Part II

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When American came to, his legs felt too heavy to move. It felt like his mouth was stuffed to full capacity with cotton, his head hurt and his stomach lurched unpleasantly with the promise of gagging whatever he had eaten earlier that day. He didn't have to look to understand that he was a mirror image to England once they had gotten to the bar, all beat up and wanting to roll up and die. Shifting, he winced when his ankle twitched in discomfort, probably sprained. Above him, he heard voices. A distinguished accent, which he knew belonged to England, and two other voices he couldn't quite pinpoint.

Sighing, America shifted again, hoping to get someone's attention without having to speak out. Or open his eyes. He wanted to drift back into unconsciousness, sleep for a few hours before he faced the world again. The dark and ultimately scary world. Slowly, it started to come back to him. All in thick inky blotches, the memories of the creature, the running— He did want to know exactly how he got to wherever he was. He also wanted to know how he hadn't been skinned and eaten.

"Okay, so, let me get this straight. You're a… country? How the hell is that even possible? I mean, we've seen a ton of crap over the years but this… this is new." A man spoke up, and the nature of his question made America grudgingly open his eyes and slowly sit up.

"It's the simplest way to explain it, yes." England replied, his hand automatically flying to hold America steady. "Don't rush, you'll only hurt yourself." It was then that he noticed the bandage on his ankle.

Fixing the glasses on his nose and casting a look around, America found himself back in the roadside bar, lying on one of the longer booths. His eyes took in the two men sitting across from him and England and cracked them a smile. Definitely his citizens, but that confused him. Why would England be telling them about their true identity? "We're alive?" His voice shook a bit as he pushed himself all the way up but managed to stay put.

"By the skin of your teeth." One of the two gave them a lopsided, uneasy smirk with an undertone of smugness too similar to England's own. America liked him already. "I'm Dean. This is my brother, Sam."

"Alfred. I see you've gotten acquainted with Arthur already." Rubbing the back of his neck, he huffed loudly. "I feel like crap."

"You're lucky to be alive." Sam said with an apprehensive look. "You two are lucky we got there in time."

"What the hell happened anyway? Was that a—"

"Wendigo." Dean ever so helpfully clarified; ignoring Arthur's disbelieving snort and the way Alfred slumped like it was the end of the world. Which it was, but those two didn't need to know it.

"I've never heard of such a ludicrous thing. Monsters. On American soil, no less." England took a sip of his soda, having given up on his beer and leaned back, giving America an exasperated look. "Of all the things I've heard—"

"This coming from a talking country."

England ignored Dean's quip. "Alfred, you know—"

"He's right."

The confirmation knocked the words out of England's mouth, leaving him gawking at the other. Of all the things America was, he was never a believer. He laughed at England's face whenever he spoke of unicorns and the dark arts, saying that it was just a bunch of hooey England had deliberately crated to scare the crap out of him. Seeing him, hearing him, admit to such things existing was something more bizarre than what had just happened a mere hour ago. His blue eyes looked haunted, plagued by nightmares England feared he wouldn't be able to wish away by saying 'there's no such thing as monsters'.

"America…-"

"It was supposed to be a legend. I thought it was… well, I thought it was supposed to be a legend. I kind of… only just remembered that yeah… those do exists." America ran a hand through his hair, tugging at Nantucket with frustration. "They're old. Really, really old. I mean, before you even got here old." Turning his eyes back to the two men, he nodded blankly. It was so uncharacteristic of him England nearly felt sick. "Thanks, you two. What'd you do to it anyways?"

"Burned." Sam stated simply, shrugging like it was a normal thing to kill a mythological creature. "Cas is out scouting the area to see if there is any more rouge Wendigos out there. They shouldn't be out this far west."

"There's more than one?" That was definitely not a yelp. England would refuse to call it so until the day he died. "What the bloody hell are those things?"

"There's tons of lore on them. Some say they were once human, possessed by a type of demon that made you practically obsess over eating human flesh. Some kind of mutated cannibal." Pulling out his laptop, Sam continued. "They're fast, unnatural strong and known to snatch their pray and hang them up in their lair until it decides to feed. Pretty much a total bitch to hunt down since they hibernate and just as hard to kill them."

