Wish you were here

England had a long history, and thus, Arthur could be many things. Much of it conflicted and so, at times, he imagined no one could really understand him, not in the way each part of him fit together. He didn't believe China's rubbish of history repeating itself over and over. Naturally, when he found himself once again at America's mercy, he mentally cursed China for being the tiniest bit right in a strange convoluted way.

America pressed his foot a little harder on England's wind pipe. It was a little bit like several hundred finger nails digging into his skin, slowly carefully, lest he bleed, and if he pressed too hard, bleed he would, seconds before suffocation. England busied himself picturing the place deep inside where classical music met punk as privateers chatted with royals while the queen danced among the faeries. Arthur loved his happy place where everything he could be came together without struggle or strife and simply made sense. He couldn't stay there. He realized this about the time America removed his foot.

"Who are you?" he repeated, readjusting his hold so his foot pressed against his back instead. Again, he did not apply much pressure to his back, and it appeared to be more of a precaution than anything. England could no longer get a good look at him from his position on the floor, but he managed to strain his neck enough to try.

"I'm England," he said, mostly to measure his reaction. As it stood, he did not want to stir any more volatile reactions from America. Although he found his current situation humiliating, he would have to bide his time and try all rational venues before starting a fight.

"I'm not a faerie," England said, and America laughed.

"Yeah because a faerie wouldn't say that," America said, and England couldn't keep from groaning at Alfred's paranoia at overdrive (perhaps for good reason this time) and the prolonged pressure on his stomach.

"I come from a world where you won," England said, before the boy went to the trouble of procuring irons. This caught his attention, or at least, the seriousness of Arthur's tone had convinced him that he wasn't part of the unseelie court. He removed his foot from Arthur's back and took advantage of his strength to simply lift him off the floor. America, then, examined him once more. England scowled, reminded of just how much stronger America was, even here where Canada bullied him. Finally, he appeared to reach a decision. He put him down. When England didn't run, Alfred sat down on the couch.

"Explain," America said, patting the seat next to him, and the change in tone bothered him. He wasn't a friend like Prussia, nor was he Great Britain, arguably both his dear brother and strict commander. He was a stranger, and he was now being treated as such. Other than that, the gaze had become steady once more although the facade was not as religiously maintained. A morbid curiosity had been planted in the boy to the point that a small smile escaped his lips. He tried to hide it, but England had his full attention. As casually as he could manage, Alfred shifted his whole body closer to him. However, England wouldn't tell him, because Alfred wanted to know more than anything. His knowledge on the subject made good leverage. After all, if England couldn't conquer someone, he manipulated them, (ask China.)

"Wales gave me a gift, a wish orb. I accidentally used it and ended up here. I need a replacement," And, it really was that stupidly simple, and as soon as he returned home, his brothers would likely confiscate his magic stuffs for a good while.

"Not that part," America whined and let a pitiful frown form, complete with jutted lip. Perhaps, in any other instance, he would have caved completely. His immunity had weakened from lack of exposure. (He had a sneaking suspicion that Alfred had learned to use the puppy dog look selectively.) Today, Arthur could not oblige if only because he had lost faith that this Alfred would cooperate of his own accord.

"Will you help me?" Arthur asked, earning a smile from Alfred, a secret smile. Arthur did not like when America openly toyed with him. It reminded him too much of himself in the old days. However, what always bothered him most when he saw this side of America was the fact that England had raised him to behave this way. I brought this on myself or he did rather. If I had to tell someone, I would openly admit I am grateful that America chooses to be kind. Still, in times like these, I wonder if such kindness is truly an act to hide his true purpose.

"I have to," America said with quiet conviction. England couldn't make himself buy that idea, well aware that America was an excellent actor. He'd been fooled more than once, but no real harm had come to him then. Alfred just happened to take his pranks very seriously and would spend an ungodly amount of time making sure everything came together for the final ha ha. The stakes were higher now, and England couldn't make the mistake of automatically trusting America, that had backfired badly.

"Why? You're stronger than me. Forgive me if I prefer my safety guaranteed," England didn't mean for it to sound condescending, but the mistrust showed nonetheless. He didn't deserve his good faith. Unfortunately, he did need this Alfred's good will.

"Exactly, you don't have his strength," America pointed out as if the conclusion were easy to reach from there. England couldn't grasp the meaning behind it, not after the hard afternoon he'd had.

