Hey guys, just a heads-up that Canada and France are speaking European-French because I haven't learnt otherwise.

Also, this isn't AmericaXCanada, just sayin' :P

P.O.V America

I was out of bed again. I was pleased to find it was exhausting me less lately but there was no other way to say that I was trapped.

There were no windows and the door was locked. Trying to break it down had not ended well for me and the room was actually a small one compared to all the others in his memory. There was a lone curtain stranded on one of the walls but it hadn't led to an exit. I'd moved the full length mirror away from the table but had spent quite a while staring at it regardless.

My nose was broken. I didn't dare touch it for fear of even greater pain but anyone could see there was something wrong by how crooked it now looked. There was a large wound under the bandage but besides that there weren't any more signs of damage.

But every time I almost fell or was suddenly attacked by the pain I realised I was not healed. I felt so frustrated that I wanted to punch a wall or something but I felt so weak that it was probably going to hurt me more than the wall.

There was a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and beans along with some water but I didn't wolf it down immediately that time. Before I'd been so hungry that I was willing to eat anything but now I could recognise it as English food.

I sat on the bed and glared at the plate as if it was England himself. I wasn't going to eat that. Give me liberty or give me death! I had yelled on battlefield. I wish it had gone either way but I was now stuck in the third option, prison. Whether I was in a dungeon or a bedroom it was still a cell to me.

I wondered what England's plan was. If he wanted to keep me prisoner then he probably would have locked me in the Tower of London or something. I wanted to bury my head in my hands but I was anxious about touching my face now. I was still that scarecrow.

The silence of the room was dreadful. The boredom was like a drill boring into my head and the plate of food sat in the corner, mocking me. The stench of the undercooked food mixed with the smell of England and forced me to breathe through my mouth in a vain attempt to ignore it. Maybe a hunger strike would work? I pondered. I hadn't been eating all the English food for days. The plates disappeared every time I fell asleep and was replaced with another bland meal.

I lied on my back and sighed. I closed my eyes and decided to go back to sleep despondently. There was no sound except my laboured breathing so I heard the commotion outside the door. I fell of the bed in surprise and a pain-filled gasp escaped me but thankfully it wasn't very loud. I pushed myself to my feet and began breathing quite heavily.

I balled up my fists, hoping that I could get the first attack on whoever came in, but I glanced down at my hands nervously. They were hanging loosely, barely even rolled up, at my sides. I shook my head, ignoring the thoughts. This was my chance to escape, to see what was happening in the United States of America.

I heard the clattering of the door being unlocked and I tensed up in a strange mix of fear and eagerness. I didn't speak. If they thought I was sleeping then that would add something to my advantage.

The door began to open and I saw someone come inside. The door opened inwards so I was hidden from their sight but then I made my move.

I mustered up all my strength and yelled as loudly as I loud, "Die!" and swung my fist at the incoming man. He saw me before I saw him so he managed to duck my punch.

The person cried out and I froze, trying to hide the pain holding that position caused me in front of the newcomer.

He had long, straight golden hair with a curlier strand poking out. He met me with scared violet eyes and had a tray in his hands that had miraculously not fallen onto the dark carpet. I frowned, realising my attack mustn't have been that strong if I hadn't knocked the food on the floor but, more importantly, recognising my brother right in front of me.

I looked to him and the platter he was carrying. There was a small tower of pancakes with maple syrup trickling down the sides from the top where it had been poured along with a clean glass of apple juice. I watched Canada carefully push away the untouched meal and settle his food down.

He wheeled around to face me again and gave me one of his sweet smiles. He stepped forwards, his arms raised to hug me, but I stumbled backwards to be away from him.

His smile was comforting and soft but I found myself resistant somehow. After all the time without seeing him I was unsure and after all the time in this room I'd become scared. I hated it.

Canada stepped closer, bridging the gap I'd put between us, but his face had fallen at my reaction.

"America?" he asked, his voice sounding timid yet sadder than I'd ever heard from him, "America, are you feeling better?"

I couldn't speak. Pain had come flooding back into my face and my jaw was locked tight.

"America," he repeated anxiously, "It's me, Canada."

Canada. My brother. Another person who'd been working against me.

"I..." I started slowly, "I want you to get out. I want to go!" I steeled myself to say these words but they cut me as deeply as they did him.

I stepped back again but this time Canada didn't follow. He stayed still but I wished he didn't. It just made me feel guiltier.

"Brother...I..." he cut himself off and sighed. He looked straight into my eyes and filled me with his sorrow.