In some sort of twisted and macabre way, England was interested. America had never told him about those things and he honestly wished he did. He could only just imagine how amazing things would be between them once America opened up about his darker legends and supernatural tendencies. In one way or another, England figured the younger nation had his own system of the arts, if New Orleans was anything to go by. Each country had its dark side, their own kind of magic and otherworldly things. Some decided to dwell on it more than others, such as him and Norway, but other's like America refused to indulge and pushed and shoved such things into becoming the stuff of legends.

Now it had come back to bite America in the ass.

Said American sat awfully quiet beside him, seemingly contemplating the situation, too troubled to look at anyone anymore. England tried to feel sorry for him, but triumph and a looming Itoldyouso kept him from comforting the young nation.

"As freaking fascinating as this all is, what's your story? I mean anto-…antrom—"

"Anthropomorphic." Sam was kind enough to offer.

"What he said. Countries? Countries? You're gonna have to give me more of a reason to not shoot your sorry asses."

England shot Dean a healthy glare that made Sam snicker discreetly as he hid behind the computer screen. "Aren't you a charming bloke?"

"I try."

The Briton bristled, causing America to giggle by his side. This Dean fellow reminded him too much of America; it was almost uncanny, minus the smug condescending air. Well, yes, America was a condescending bastard at times, but not in the same fashion as the young man.

"How does that work, exactly?" Ever the professional, Sam seemed genuinely interested in hearing what England had to say. This one he liked. He seemed like the studious type, thoughtful and patient. He seemed like the one that kept his brother grounded. Beside him, Dean snorted, tipping back his bottle of beer as he casually looked around, acting uninterested the whole time. "Is it like a possession?"

"Possession?" Leaning forward, America rested his elbows on the table. Not like he was going to sleep anytime soon in the coming year, so might as well listen in on what was what. "What do you mean by that?" Ever so curious, England thought fondly.

"When someone says country, one doesn't expect to see a human. Are those vessels? Like, human bodies which you possessed in order to walk around?" Sam was at a loss at trying to explain it. It wasn't in his job description to describe what a possession was; how it worked, maybe, but not the actual mechanics of it. It felt weird coming out of his mouth. Normally it was either exorcise it or stab it; the Winchesters didn't stop and explain.

England looked taken aback by the assumption while America simply stared in confusion. "You mean like… a ghost or a spirit or something?"

The brothers nodded.

"I'll gladly inform you that these are our bodies." He was being a bit defensive, but who was to blame him. England knew what they were talking about. He knew they were hunters, and the thought alone that two little humans thought themselves clever enough to take him out was insulting. You couldn't just kill a country in its physical state, not the human body. It could be maimed, broken, but it'll eventually heal again. England was a living example of that. He had survived the Blitz after all.

But something else lied behind the thought.

These boys were dealing with forces beyond any other human was capable of, forces England was familiar with. Heavens knew what they had up their sleeve and that set him on edge. It wasn't everyday an enemy tried to wipe them off the map with magic. Unless you counted that one time Hitler had tried that phony excuse for preternatural powers…

"I don't get it," came Dean's ever so eloquent reply. "If you're England, wouldn't that make you a million years old? You don't like any older than Sam."

"We grow along with our people. Our bodies develop accordingly to our economic and political prowess. You hurt our land, you hurt our bodies. We're fully sentient and yes, some of us are really old though we may not look it." Accent thick, England tried his best approach to properly explain. "If you want to get technical, I'm currently stuck at twenty three. America, Alfred, is nineteen."

"So you're the US of A, huh." Sam scoffed disbelievingly, but in no way harshly. He looked impressed and a bit confused, but in a positive way.

"The awesome one and only." Thumb up; America shoved it into his chest, puffing it out in a manly display of… something. It was ridiculous.

"Sam, you can't possibly tell me you're buying this?"

"I don't know, Dean. Why would someone lie about something like this?"

"Have you been paying any attention these last couple of years?"