"And?" England asked. Was he implying he was weak, and couldn't help himself? England had been on the "I saved your ass" train before; he did not like it. So, he frowned in hopes to communicate that he wasn't overly desperate, only somewhat misplaced. America's optimism did not fade which was a nice change of pace from the iceberg like attitude he normally possessed.

"So, he still exists," America said, cheerful and confident, without comprehending how bad that was. A cold sweat overtook him, he'd been so sure that this place didn't matter. He'd made choices that would forever affect this world, and it was likely that Great Britain would do the same in his. He berated himself for casting away responsibility. Of course this place was real, it was much too unpleasant to be a dream, yet much too tame to be one of his nightmares.

"He's in-"England started to say.

"Your world," America finished. England did not like this at all. Arthur had been incorrigible as an empire, and had naturally relied on the steady growth of his colonies to maintain a certain lifestyle. Basically, no one told Arthur no, but the way the world worked now. . . It would cause problems.

"Let's get started then. For your double's safety if nothing else." England stood, just knowing that America would find a way to piss him off, and he was sure that Great Britain's tolerance for Alfred's antics hadn't improved with age.

"Why? Great Britain adores me."

Oh, how innocently naive this boy was, yes, he hadn't had the opportunity to grow an ego yet. He had to admit when this Alfred wasn't scared to express himself, he made decent company.

"I will tell you one thing. You become an ass," England admitted, expecting the other to be offended. Instead, America immediately cut in.

"Like Uncle Scotland?" Very much said in a friendly, he's just like that sort of way. England smirked, figures here they would have similar opinions.

"Worse," England said, and it appeared to have become a game of sorts for Alfred.

"Like Denmark?" Alfred answered almost instantly. Right, the Nordics, the missing piece of the puzzle that he wasn't sure where to place. Alfred had a strangely strong resemblance to the Nordics. What did it matter, he decided. He didn't need their magic. His was better.

"A special oblivious mix of the two," he concluded.

"Ah, I'm still a kid at heart then. That's nice," America's mood shifted suddenly after that, and his gaze fell to the cherry blossoms visible from the window. England couldn't help but frown at how bittersweet the sentiment was. He could just imagine the words underneath the indifferent eyes. At least I'm free somewhere.

" Anyway, you're the one with the spell books. I'll help you prepare as best I can," England offered, before the boy ended up too depressed to do anything. America didn't budge.

"I need to know the nature of the wish first," he demanded, and England couldn't quite read his intent.

"Selfish," England responded promptly all the same.

"You said that, but you never said what you actually wished for." He stared at England, nothing but curiosity present in his eyes as he searched for some small clue. And, it wasn't so much that he was ashamed of the wish, okay, maybe on some level, even if it were only the result of a stupid drunken stupor. He was thousands of years old, so it bothered him when he got stuck on small things like this. Family. Why did I want it so badly? Why after so many years do such things eat at me?

"It's not important," England said, picking up the fallen book which annoyingly had returned to being prose.

"I won't help you if you don't tell me," And there it is was, the bane of Arthur's existence, Alfred's ever present reluctance to help him out without getting something in return. Did I really raise him to be that inconsiderate or is it some unfortunate genetic mishap?

"You'd leave him in my world?" He couldn't help but take it personally. Perhaps things had gone sour here, but he had assumed, no, knew this Alfred cared for Great Britain. Yet, here he was threatening to abandon him because it was convenient or worse yet because leaving him there was better for him in the long run.

"I have other brothers," America said with eyes cast down, not in shame, but more to accentuate his indifference. He tried to think of an argument that would prove bringing back Great Britain was in his best interest, but he couldn't, because it wasn't. All the others were vying for his attentions. America had options in the friends and allies category. He's like a slightly more competent Italy here, (actually a competent Italy would be scary.)

"You ungrateful little brat, both of you," he spat which caused the other to shake his head. Another smile appeared, proudly displayed and implying his superiority in their current predicament. I have less to lose than you do.

"No, I just know that he will be fine. Where as, I can just hand you over to Spain or Russia and be done with it," he said, with a playful air. He spread his arms out and shrugged, very much toying with him some more. Damn that two face. Fine.

"I wanted my little brother back," he said, pulling out the words like a band aid, expecting the embarrassment to pass quickly.

"Which one? You might as well enjoy yourself a little since you went to the trouble," No, of course not, things would be too easy if he understood right away. He couldn't find himself vexed by his incomprehension. America's oddly humble assumption that it was someone else effected him strangely. The concept was too foreign, and he found it hard to directly say.

"Uh . . . um . . . I . . . ," he stuttered. America sympathetically understood he wasn't good at these kinds of things and spoke up.

