, America spotted the ghost of Benjamin Franklin, whom he hadn't seen in a few decades. America bit his lip and pretended not to see him, one of his revered Founding Fathers.
"FROOOOOG!"
"OHONHON~!"
CRASH!
"Aiyaaa! I knew something would break!" exclaimed China.
"Big brother, there's no need to—"
BANG BANG BANG!
"VEEEEEE~!"
Benito Mussolini smirked at North Italy's distress. How mean.
"Marry me, big brother!"
"Tomato Bastard, get off me!"
"But Lovi~"
"My country is an idiot," sighed a Spanish ghost in 15th-century apparel, feathered hat covering most of his face. America recognized him as being who he dubbed as 'Spain's baddass ghost bodyguard.'
"You telling me!" groaned—wait, what was John Adams doing here!? And—hey!
"America you suck!" said a certain Cuban.
"EHHHHHH!?" Three guesses as to who that was. Protective annoyance stabbed through him. No one touched his twin. America was about to plow through the chaos just to cause an international incident when—
"EVERYONE SHUT UP!" Germany's voice pierced through the madness.
The Nations—even the ghosts—all fell silent, frozen in the middle of what they were doing. It looked quite comical, all of their faces blank and looking at the very loud, very much fuming German.
Yep. America couldn't really say he hated World Meetings. They could get really interesting—if not a bit distracting, scary at times—especially with so many people in the room . . . even if to others it was emptier than what it actually was.