"They speak the truth." The four men were startled from their nucleus discussion when a fifth voice spoke above them, grave and intimidating and terribly out of place. "Though it's a lot more complicated and complex than what's already been discussed."

England felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

He recognized him as the man he and America had last seen before they woke up in the bar. Perhaps it had been the adrenaline pumping through him when it happened, but he hadn't noticed the pull. He didn't know what kind of pull it was, just an odd feeling settled in his gut. England wasn't oblivious; he recognized power when he saw it, and this he felt it vibrating in his bones, deeply seated and contrasting with his own darker aura. This man wasn't human.

Sam sighed, settling the blood pumping through him. He hated it when he was startled without good reason. Call it hunter instinct. "You two, this is Castiel. He's a friend of ours."

"You aren't human." It was out before he could stop himself and couldn't care less. England tried not to feel cornered, but he did. He ignored America's stare. "I can feel it."

They were all silent, including the bar around them. The two ladies from earlier that night hovered about in the background, silently taking in what they were discussing. Judging by the friendly handshakes and hugs, he figured the Winchesters knew them.

Castiel's eyes were unlike anything he had ever seen before, he noticed now while he stared into them steadily. Not even America's eyes could compare, and that was saying something. Those blue eyes brimmed with power and knowledge beyond England's own vast understanding, but he didn't fear him. Didn't fear him because England too could take a similar form.

"I am an Angel of the Lord."

England suppressed the urge to roll his eyes when America inhaled sharply and muttered an 'Oh my God', followed by a loud slap. Covering his mouth, he stifled an 'I'm so sorry!' as he shuffled back into his seat. Annoyance set in. While it took England years to convince America of the existence of faye folk to no avail, all one guy had to do was say that he was angel and already he was freaking out over it. Westerners and their religious things; it was ridiculous. However, he felt America shift beside him and it hit him like a truck. Without missing a beat, England jammed an elbow into his gut, getting a good grunt out of him. He dared America to mention Britannia Angel.

"Allow me to verify something. You doubt us being nations… and yet you're walking around with an… angel in tow? Thank you, however; for whatever it was you did back there." England was mindful to being a gentleman and acting grateful either way.

Castiel nodded once before walking around the booth and sitting besides Dean who didn't seem to mind. England wasn't impressed. Britannia Angel was something ethereal, celestial looking… while this bloke looked… well, human. Attractive, sure, his eyes were something else and his curve of his lips was pleasant to look at. Other than that, he seemed too thin, short and simple. Even the coat was too big on him.

Something lit up in England head however, when he noticed the brief exchange of looks between Dean and the angel. He couldn't help but squeeze America's thigh in turn. Long fingers automatically laced through his. As oblivious as he tended to be, America had noticed it too.

"I scouted the area; so far no other entities are about. I did, however, come across this." Reaching into one of the pockets of his tan coat, Cas pulled out a small velvet bag and set it on the table. Everyone instinctively leaned in to take it in. Dean groaned and scoffed, leaned back into his seat and gestured his hand around in exasperation.

"Well that's freaking fantastic. Wendigos, talking countries and now witches?"

England's shoulders visibly tensed though it went unnoticed.

"Listen to this." Sam interrupted wearily, turning the laptop in their general direction. "There are storms bordering the east and west coast. The rest seems clear." He stopped for what England only imagined to be a dramatic effect. "All but Nebraska."

Dean barked out a laugh. "Great, now we have demonic omens."

Beside England, America tensed tenfold, his hand tightening its grip. He was genuinely scared now, as if he hadn't been already, but throwing witches and demons into the mix was the icing on the cake. "We should have stayed in New York."

"Glad to see we agree on something." England muttered back, taking a swig of his soda, the tension radiating off of him nearly palpable. He wouldn't be surprised if the angel picked up on it.

"Right, so I suggest you guys shag ass back to New York before the shit hits the fan. It's gonna get ugly. Witches. It's always ugly when there are witches. Don't get me started on demons." Dean shook the butt of his beer bottle, gesturing towards the doors.