"Hong Kong? He's probably worried you missed your flight anyway," he offered, and it wasn't a bad guess. He had stubbornly kept him until the last possible moment, and it helped he was actually quiet by nature.

"No, not that I'd mind seeing him, but you seriously can't guess?" Feeling awkwardly guilty dismissing one of his youngest but he couldn't afford to leave this safe haven. The others would probably notice a lot sooner he wasn't who he said he was.

"Canada?" he asked, and again, Arthur felt awkward dismissing one of his other children although with Canada he had good reason.

"No, he's actually pretty mellow where I'm from" Arthur revealed, thinking America might want to know more. America couldn't seem to imagine it, scrunching his face as he concentrated on picturing such a thing, before finally giving up.

"Huh, that's weird," he said in brighter spirits. Alfred always liked games. He did buy and produce a ridiculous amount. England found himself a little less anxious to get to work as his attitude infected him.

"Anyway, Australia?" Even Alfred sounded a bit unsure of that one, after all, originally, all England could think to do with the tike was send the boy convicts. Was it any wonder really that Australia was a bit on the wild side?

"No, we'd just argue over whether marmite or vegemite is better anyway" Those conversations were long, and done in fun, but England did not feel like keeping appearances here. America had trouble coming up with another one, and England did not want him to name one that he might have a mind to visit.

"Ah, is India a boy where you're from?" he asked sheepishly, and that lit England's temper.

"No. No. No. It's you, you idiot," he spit out. Really he couldn't possibly think so little of their bond could he?

"You're strange. Why love someone who betrays you?" America asked in honest confusion.

"He's- your, ah blast it. Alfred is my brother. Love is unconditional. It doesn't matter how many times he screws me over. I'll always care about him on some level," England said, not that he'd ever actually tell the other one. His ego was much too large already, and Arthur may rarely say no when it's important but he liked to keep his options open.

"No, it's not. Great Britain cares for me because I make the crown a fair amount of money. Otherwise, he would have sold me away in a heartbeat," America said flatly.

"That's not true," England said, disregarding that Great Britain's mind might not work quite in the same way as his.

"I wanted to believe that. I'm afraid I will end up with Russia when all is said and done. He seems nice enough. He smiles a lot," America said, trying to convince himself. Never mind if Russia might actually be nice to his colonies, stranger things had happened, he hated the uncertainty in his voice.

"Alfred," he paused, unable to think of the appropriate consolation for him.

"Great Britain never smiles. It's how I knew you weren't the same," America said, resigned to his fate. He let himself cover the entirety of the couch and turned his attention back to the cherry blossoms.

"Maybe he'll surprise you. I know I was much nicer to Canada after you left," England revealed because the parallels had been startling, and he had caught himself before he did something unforgivable in Canada's eyes. Even so, he had let go little by little and that was just as well. He'd been foolish to think he could force a family together. In some ways, he still did, no one seemed to mind, and yet, there would always be someone absent from their little activities. It's a price he payed gladly. America, more often than not, sought him out (not that such attention was always welcomed.)

"Maybe," America said, voice buried in the pillows.

"Come now, we'll eat some biscuits," he said and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. Alfred turned around, eying him suspiciously.

"Don't you want to go home?" he asked, and England forced a smile, not that he didn't want to, but it always came out creepy when he tried too hard. Still, he felt compelled to cheer the boy up.

"I would still like to spend some time with my brother. That is, if you'll have me?" he said, seeming to once again cave. He probably wouldn't punch him in the gut again; he hoped. America stood up, and had trouble keeping eye contact. He finally settled on looking down.

"S-sure," he stuttered. England put his arms around him and guided him to the kitchen. There, they ate biscuits with Nutella on Alfred's insistence. They tasted pretty good, and he now understood Canada's obsession with maple syrup. Sweet sticky substances make everything taste better.


America had been having a pretty good day. All silliness aside, it seemed that the meeting on the global environment had gone well. Most people contributed without getting caught up in past vendettas. He tried hard not to attribute the relative peace to England who did often initiate the quarreling. (England couldn't help being the tiniest bit irritable most of the time. It was his nature.) He talked to his brother who of course had grown nervous by the fair amount of ice melting in his land. After assuring him he wouldn't disappear or shrink too much if all went well, the doors slammed open. Speak of the devil, there he was now. He seemed oddly disoriented and unsteady, nearly falling over a few times. A tired England tended to lash out more and normally meant a fight would break out. He wasn't focused enough to manage that, and most of the countries walked passed him without a second thought. He stopped suddenly, squinting at him in mild confusion. Then, he calmly walked over, and at this point, America was ready to duck out. When England was tired, generally, it was Alfred who suffered his wrath, (because it was always his fault, whatever the problem happened to be.) Unfortunately, England managed to get a hold of sleeve and keep a surprisingly firm grip. He took his glasses, and America let out a muffled protest.