He turned away but glanced back once his hand was on the door knob, "Eat up." Canada said quietly before slipping back through the door.

I'd been still until that point but the sound of the door slamming shut brought me back. I rushed forwards and rattled the door handle desperately.

Why did I do that to Canada?! I thought regretfully. Why had I blown up at my brother who I hadn't seen in ages?! I couldn't believe that I'd done it.

I tried pulling on the door again and calling out for him, worry pervading my hoarse cries, but there was no reply. I tried for ages but he had gone.

I sank to my knees from regret and exhaustion. I wanted to see him again. I hadn't in so long. I sat there under the door for a while until I realised I was crying. Why am I so messed up?

All my hatred for England came back explosively. I reached up and used the handle to get me back to my feet. I lock my eyes on the plate of food the bastard had cooked for me and grabbed the clay's edge.

I clutched it so tightly that it hurts but I didn't care. All the fury had built up inside of me, letting me scream. I hurled the plate against the other side of the wall and it shattered spectacularly. Food splattered across the wallpaper and floor and broken shards littered the carpet, embedding themselves in the food and the wooden plants beneath. How I wished they could fly and hit England instead. How I wished it had been England, not Canada.

The pancakes were the only comfort I had left. Their warmth filled my body and the sweetness spread across my tongue. Canada had learnt cooking from France while I'd been stuck with England. My taste probably wasn't much better than his because of it but it made visits from Canada all the more better.

I was stuck in one of those moods where my body was slumped but my mind was far too active. I'd never appreciated self-hate but I couldn't help myself after what I'd done to Canada. My mind was swirling with the past until I fell asleep right there next to the door.

Things were different than they'd been before the day after. When I woke up, I woke up in the same place I'd fallen asleep. The empty plate was still laying only a bit away from my hand and the fragments of England's horrid cooking were scattered across the room as they'd been last night.

Canada hadn't visited me last night.

I groaned and knitted my fingers together, hoping he'd come back. I murmured this wish under my breath before scooting away from the door. The boredom was so overwhelming that not even my guilt-ridden thoughts could provide sufficient distraction.

But then I heard a key again. I breathed slowly and deeply to calm myself. I won't get angry, I promise to myself. I sit on the edge of my bed expectantly and wait for Canada to open the door again.

The moment I see the door close behind the Canadian I walk forwards. Canada's had begun to widen at the sight of the mess I'd made and they widened further when he found himself engulfed by my hug before closing in happiness.

"Canada." I whispered to him and he whispered my name back.

"I'm so sorry." I said and the apology seems to surprise him.

He patted my back tentatively, but reassuringly, and smiled. I smiled back. Canada was so quick to forgive and I loved him for it.

P.O.V Canada

I was so scared of accidently hurting America all through our hug and had been even more scared after how he'd reacted yesterday. That was the first time I'd ever come into his room when he was awake and I'd been dreading it.

I knew he'd hate me for abandoning him but at least now we were back together. Maybe we could be a family again. It was all I'd wanted for eight years.

His smile was twisted from the injuries on his face but I saw the genuineness. He must have just been tired yesterday.

Our eyes met but then I noticed the blue wandering away from the violet. I followed his gaze to me then, to my dismay, to the door.

My face fell at the sight of his enthusiasm but he didn't seem discouraged, "Come on, bro. I know you helped England but you've gotta help me out. I'm better, we can escape!"

But all I heard was the pain he was masking, proof of all his troubles. I shook my head despairingly, he wasn't better.

"I can't." my voice trembled and I saw America's face fall even further than mine.

He let go of me, "What?" I can sense him trying to contain his anger, "But you..."

I cut him off, "I don't want to see you get hurt again."

The sincerity in my voice seemed to shock him but he clenched his fists together, "How could you do this to me?" I never thought I'd want him to yell at me, him being quiet sounded so wrong to me, "I'm your brother!"

"That's why." I saw the confusion strike his face, "I wanted to stay your brother. I didn't want to be alone."

America looked away from me, "You have France."

I nodded sadly and tried to meet my brother's eyes, "But Arthur has you."

He flinched as if I'd literally shocked him. The bedroom was silent as I waited for America to respond but he didn't.

I sighed. I turned around slowly while he stood still, looking down with a thoughtful and angry. I was about to step towards the door and let him be but then I felt a tug at the back of my brown jacket.

I glanced around and saw America. He'd reached out and grabbed my jacket with tears trickling down each check. My eyes widened at the sight but he spoke up before I did.

"P-please. Please don't go. I'm sorry." his voice was barely above a whisper but to me it felt like a shout.