"No way! We're on our way to Washington and stuff, so there's no turning back. Plus, our car kind of broke down…"

"More like you drove it into a ditch."

"Shut up, Arthur!" America flushed, giving his boyfriend a shove for lack of anything better to do. Dean was looking amused, realization dawning on him. Judging by the fond look on his face, Sam had deduced it by now as well. Castiel on the other hand, just deadpanned.

"This is a pleasant surprise. Nonhumans who aren't total dicks. Though you kind of look like one." Dean aimed at England with a smirk and wink. Predictably, the Briton bristled. It was too hilarious to pass up.

"Castiel isn't a human." America stated while pushing up his glasses, giving the angel one of his trademark smiles.

"Exactly my point."

"Some friend you've got there." Castiel looked at England, measuring his tone and deciding that he was probably trying to be humorous though the joke escaped him.

"Naw, Cas here is an exception to the rule. He used to be, but that was a long time ago." Dean patted Castiel's shoulder, earning himself a barely visible smile from the ruffled angel.

One of the ladies from before stepped up to the booth, setting a few beers on the table and two cans of soda for those unable to hold their liquor, namely England, and made a gruff gesture. She didn't look too pleased, and both America and England were starting to think her face never eased off that expression. "What's the news, boys? Anything I need to get these guys suited up for?" She was talking about the few patrons still littered across the bar, wrapped up in their own conversations. They were no longer shooting America tense glances.

England finally made the connection. The Winchesters weren't the only hunters there. Everyone else probably had a few shotguns in their trucks. Perhaps the supernatural and paranormal wasn't as obscure as he had thought.

Sam said something along the lines of 'Thanks, Ellen', but was cut off by Dean's own louder voice. "Omens. Something's up, we just don't know what. Keep your eye out for witches though and anything else nasty smelling."

The woman, Ellen, nodded tersely. "I'll tell Jo to get the guns and salt. How 'bout you two?" She gestured towards America and England who were still a little shaken by just about everything. They hadn't the slightest idea about what to do or how to get out of the state. "There's a motel a few miles from here, but no one's willing to give you a ride after the fiasco. Not that I blame 'em. Whatever's out there seems to be honing in on you two."

Feeling his jaw drop, America gave England a panicked look. "Us? What's that supposed to mean? We haven't done anything!"

"Did you three know about this?" England asked the other's accusingly, his green eyes fierce when a wave of protectiveness lit up behind them. He didn't like the sound of any of it. Things were getting bad fast and the thought of him and America being in the middle of it made his gut twist sickeningly. There was a reason why he kept America out of the things he did…

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, their expressions hardening into steely professionalism. "It was a possibility. Not that we knew what we were looking for, but there's no such thing as a coincidence in our line of work. Walking, talking countries kind of hits the nail, don't you think?" Sam tried his best joke but all efforts were in vain.

"We are stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere." Lip upturned in a snarl, America gawked, this was the old Empire beginning to shine through. England was rightfully pissed and he somewhat feared for the brothers' wellbeing, not that they seemed fazed in the slightest. They've probably faced worse to even bother worrying about a shorty English guy with furry eyebrows. "Apparently there are various entities of sinister nature closing in on us and we have no means to defend ourselves, we have reservations three days from now in a lodge, I've got a terrible sunburn and I haven't taken a spot of tea in over a day. I am not the happiest person upon this earth right now so I suggest you pack up your wiseass remarks and get us out of this God forsaken place!"

"Listen, you douche bag. We're hunters, not babysitters. You get your own sorry British ass out of here or—"

"Dean." Sam spoke up sharply, giving Dean a healthy bitchface. "Do forgive him. He's just not in the mood 'cause apparently he hasn't gotten any in the last week or so."

American giggled while Dean glared at his brother, England pointedly glared at him while Castiel stared at Dean. It was a web of stares and glares more complex than anything any kind of spider could weave. And to the bystanders, namely Ellen and Jo, it was the most amusing thing going on in the bar.

"Why not just give them a lift to the motel, then? Keep 'em close in case anything decides to pop in and pay them a visit." Ellen suggested mildly, picking up an old rag as she made her way behind the bar to polish the wooden surface. It was late, way late, and there were hardly any costumers left. Closing time was just around the corner.