" America step away from your brother, before I make you into the next Carthage," England said in a tone America hadn't heard in a long time. It made him uneasy, but he brushed it off and responded like he normally would to that attitude.

"No way, we're trying to figure how to save the polar bears here," America said with a grin, pulling Matt into an impromptu hug. Canada managed to somehow almost trip on his own two feet at the sudden ambush. England glared, and there wasn't any fire to it, only ill intent. America chose not to recognize it lest he set him off. He pulled out something from his pant leg. America didn't think much of it until he pointed the now apparent gun at Matthew. Then, Alfred could admit he was more than a little nervous.

"Wow, you feeling okay England? You know guns aren't allowed in the conference room," America said and attempted to laugh it off, but it was very rapid jittery laughter.

"By the way, if you're looking to point a gun at me, I'm over here," America said, consciously stepping in front of Matthew. Canada in turn hid behind him, both well aware he was less likely to shoot Alfred.

"I know who I'm aiming at," England said, trying to maneuver past America. He successfully blocked him from doing so. This led to a round about sort of pattern. After about the third round of this, Canada couldn't take the game anymore.

"Wwwhat did I d-d-do?" he said, freaked out. Canada hadn't done anything to piss England off in a long time, and even then, it had never escalated into an actual fight. (He couldn't say the same for some of his men who were promptly hung.)

"Nothing Canada. Let me handle this," America said, fully cursing the no gun rule. He had plenty of guns, just not here. England took a step back, and he looked a little hurt by the comment, confusing Alfred all the more. The most he ever expected anyone to do at these things was wound each others egos. This was a little much. A second later, he was back to being crazy, and it was starting to look like he might actually shoot him.

"So, you are betraying me, you little brat. I knew you hadn't really changed," England hissed which worried Alfred. Talk of betrayal was usually reserved for drunken nights, but he was holding his gun too accurately for that to be it. He had to be delirious. He was still coordinated when delirious.

"Is this about me making fun of your Olympic mascots, or that I'm hanging out with Russia more instead of you?" Then again, if he was delirious, he could have just as easily decided he deserved to die for no other reason than he stole his donut or something.

"I only threatened to sell you to Russia. You weren't supposed to like him," England said, going into a flustered rage. Russia suddenly sprang up behind Alfred in that creepy was of his.

"Russia wasn't aware of this, da,"he said, making America erupt into even more jittery laughter. Sadly, Canada didn't take the time to run. He held onto America tightly, stuck in deer in the headlights mode.

"That's because it isn't true, Russia. Forget you heard anything," America said, waving his hands around frantically. Seriously, the become one with Russia jokes had just stopped last week. He didn't need them to make a comeback, and definitely, not concerning him. He hadn't been in danger of being one with anybody since the nineteenth century anyway.

"What the hell, England?" he snapped, forgetting about the gun. Well, until he pointed it right at his stomach, at least the trigger wasn't sensitive.

"You keep calling me that. It's Great Britain to you. I haven't been that small in a long time," he claimed. Practically shouting, not pathetically like normal, even Alfred found it loud.

"Oh dear, he's relapsed. Get him a nice hot drink and some Frazzles and he'll be fine" France said, appearing between both of them. Actually, it was more like he had watched the entire thing and came in when it was most opportune. He's good at that. Canada finally had the sense to try an leave.

"I'll get it," he said, trying for once to actually be invisible during the commotion.

"Don't move Canada, not until I know what going on here," Delusional Great Britain said.

"Okay " Great Britain" calm down," he said using air quotes, just in case he remembered any of this later. Surprisingly, Arthur listened, taking a deep breath, muttering something about he was just raised French.

"You're right. Just go home boy," he said, pointing the gun at Alfred. England didn't need to tell him twice.

"Well, the meeting's over so okay," he said cheerfully. He heard groans. Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say to the guy.

"What meeting? Why wasn't I informed?" He shouted at everyone, but at the very least, he put the gun away.

"You were late," China said. Some of the remaining nations glared. England huffed, not taking his input well.

"Shut it China. This is none of your business," England snapped, and it didn't help there already fragile relations. (Centuries of screwing over the other party will do that, poor China.)

