/ Fast update because this is only a two-shot anyway. /

II

"Wha- Why are they all here?" England whispered as he took in the gathering in front of him. His former colonies, previous alliances, friends- they were all in front of him because it was April 23rd.

"Happy birthday, England!" everyone cheered and it was too much for the blond to handle- too much- that he collapsed on his knees with tears streaming down his face.

"Whoa, Iggy. You okay there, dude?" America asked, surprised at the Englishman's sudden breakdown. The other nations also drew closer, sporting similar looks of concern.

"I... My birthday..." was all England could stammer in his shock.

"Aye, lad. Your birthday. How can you forget your own birthday?" Scotland remarked, trying to pull his younger brother to his feet. The blond Brit stayed down, however, with his knees still wobbly.

"April 23rd... Of every year..." England muttered to himself. Images of the past April 23rds, his previous birthdays, how his brothers spent it with him in his home, singing and laughing over cake and ale, pushed through his mind like a video on fast forward. How could he have forgotten?

No, that wasn't right. He didn't forget. He remembered them all- how couldn't he- but he dismissed them as dreams, as fantasies that his lonely mind made up for temporary moments of happiness. And who's to say that this time wasn't a dream too?

"Right... It must be..." he said, shakily rising to his feet. Scotland helped steady him- and the Scot felt so real, how could he be a dream?

"Must be what?" the redhead asked.

"This," England gestured to the people, the balloons, the banquet. "It can't be real. It's impossible. So I have to be dreaming right? Just like back then... Just like the previous times I remember..."

"England." Scotland's voice was firm. "This is plenty real."

"But I must be," the blond insisted, breaking away from Scotland's hold. "I'm dreaming and I should wake up or... Or I'll..."

England's tears continued to cascade down his cheeks, sobs wracking his small frame. "Why wouldn't it be a dream? You... You're all here and you're smiling at me. Why would you be smiling at me unless it was a dream?"

"Of course we'll smile at you," America said resolutely. "We-"

"You wouldn't!" England's cry startled everybody. It was full of certainty- and despair. "Why would you?" His voice gradually grew weaker and so did he. He collapsed into his brother's arms and his last statement was almost unheard.

"Why would you when you all hate me?"

But it was heard and everybody was stunned into silence.

"Of course not, lad," Scotland said after a few moments, carding his fingers on his youngest brother's hair. "We don't hate you. Why would you think that?"

"You've told me... So many times..." England put his hands over his ears, hearing those hateful words again, the insults and accusations, telling him that they hate him, loathe him, despise him- "You told me... You keep telling me... I hear it everywhere... It's on bloody repeat and it won't stop- you won't stop- and it hurts... Please stop, stop, STOP!"

He was breaking down and he knew it but he didn't care. This was a dream, so it wouldn't change anything, right? The others wouldn't know because he was just imagining them- they're not really there- and they'd still find him the prideful country that he appeared to be and they'd still hate him, loathe him, despise him-

The warmth that surrounded him felt comfortable and he clung to it desperately, like a lifeline, because it hurt and the warmth felt great and so, so real.

"Nobody's saying it, Albion. We don't hate you," Nothern Ireland's usually gruff voice sounded to tender, so loving, that England was completely convinced that it was all just an illusion.

"What do you know?" the blond mumbled, trying to sound angry but failing. Instead, he sounded disappointed. "You aren't real.."

"We're plenty real!" Even in his mind, America's voice sounded too loud. "If you think you're dreaming, old man, then that's the delusion here."

"Mais oui!" How did that obnoxious voice find its way into his dreams? "This beauty of mine can't be recreated even by your vivid imagination, Angleterre."

Everybody else followed with their own reassurances that they were real and that this was reality, followed by hugs and kisses that felt much too real that it overwhelmed England. He cried again- when did he stop?- and while he felt hope rise within his chest, he still couldn't bring himself to believe it.

It all came down to his brothers and as soon as the last nation released England from their embrace, Scotland and Northern Ireland wasted no time in pinching his cheeks.

It hurt. Dreams weren't supposed to hurt like that, right?

"Ow..." was all England could say in his shock, tears momentarily stopping while he touched his sore cheeks. He stared wide-eyed at everyone in front him who were sporting identical grins, smiles that felt warm, accepting, and loving.

"We love you, England," Wales said and the blond felt tears prick his eyes once again. How much more was he going to cry today?

"Happy birthday, England!" everybody cheered again, followed this time by a round of applause.

This time, England knew that it was real. This time, he believed them, the smiles and the laughs and the happy atmosphere. This time, he wasn't going to forget April 23rd.

/ I really hope this chapter turned out alright. I was going to have Sabila look at it first, but then... Anyway, please review.! :) /