Dean twisted his nose. "They are not getting in my car."

"Dean." Castiel's voice was steady though urgent as he placed his hand over Dean's knee. Not that anyone could see, but it was a private almost intimate gesture that made Dean stop and consider their options. "Ellen has a point. It would be best to keep them under a watchful eye." Sam gave an approving nod.

England wasn't happy about the agreement, and he could tell that neither was America. But at that point in time, what could they do? The best course of action was staying near someone who knew what to do when something came creeping in the night. "Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"It's up to you."

Skewed glasses caught the overhead light, making his usually expressive eyes momentarily unreadable. He didn't want any of this. He just wanted to leave and never look back, but there was no other choice. "Awesome, I say we go for it!" There was fake enthusiasm there, but England let him be.

"Whatever then. Get what you need and hurry it up. Let's get this show on the road."

They spread out in a moment's notice, America getting their luggage Ellen had been kind enough to store in the back of the bar while they had hiked back to their old truck, and England talking to Sam about whatever it was that was going on and how they could fight against it. It took them a good twenty minutes before they all managed to meet up by Dean's car, something which helped forge an unbreakable bond between America and Dean almost instantly.

"Dude! This is like… the epitome of sweet rides!" America bolted, ecstatic and nearly jumping in his shoes as he took in the classic car. England wasn't one for admiring cars, but America had a serious thing for them. Such a thing, in fact, that during their summer vacations he spent most of his time car show hopping. He was also a very good mechanic. But, even the sour Englishman had to admit that it was a very nice automobile. Black, sleek and dangerous; fitting, regarding the Winchesters' job. "I owned a '64 back in the day. '67 may have belonged to Ford, but that was most definitely the Impala's best year."

Dean beamed, all irrational grudges aside. Give him someone who likes cars, well, hisbaby at least, just as much as he did and he guaranteed a beautiful friendship. "Had to rebuild her a few times, but I can assure, all authentic parts. This baby purrs like nothing you've ever heard before, most precious thing in my life at this moment."

Sam and Cas deadpanned; England had to look away in order to not burst out laughing at the insulted looks.

After both egos and heads cooled out, and Dean grudgingly shoving their luggage into his trunk (thankfully the damn things weren't too big, since there was barely any space in there to begin with), he made sure to point out as loudly as possible that they were both two white collar assholes. England and America didn't take his words to heart after Sam enlightened them on his brother's not so pleasant humor.

The ride to the motel was awkward, after another wave of enthusiastic chattering over Dean's taste in music, they all settled into silence. The angel squished between America's large body and England's leaner one. Castiel was used to riding on the back, alone, now he felt claustrophobic. You can't just cage in an Angel of the Lord. It was bad enough he had to rely on automobiles for transportation due to his dwindling grace, but sandwiched between two more nonhuman beings was crossing a line. America he didn't mind, being reminded of Dean whenever he opened his mouth to speak; England though. There was a strong tension between them neither one mentioned, but he would rather not stir the water. Not when there was an impending fight looming just over the horizon.

"So… you guys been doing this long?" America couldn't handle the silence. He hated it. So he made sure to break it with his ridiculously loud voice.

"Too long." Was the only dry answer he got from Dean. Sam nodded in agreement, leaning his forehead against the glass before pulling out his phone and seemingly sending out a text.

No one bothered to elaborate.

"Monsters. That's kind of serious." England yelped when an elbow was rammed into his side. He still wondered how America had managed that with Cas between them. "You're a lying asshole, you know that Arthur?"

"The hell's that supposed to mean, you bloody twat?"

"All this time you kept telling me there was no such a thing!"

"All this time you kept insisting I was insane and were only seeing things!"

"Well, yeah! Unicorns and fairies and shit! Not monsters and ghosts and whatever the crap else!"

"I'll—"

"You two just need to shut up!" Dean's voice boomed, both countries falling immediately silent at the threat threading the deep voice. "If I hear another peep out of either one of you, so help me God I'll leave you on the side of the damn freeway, you hear?"