"Tch, I'll leave you to your mental break down," China said walking out, and England didn't care in the slightest.

"Eng- Great Britain, you're tired. France went to get you your Frazzles. It's going to be okay," he said as nicely as he possibly could, but he accidentally slipped into a speech pattern he used with kindergartners.

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child."

Well, someone called him on it. He was tired of dealing with the jerk. England would have normally passed out by now.

"We'll stop acting like one," America said, and he heard mutterings of dead idiot walking from the group. Sure enough, he forgot the gun. He held his hands up, laughing nervously some more.

"Gun, right. Okay, okay, you adult, me leaving, come on Canada," America said, grabbing his brother who was probably shaking more than he ever did at home. Somehow, Canada seemed to be his trigger today.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" England said, pointing the gun at him one minute and at Canada the next.

"Going to the hotel with Canada because we have the same flight?" he said, trying to explain as rationally as possible that they lived next store to each other. Mister "I'm Great Britain" paused, lowering the gun. He had moved on to looking at his surroundings.

"I suppose that makes sense. Where are we?"

Okay, maybe, he hit his head. How else would he forget this place of all places?

"London, did you hit your head or are you drunk?" Neither seemed to fit completely, he was oddly insane, yet clear headed, a lethal combination.

"I'll have you know I've been sober for a month, boy," he said as if the amount should be impressive. Is that how he sounded in the 1920's? He'd had to talk to his uncles about cutting him off.

"It's America, England," he corrected because such talk annoyed him. That was how he talked to him back when he could bully him, and he might not bomb his ass, but he wasn't going to put up with that either, gun or not.

"Well, so long as you're here America, you can stay at my place and not with Canada," England offered, and he might have taken it if he hadn't come in all crazy and in Canada's face.

"Why are you so mad at Canada? If you saw him do something, it was probably me," he admitted which was true ninety percent of the time. Canada tended to be more passive aggressive, and generally, didn't get caught when he actually did something.

"I suppose you did start it. Didn't you boy?" he spat, and America ignored it.

"Sure, now put the gun down," he said, having gone through enough negotiations to stay focused on the main issue.

"Fine, come along, Alfred," he hadn't loosened his grip on the gun and instead carelessly gestured him to come with it. France appeared triumphant in his snack purchases, thank Lady Liberty for that.

"I have the Frazzles~," France said sticking the bacon chip into England's mouth. It did seemed to have a calming effect at first, and he even took the drink. Then, England punched France in the face. He proceeded to finish the chip and pick up the fallen Frazzle bag.

"Well, that was actually pretty nice France. Next time Prussia invades your lands, I might actually help you" England said earnestly, eating another chip. France shook from his position on the floor.

"Darn, he didn't snap out of it," France muttered in dismay. England or crazy Britannia (so girly), grabbed his hand and actually succeeded in dragging him forward. He didn't even look tired after a few minutes of this. The situation wasn't helped by the fact he was constantly almost falling.

"Ow, you're pulling too hard," he whined which England ignored, intent on getting him through the door.

"Quit complaining Alfred," England said as if he were still a kid. That's it. He dug into the carpet with his heel.

"I'm independent. I don't need to take this crap," he snapped, and England stopped.

"Alfred," They yelled simultaneously. He goofed.

"Oops," he said, rapidly trying to think of ways to soften the blow, but he could already feel the cold blue wave of poison coming from the man in front of him. He didn't have the advantage of hiding in a tree and shooting at him this time.

"What did you say boy?" he said, daring him to say it again while everyone else looked at him as if he should simply lie. Alfred just couldn't do that.

"You know what I'm not ashamed of it, and I never will be. I'm independent," he said, much to Canada's alarm.

"The gun, Alfred, remember the gun," Matthew pleaded, fairly anxious now. Sure enough, England (I should have put him in a retirement home by now.) pointed the gun at him.

"Oh, that thing again," he said nonchalantly without erupting into nervous laughter for once. Despite his bravado, England kept his gaze steady and the gun pointed at him because pretending to be tough only worked in eighties movies.

"Take it back," he demanded, hand idly on trigger. His hand wasn't shaking, not like before. He would shoot. Alfred didn't care. When it came to someone compromising his freedoms, sometimes he didn't think straight.

"No," he said again.

"Alfred, it's a bad idea," Canada butted in, and once again, the anger was directed at Canada.

"Quit patronizing me boy," he said snidely while still keeping his sights on America.