My heart melted and I pulled my brother into another hug.

America felt warm but he was shuddering as he cried. I felt his head on my shoulder, his tears dropping onto me, but I shushed him gently and patted his back to comfort him.

"I won't leave you again." I assured him quietly. It felt odd that I was the one comforting him, especially since I was always so scared while he was always so brave, but I felt so glad at the same time. I felt the eight year wall crumble between us.

"Brother." I whispered comfortingly to him as tears began to form in my own eyes.

Eventually I let go and sat him down on the end of the mattress since I was worrying about whether he would be okay standing up that long but then America asked me to stay with him.

I sat down carefully and we began to talk. We talked for ages and very quickly there were honest smiles plastering our faces. America was trying to direct conversation off himself so for one of the first times in my memory we were talking about me.

I tried avoiding anything to do with England or his country because I was scared of making him sad again but after about half an hour I realised something. I stared into his eyes while he spoke, I felt quite bad for spacing out afterwards, and I began to put myself in his shoes. I knew I would hate to be locked away from Canada for so long, to be kept in the dark.

I'd promised England I'd take care of him. America had finished talking and was now staring at me since I was silent and was staring down at my knitted hands in though. America tapped my shoulder and chuckled when I jumped a bit. I laughed with him but it sounded distracted even to me.

"Canada?" when he looked at me I saw he was truly concerned for me.

"America..." I began slowly, "I-if you want, then I'll answer your questions."

America's eyes widened before narrowing into a serious expression, "Please. Please tell me what's happening to the US!" he pleaded.

I stroked his arm and smiled, "America's fine. We've been looking after it for you."

But America frowned at me, "Why are you helping England so much?"

It actually took me a while before I knew how to answer, "It's just like I said. I don't want our family to fall apart. England wanted to look after you but he couldn't do it alone. He was scared of what you might do if you saw him so I took over while he looked after the country."

There was a flash of disgust on America's face but I put on my best comforting face, "I'm here too. You don't have to worry."

I stood up and briskly walked over and grabbed the plate of pancakes that I'd put down by the door.

I held out the plate and smiled apologetically as I handed it over, "I forgot. Je suis désolé, Amerique..." I blushed sheepishly and started again, "I'm sorry, America. It's a bit cold now."

My brother raised his hands, "It's fine. If you cooked it then it'll taste fine no matter what."

I grinned at him and put the plate on his lap. America looked from it to me and chuckled to himself.

"Hope you don't mind, bro. But this'll take me a while."

I shook my head, "Don't mind at all." I looked down at his clothes and something occurred to me, "Oh yeah. I'll get you some more clothes. You can change on your own, right?" America's laugh completely broke the tension in the room and I felt my shoulders droop in relief.

"I'll be fine, Canada." he chuckled. He began to dig into the pancakes. I smiled back and rushed towards the door, not wanting to leave him for too long this time.

I still locked the door once I was in the corridor but I now I had the knowledge that he was going to get better soon. Then we could be together again.

I picked up Kumajirou, who was pouting adorably about having to wait for so long, and apologised quickly as I picked him up. His fluffy white fur felt like a warm towel in my arms so I loved carrying him around with me.

My bedroom was on the other side of England's house so I had to jog down the long decorated carpet spanning the beautifully polished wood floor. The whites walls were covered in lots of paintings of several people I didn't recognise but most of them were of our family when we were all younger.

I couldn't help but smile at how cute America was in the portraits. I was staring at the walls as I ran, my violet eyes darting from each picture as they went, but when that wall opened out into the hall I stopped as something suddenly caught my attention.

P.O.V England

I liked my study. It was often one of the quietest rooms in the house so I could read in peace. I had 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' in my hands and my foot was tapping unconsciously to the rhythm of the ticking clock.

I read but I found myself unable to immerse myself in it as I usually did. I began wondering whether I was getting old because my heart seemed faster than usual.

I sighed. It must have been the stress. I hadn't bothered to close the door because America was much warmer than what I used to which meant I heard the usually hard-to-notice Canadian walk in.

I set my book down on my lap and looked up expectantly at him. Canada was shifting his weight from each foot nervously but him being less than confident wasn't exactly uncommon.

"Ce n'est pas bien, Angl-" Canada stopped abruptly at the sound of me sighing exasperatedly. He had an annoying habit of speaking French whenever he didn't want me to know something, even when he was speaking directly to me. Thankfully he stopped before he could call me that.

Canada cleared his throat then looked back at me sheepishly, "It's not good, England. The others nations aren't exactly agreeing with you at the moment."