Seconds seemed like ages, the only sound in the enclosed space being the smooth humming of the Impala's engine and the wheels rolling along the asphalt bellow. Not even their breathing was loud enough to hear properly after Dean's burst. Sam was the first to break the ominous silence with a well placed "Well, this is awkward."

Thirty minutes in and there was still no sign of a motel.

America's nervous fidgeting was making Castiel feel sick, if such a thing were even possible, so he acted accordingly by placing a hand on his knee. A sense of calm rushed over the country, so warm and comfortable it nearly made him cry. He slumped back, casting England a soft smile before shutting his eyes. He wasn't asleep, but his deep even breaths were deceiving. Through the rearview mirror, Dean thanked Castiel with a look but said nothing. He discreetly looked over to England who was staring at the window with a thoughtful expressions; Cas let him be.


It had been the longest forty-five minutes in England's life when they finally reached a gravel parking lot of a not so comfy looking motel. But in the middle of nowhere, it was hard to be picky. They all puddle out of the car, America looking pathetically relaxed, which made England suspicious, and made for the front desk. Dean stood behind with America to unload the luggage while Sam and England asked for two separate rooms. Of course, the tab was shoved in the country's face.

The clock struck two in the morning but it wasn't like anyone was going to get any sleep. Dean and America were still bonding, laughing and shoving each other over the Impala in the empty lot. Cas sat idly on the wooden steps leading up to the rooms, carefully watching Dean with an unreadable expression on his features. He seemed to do that a lot, England guessed while staring out the room window, holding the nasty green curtain to the side. Behind him, sitting on a small round table was Sam, leafing through yesterday's newspaper, looking for any kind of hint of what was going on in Nebraska.

"Any crop circle sightings?" England joked lightly from his place by the window, his accent muffled by fatigue. He needed sleep, but he wasn't about to shut his eyes until he and America were far from danger. "I've seen a lot of corn since I arrived, wouldn't be surprised."

Sam snorted, dropping the paper on the table. "None, though I don't think aliens are behind this."

Nodding with relief, England turned fully towards the younger brother. "The Apocalypse. You mean to tell me that, yes, there is a God and that Satan is currently walking the Earth? Everything we've been told by our leaders, Global Warming is all just some joke to cover up something of biblical proportions?" It had been bothering him all this time since Sam had briefly mentioned it back in the bar. He had a real hard time believing any of it, but the last few hours were working on his skepticism.

"Sounds about right."

"How can we not have noticed this?"

"How does that work, exactly? The whole country thing? Do you just… know stuff? What does it encompass?" Leaning forward on the table, Sam rested his head on his hands like a child enraptured by a bedtime story. It was obvious that he was interested. The blatant curiosity reminded him of America, and the thought summoned a smile before he could stop it.

"Everything. It encompasses everything."

"You mentioned politics and economy."

"That part is pretty self explanatory. The stronger the nation, the better the build. Alfred is a superpower, which is why he's so big considering his age. His strength is something to behold, as well. Curious, loves meddling in people's business though he does it with good intentions… terribly headstrong." Sam nodded, slowly making connections in his head. "Our ties are also established through politics. Allies and enemies are no exception."

"So the United States and England are in good terms… which means that you and Alfred are friends?"

England hesitated momentarily before nodding. "Correct. Though Alfred and I have bonded in ways that are deeper than politics. We have quite a history, no pun intended."

"It does affect your personal life, then. Just not as much?"

"It's a lot more complex than that. You see, during the Second World War, Germany and I weren't in the best of terms. I'm sure you know this, common knowledge and all. We saw each other at the battle fronts, we fought, shot each other and yet we managed to be civil during world meetings. The tension is always there, but it doesn't always influence our actions. France and I have a peace treaty, our governments are being calm and diplomatic… and yet I have a record for being pulled away by Canada to stop me from strangling him."

Sam barked out a laugh at that. "Sounds fun."