"Take it back or I'll shoot," he warned. His finger was closing in on the trigger. America braced himself and waited for the bullet to hit him.

"That's it. England put the gun down. This is a meeting room, not a war zone," Germany yelled. Italy shouted that he didn't want Germany to die. Otherwise, the room remained silent, including Arthur, who'd turned deathly pale. England put away the gun, amazed.

"Germany, you're alive?" England said, wide eyed. Germany shifted uncomfortably. That sort of look reminded him of too many things.

"Of course I am," he said, but England had lost interest. Arthur appeared dazed as if suddenly hit by a tranquilizer dart.

"This isn't right," he said, and America decided it was his duty to step in and nudge the Brit in the right direction.

"It's cuz you're having a mental breakdown," he said, some of the slang his kids used slipping in.

"Speak properly, Alfred. I'll not have you babbling," he insisted, and Alfred could just hear the rest of the rant. Alfred how dare you rip off my plays and turn it into sparkly crap? Alfred quit stealing my TV shows. Alfred stop imitating my accent behind my back.

"Not important right now, remember, two hundred and thirty five years of independence?" he said, not wanting to get shot for it later.

"Two hundred . . . that flash . . . Everything is different," England said again, going into a deep meditation. That's a good start.

"Good, now, calm down, I'll still come with you if it will make you feel better," he offered, knowing he usually did snap out of whatever mood he was in after a nap.

"What about the rest of my empire? Is that gone?" he asked, seeming a little sad. In his head, America whistled innocently.

"Yup, but hey, you got to keep a little piece of Ireland. That's something," he said, trying to cheer him up. America didn't actually like it when anyone was bummed out. There was a glint in his eyes. America instinctively stepped back. England pulled out his gun again. Alfred really needed to confiscate that. Didn't Arthur have the no guns rule in the first place?

"I'll just have to win it all back then," England said. Shit, America did not want this escalating into a shooting. They'd never be able to get it out of the carpet for one, and it would forever strain England's relations with everybody or at least for a few months. (Sometimes it really did seem like schoolyard around here.)

"We should settle this like men," he said, putting his hands on his hips. England smiled, but again, Alfred's skin crawled. He was humoring him.

"And what do you propose?" he asked, keeping his gun at the ready. He must have noticed America staring at it.

"Um .. . eh . .. Paper Rock Scissors," he said. It was a fairly easy game to play. He wouldn't have time to change his mind. England laughed mockingly.

"You expect me to believe that's how you all solve your problems," he said, mildly amused. Alfred was going to stick with it.

"Yeah, right guys?" he asked. Silence.

"Agree with me for once in you life!" he shouted desperately. England had a gun to his head for Roosevelt's sake. They muttered agreements begrudgingly. England chuckled, putting the gun away. Alfred would make a grab for it later.

"Fine. If you really want to play that badly," England said as if he were doing him a favor. Which he was in a way, but still, he was such a self entitled mom sometimes.

"Okay, then, best two out of three, if I win, you give me the gun and stop trying to rule over everybody. If you win, I take back my independence," America said, thinking they were good enough bluffs while he was like this. There was concerned muttering in the room however.

"That's horrible," Matthew exclaimed, likely ashamed to have started the whole thing- somehow.

"Be careful America," Japan said, leaving for he had a literal sea of problems to deal with as it was.

"Oh Germany, everybody's fighting again," Italy cried worriedly, waving a white flag. Germany sighed. He'd gone eight months without doing that, took him to therapy and everything.

"It'll pass. If there is one thing I believe in, it's America's dumb luck," Germany said with a rueful grin. America gave everyone a thumbs up.

"Everything's cool, guys. I'm a master when it comes to this game," he said, cracking his knuckles. So, they formed their hands into fists and hit the other hand three times before picking.

"Paper," England said, without much enthusiasm. Probably, wishes there was a gun involved in this game. Crazy gun nut. Texas twitched on his nose, (Heh heh.)

"Scissors," he called out at the same time. After realizing he pulled it off, he let out a resounding ha. Then, they did the same thing again, each with a little more enthusiasm.

"Paper," England said again.

"Rock," America bit his lip. He had expected him to change signs.

"Uh oh . . . no problem,"America said with as much confidence as he could muster. He didn't want to lose, even if he wasn't going to follow through with what he said. America would never live it down. Not too many of them were here but Italy was a gossip so everyone would know eventually.

"Scissors" they said at the same time. The next round happen quickly as they were eager for the results.

"Paper" they said again, and he wondered if England could read his moves. He let the creepy thought fall to the way side.