I grit my teeth but try not to get angry in front of Canada. The nations were just a bunch of hypocrites. All I did was prevent one of my colonies from collapsing under its own foolishness but now the others won't stop trying to contact me, especially old frog-face.

But Canada noticed my expression and seemed to become even more withdrawn at the sight. I softened my face guiltily but he still looked anxious about something.

"Canada?" I said questioningly and the other country didn't meet my eyes. I repeated his name more forcefully so he'd answer.

"France wants to meet with you." he explained and my eyes widened.

"He's here?!" it only took the slightest movement of the younger nation's head to send me bolting out of the study.

I power walked to the hall and what I saw through the small windows on the top of the double doors. I threw them open after quickly searching for the key and to my disgust the blonde Frenchman met my eyes outside the threshold.

His posture was slightly swayed in, what I'd always referred to as, an effeminate way and his shoulder length wavy hair did not denounce that. France was wearing an apparently fashionable outfit with a bright blue coat lined with gold and equally bright tight trousers.

I scowled at him and he waved it off with an annoyed look plastered on his mug.

"I'm 'ere to see Amerique." France said as soon as our eyes locked which only worsened my scowl.

"Sod off, frog." I spat, "If you want to bug someone about a colony you lost, go annoy Spain."

France glared at me in retaliation, "You cannot 'ide it forever, Anglettere. Everybody knows what you did."

I tensed but I refused to show weakness, "If it's enough to end his idiocy..." I said open-endedly, not willing to wear my heart on my sleeve around him. My emerald eyes hardened, "You should go. You don't belong here."

France tutted annoyingly, "Well, as long as Canada is staying wiz you zhen I 'ave no choice. You cannot stop me from seeing 'im, Anglettere. 'E's my little brozher after all."

I perked up slightly as I saw a fairy fly from behind France into my view. I was silent for a moment as it made a smacking motion behind France's head.

I resisted the urge to laugh and say 'go on' but I forced myself to say, "Don't worry about it, Tinkerbell." I chuckled and France's face screwed up in confusion, glancing over his shoulder but looking straight past the fae behind him.

I smirked superiorly and he frowned like he'd had his wine bottle taken away. He put his hands on hips and pouted while I tried not to mock him.

"Canada!" he called into my house and my fist shot forwards in response. It smashed into his jaw and knocked him back. France brought his hand up to his jaw, his face an equal mix of scandal and rage.

"Not so loud, you bloody gi-" I was cut off by France's hands locking around my throat.

I grabbed his and we began mutually choking each other. We grappled, hurling around insults and each other. I slammed him into the doorframe while he spluttered in some sort of a laugh.

"What's so wrong, Anglettere? For such a small country you sure 'ave a large ego!" he mocked.

"Oh yeah!?" I yelled back, "Well, I've beat you more times than you can count!"

We probably would have continued like that until every decoration in my hall was destroyed but it had only gone on for a few insults when someone entered and reminded us where we were.

"England, France. Stop." Canada's voice was still quiet but the tone wasn't a meek. We broke apart and looked at him. He was hugging his polar bear for comfort while he looked disapprovingly at his elders.

France dusted himself off and his blue eyes brightened at his little brother, "Canada, est-elle la vérité?" he asked and I saw Canada give me an anxious look before replying.

"Amerique n'est pas mort. Mais il est plus mauvais maintenant."

I hated whenever the two of them were together. They could be saying anything and I'd be none the wiser. I didn't intend to learn French so I was dependant on Canada acting as a translator.

The nation in question's cheeks were tinged with red as he looked over to the clear impatience on my face.

I turned to address the two French-speakers, "You two can stay here. Don't leave this hall unless you're getting the hell out of here." I glared at France and quickly walked off.

I didn't want that frog in my house but I had no choice. I had no idea why but Canada did seem to like having him around.

I sighed before I could stop the sound of sadness escaping. Why couldn't America be more like him? Why couldn't America have stopped himself before it had peaked like that?! I thought angrily but my rage quickly faded into sadness. Everything I did was to fix the mess he'd made.

I passed outside his room, breathing deeply as if the air was inhalable courage. When Canada spoke with me yesterday he said America was better now. He was walking, talking and eating after all, even if he was ignoring everything I did for him.

The problem was I didn't know what I wanted. I hadn't spoken to him since July and it was now September. Did I want to apologise? Did I want an apology? I honestly didn't know. Why had I been ignoring this until now?!

Nonetheless, I unlocked the door and swore under my breath as it opened.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you did or didn't I'd appreciate some reviews! :D