"It isn't." His expression was solemn, almost sad. "We can't die easily and yet we feel when one of our citizens passes on. I felt the bombs of the Blitz on my skin; I felt my bones break after every Viking invasion… I've felt my heart ache when wars of Independence were declared against my rule. Century after century of bad calls and rotten choices. It feels like I can never be at peace with myself. I do what I can even if it feels like it isn't enough."

There was a moment of silence, both men lost in their own little world of thought. The words ran deep, and England had no idea why he was telling this to some human boy. Something pulled him into Sam's gravity. Much like him, it looked like the younger of the Winchesters had the world on his shoulders.

"You truly are the incarnation of England." Sam's voice was deep, warm and rich. Thoughtful with an edge of eloquence and emotion. "It feels like I'm talking to fucking Shakespeare. Heads up, we don't do chick flick moments."

England barked out a laugh that was quickly accompanied by Sam's own dorky guffaws. "You Americans wouldn't recognize culture if it hit you in the face with a spade."

"You're talking to someone who spends eight hours a day in a Chevy listening to nothing other than AC/DC, Zeppelin and Metallica. Dean obliterated any sense of culture in me."

The laughing wouldn't stop even after the rapid knocking on the door. England pulled it open and saw a shocked America simply staring at him in surprise, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. "Did I miss something?"

Struggling to catch his breath, England waved him off. "Nothing, it's nothing."

"Where's my jerk of a brother?" Sam asked from over England's shoulder, his laughter dying down to a half smirk as he scratched the back of his head.

"No idea." America answered with a shrug. "He said he'd be back in a bit, though. I saw him leave with Cas." He noticed Sam roll his eyes but said nothing more. "As for you." Grabbing England's wrist, he pulled him outside into the cold night air. "You need some sleep." There was something England didn't want to argue with. Waving at Sam halfheartedly, he stumbled out.

"I figured you wouldn't be able to sleep for a few decades."

"I won't. But that doesn't mean you won't. You've had a bad day to begin with so let's just turn in." The warmth in America's voice made England smile.

He leaned against his boyfriend, tugging at the sleeve of his freshly retrieved bomber jacket. "Git. I don't need to sleep. Hell, I don't think I'd be able too. Not with this tension."

"Well…" America trailed off, stopping in the hallway to pull England against him. "I can think of a few ways to get rid of that stupid tension." Leaning in, he pressed a chaste kiss to the Englishman's lips. "What do you say?"

"You? Attempting to be seductive? It most definitely is the end of the world."

"You're a jerk, England."

They kissed again, this time steadily, England's hands slipping inside America's jacket and running along his sides. Every fiber in him wanted to ravish the American right then and there, but America was shivering for entirely different reasons. He was scared. And while sex might have been the perfect way to get his mind off of it all, England opted to do it America's way for once. Pulling away, he breathed against his lips. "Come on, Alfred. Let's watch the stars for a little while, hm?"

That brilliant smile would forever be worth it.

For over an hour, they sat in silence in the same set of steps Castiel had perched on. England leaning against the wooden post, America tucked under his arm and they gazed up at the starry sky. Clouds were beginning to roll in around the edges, but they refused to move until it was nearly impossible to see them. They spent their time in silence, idly touching whatever they could reach. It was comforting, relaxing almost, and England knew he wouldn't have traded that for the world.

In the near distance, he noticed the Impala door swing open. Dean stepped out, stretching his back awkwardly as he adjusted his jacket. England's eyebrow shot up. He was sure the car had been there the entire time. Whywouldhesleep— the train of thought was cut off by an 'Oh' when a wobbly Castiel stumbled out after him.

England watched silently as Dean turned towards the mussed angel, running a hand through the dark hair before helping him back into his tan trench coat. They stood there, exchanged brief words before Dean took hold of the tie and pulled him in for a long kiss. Dean had never struck him as the type, what with his macho attitude and all, but with an angel like Castiel perched on his shoulder, England couldn't really blame him. Soft smiles played on their respective faces, resulting in England pulling America a bit more tightly against him at the tender display. Looking down when he was met by a lack of movement, he found him fast asleep, glasses knocked off to the side.

