Well, since I have a bit of a writer's block, I figured I'd write a short story.
Some had been calling him crazy; England had called him a "nutter." Whatever that meant. It was true, he'd been having some crazy mood swings lately...but they were overreacting.
Alfred peered into the mirror, cleaning his glasses carefully. So he'd fallen down the stairs a couple times; they didn't have to be worried.
The gash on his forehead wasn't that deep.
"Alfred! Get down here and open the door!" Arthur barked from downstairs, breaking into his thoughts. Alfred stepped carefully down the stairs; not because he'd fallen so many times, just because he was...wearing slippers. He didn't want to slip down the stairs.
He opened the door, smiling.
"What're you doin' here, Iggy?" He asked, happily letting him in. England huffed, crossing his arms.
"I'm worried about you, you git. All this political stuff is turning you on your ear."
"On my ear? That's weird!" America chuckled, not bothering to address the political part.
Arthur shot him a scathing look, before entering his house, peering about. Alfred moved about quickly, gathering things, moving things about.
"Sit down! Watch some TV, I'll be right back, kay?"
He hurried up the stairs without waiting for a response. Peering back into the bathroom mirror, he cleaned his glasses again, humming to himself. It had become an almost obessive habit.
"Alfred."
Arthur scared Alfred nearly half to death, and he dropped his glasses with a clatter. He turned, staring at him blearily.
"Agh! Arthur! You scared me!"
"Alfred, we need to talk."
Alfred felt about for his glasses, but Arthur had picked them up by then.
"You're off balance, Alfred. Causing trouble. This war you've started...France, Spain and I are concerned we won't survive another world war."
Alfred continued to fumble for his glasses.
"Alfred, listen to me! You need to back down! You're going to destroy us with this!"
"Arthur..."
"So maybe you lost an eye! It's not that big! It'll heal! Just let it go!"
"I can't..."
"You're too young, you take things too hard."
"I am not that young." Alfred replied evenly, hand tracing the sink again, attempting to find the object now in England's hands.
"Al...please, just give it up."
"I won't."
"Not even for me?"
"Not even! Have you seen my gla-" There was a bang, and Alfred slumped to the floor. Arthur caught him before he hit the ground, cradling him.
"I'm sorry, my boy...my dear, dear Alfred...it had to be done..." He smoother his blonde hair, getting no response. "...it simply had to be done..."