"Scissors" they both said once again. He was getting tired of it. He was going to change it up.

"Paper" England said with a smug smile.

"Rock" America said, mouth agape. Only after that did he realize, England had followed a simple pattern, and he still lost.

"Shit, I'm never going to live this down," Alfred said although everyone was too shocked to actually tease him about it yet.

"Don't worry. He should snap out of it in the morning," France said, raising his arm in the air in encouragement. He hadn't left the floor yet.

America didn't get to use his contingency plan and carry Canada out of the room. (Hey, the other countries were more than capable of dodging a few bullets.) England easily grabbed his arm and dragged him outside like a pull along toy.

"When did you get so strong," America said, sounding impressed in spite of himself.

"Shut up boy, just for that, you aren't allowed to trade with Spain. I've seen how Texas has been trying to seduce you," England ranted, and nothing about that sentence was historically accurate at all. Also, Texas hadn't seduce him. She'd just had been . . . um persistent. Yeah, that's it.

"What?" he said, but when he didn't respond, he tried again.

"Um, I own Texas," Alfred said, wondering if any of this was getting through or only making him crazier.

"Now, look who hit his head," England teased, attempting to sound light hearted, and yet, failing. He also checked to make sure America was still there a lot. He wasn't sure why with the vice grip he had on him.

"You," America said tartly.

" This always happens when you talk with Canada too long. You influence each other too easily," he grumbled as if they'd had this conversation before. America had enough of England picking on Canada.

"Stop picking on Canada. You scared him. It's not funny,"America said. Despite his unusually serious tone, he failed to sway him, and England instead laughed in that melodramatic way super villains do.

"Good, teach him to threaten me with an embargo in Louisiana," England said. Again, Alfred worried for his mental health.

"Um, England- Britain- Great Britain, put the gun away," he said, growing more nervous the closer he pointed the gun at him.

"If you could get my name right on the first try, I wouldn't need a gun," England replied reasonably.

"Anyway, I own Louisiana," America said, and he laughed, but it was softer.

"Silly, America, Louisiana belongs to Canada," he said, and America couldn't help but feel the slightest bit patronized.

"Not everything French belongs to Canada," he said, a little miffed.

"I suppose this place really is topsy turvy," England said, more to himself than to him.

"Tell me, are you actually independent here?" he said as if he didn't believe it. Maybe, he should do it Hungary's way and hit him with a frying pan and be done with it.

"Yeah, does this mean you're snapping out of it?" he asked hopefully. Acceptance, was the first step to recovery.

"So, you didn't fail miserably," he said surprised. America rolled his eyes. Yes because a bison tossing baby couldn't take care of himself.

"No but you tried really hard to make me fail," he said. England was quiet, speculative, taking it all in. All this was better than America could hope for now.

" Yes, I suppose I would," he said finally. He was quiet, and at least, he seemed to know where he was going.

"Do I . . . see my family often?" he asked, and that could mean a lot of things. All the more confusing when they called each other siblings.

"You mean my uncles?" America asked. He was subdued, thinking hard.

"Yes,"he replied finally.

"Well, you avoid them most of the time, but yeah, sometimes, you'll hang out," America said, careful not to say it was mostly during the beer drinking holidays.

"Good, do we get along?" he asked.

"You want me to lie?" America asked, avoiding the question and answering it at the same time.

"Ah, it's like that," England said with a smile. He didn't say anything for a good while, and many streets were crossed in the meantime. Finally, at a red light, he spoke again.

"And Canada?" he asked, seeming hopeful. Something was off about it, none of it matched up with how he should have acted back then. He just seemed to be an entirely different person, but that couldn't be right. It was still England, just a little more gun crazy. America hated when he was missing something obvious. Hopefully, he'd be able to get to the bottom of it.

"When you remember him, yeah," he replied. He looked a little guilty,( about time.)

"And Prussia?"This surprised him. They what? Fought in a war together once. Twice maybe?

"Well, he does awesome pranks, and he's still kicking despite you know . . . the dissolution and everything," he said, not wanting to be very specific about that time. (The obvious exception for him being when he talked to his kids about it.)

"Ah, I suppose that's why . . ." England said, looking slightly relieved. Then, his gaze turned hard.

"What of China?" he asked.

"He's booming economically,"America replied cheerfully. England glowered.

"Typical," he said.

"Here we are," England said, checking for a key under the mat. He scratched his head. He didn't seem to remember that he'd moved it so it was under the faerie statue, not that America wasted government resources finding out these things. He used binoculars like everybody else.