"You're braver than you know, America." Plucking the glasses off, he slipped them into the bomber jacket for safe keeping. His ass was beginning to cramp up from holding the awkward position, and he realized, to his eternal horror, that no matter how much he pushed or pulled, America wasn't going to budge. "Fuck."

"Need a hand?"

Dean hovered above them, a soft smiling Castiel by his side. They both looked in a better mood than earlier, but England didn't have to question it. "You try moving the United States of America."

With a snicker, Dean cast Cas a look. "Don't worry, we got it covered."

Before England could blink, the four of them were safely in their motel room. Castiel draped America onto the bed; the brute didn't even budge. "That was… uh… thank you? Just… warn me, next time." England dropped onto the edge of the bed, nauseous and clutching at his head. Cas mirrored him, having used up more of what little power he had left, but Dean was quickly by his side.

"You okay, Cas?"

The angel nodded. "I'm fine, Dean." That didn't stop him from gripping his arm, worriedly.

"Come on; let's get back to the room." Dean said sternly as he helped Cas back on his feet, holding him tight to his side as they made for the door. "Anything happens, don't hesitate to call. Salt the door." Without casting another look back, both men disappeared into the hallway and into their respective room where Sam was probably waiting.

After shutting the door with every bolt installed, it was only then that England slumped down tiredly against the scratched door. He went for his luggage to fetch some clean trousers to slip in to and instead noticed something red and utterly flamboyant. Slamming his palm against his face, England groaned in utter frustration. He should have known better than to leave his luggage unattended under America's care.

There was a store bought pirate coat, smelling of plastic and dust, draped over the rest of his normal clothing. Of course America wouldn't have passed up the opportunity to celebrate Halloween, but England figured this was a lot more than what he had bargained for. Shuffling the ridiculous coat towards the bottom of the luggage, he grabbed the loosest pair of trousers he could find and placed them on the small table side chair. It wouldn't hurt to make use of the shower.

Thunder rumbled loudly overhead before the sound of rain hitting pavement reached his ears. The tension was back along with the howl of wind that gave him a chill to the bones. Demonicomens, he remembered Dean mention back at the bar, but he didn't quite know what those consisted of. Was it like any other storm, only more violent? Or did demons really did come in riding the storms to wreak havoc on the city? England swallowed hard. He hadn't the slightest idea how to deal with those, or if his magic even worked against them. The one time he tried to summon one he had brought forth Ivan Braginski, which was irrelevant to the situation, still the memory made him shiver in terror. Perhaps salting the door was the best option. Never had he heard of such a thing, but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Dean Winchester knew what he was talking about.

If only they had salt in the room.

"Damn it to hell."

Slipping on his jacket, England made for the door, intent on asking Dean to get him some salt from the car if they didn't have any to spare in their room. Taking the key, he made sure to lock the door behind him, leaving a slumbering American lying blissfully in the horribly looking bed.


No sun seeped in through the thin curtains of the motel windows the coming morning; instead it was the lightening crash that made America jump up, startled. Clutching his chest to sooth his rapidly beating heart, he chanced a look around the dark room, looking for the neon lights of the clock. Eightthirtyinthemorning. With a groan, he grudgingly sat up. He couldn't really believe he had managed to fall asleep after yesterday's nightmare, much less sleep so peacefully.

Stretching, he slipped out of his jacket. "Yo, England. Wanna go grab some breakfast?" He toed on his shoes, not remembering how exactly they had gotten off, and jumped onto his feet, making a beeline for the bathroom. Once he reached the door, however, he forced himself to stop and really look around.

England wasn't in the room.

His luggage was splayed open on one side of the room, a pair of clean pants draped over the chair. Looking around a bit more closely, panic started to kick in. As scatterbrained as he was, England never left without his phone; yet there it was, on the night table. The bolt and chain were unlocked though there was one less key on the table.

A knock on the door made America stumble over his feet to get it, yanking it open, he saw Sam standing there with two Styrofoam cups, his hair soaked through. His face fell when he noticed the distraught look on the man's face. "You okay, man?"

"Arthur's gone."