"Hey, E-Br-Arthur, the keys," he said when England appeared to be checking how thick the door was. He couldn't react fast enough to explain, and Arthur kicked the door off its hinges.

"Or kick down the door, that works too," America said, starting to accept the craziness.

"Man, I didn't realize you were this much of a pain to everybody else while I chilled," He really had been prepping himself to be on his own, so the less he had to with Britain back then the better. Still, he was beginning to appreciate the crap they went through in the meanwhile, not that he didn't have his own flaws. They were pointed out often enough.

"Get in the house boy," he instructed, already moving inside. America could have escaped, but it was likely this phase would end soon. Also, he didn't have to leave until the next day so time wasn't an issue.

"If you're not going to call me America, at least call me Alfred," he said, tired of being called that demeaning term, left over from England's pirate days. He hadn't been just a boy for a few decades.

"Very well Alfred, make yourself at home, while I look for some books," he said, already sounding more hospitable.

"Hmm. . . yes, thank you. No I shall not make trouble while I'm here. I can only hope he does the same,"he said talking to air, so much for becoming saner.

"Are you talking to yourself again?"Alfred asked, knowing the truth already. Thanks to Peter Pan he wouldn't say it out loud, but come on, more faeries?

"I'm talking to a brownie, Alfred, but I suppose you were never fixed so you can't see her."

America didn't like the way he said fixed, but decided to take advantage opportunity to make an obvious joke.

"A brownie, huh? Can I eat it?" he piped up. England looked a little bored.

"Alfred, I'll get the gun out again," he warned, and Alfred didn't think it was worth the fight.

"Fine, think what you want," he huffed and crossed his arms.

"Feel free to do what you'd like while I'm gone, Alfred, but don't think of leaving. I may not have Finland's expertise as a sniper, but I have a decent range," England repeated.

"Whatever," he said, sitting on the couch. He grabbed the remote and decided to watch some TV. It's no like he had anywhere else to be. America went ahead and informed Canada he was fine by text. Several texts where exchanged, mostly consisting of Canada urging him to get out while he still could, he assured him he would be fine. Canada gave up convincing him and asked him to be careful. After that, he watched the BBC for a while before becoming bored and switching to cartoons. What? He needed something to balance out the depressing political atmosphere. America was left alone for a while so he assumed England fell asleep. He decided to stay so he could make sure England was better when he awoke.

"After a great deal of research, I believe I have found a solution," England said, returning triumphantly. America was always concerned when anything involving time travel came up. More than a fair share of his movies explained how it was rarely a good idea to mess with such things.

"To what?" he asked slowly and somewhat apprehensively.

"Getting home," he said matter of factly. No way America was going to lose him to some freaky vortex that would take him into the dinosaur era so he could get eaten by a t-rex or something.

"You are home. Let's not play any more irrational parlor tricks okay?" America said, accidentally, applying the Russian smile complex. He usually preferred to use it when at home, treating the world meetings more like a vacation than anything given the opportunity. (He did try to be productive most of the time if only to give Ludwig a break from the chaos. )

"Look, I am not England. From what I've gathered, he and I have in a sense swapped roles. Since I still have my strength, I assume I can still get back with the proper device," he tried to explain, but making up a second England was too much. Alfred tapped Arthur's head lightly to snap him out of it, but America was ignored.

"Since a wish's power comes from desire, there is no quick counter spell other than making my own wish, and believe me after seeing you, I am more than ready to go home," he said, his distaste showing. America rolled his eyes. England made it a point to make sure he knew that he was the black sheep of the family. Sadly enough, England had the same title when it came to Europe. With that logic, America took it more as a complement than anything.

"Well, sorry to be such a disappointment, but I'm not letting you do something stupid while you're crazy. I'll have to save your butt again when something goes wrong because something always goes wrong," America said because no matter what excuse the Brit made. He'd done it more than once.

"I'm not crazy you idiot,"he barked, but Alfred had been quick enough to launch a preemptive strike. He grabbed the book, ignoring the nagging thought that he should have taken the gun first.

"Give me back my book," he said, jumping up in an attempt to grab it. America navigated away enough of the time to make the effort futile. Luckily, England hadn't thought to pull the gun out yet, with some luck that wouldn't become an issue.

"When you stop calling yourself Great Britain, maybe I'll give it back, maybe," he said, waving the book in the air tauntingly. He was starting to have a bit of fun with this.

"I am Great Britain, boy," he snorted. America finally had a clear shot at the gun. He pulled the gun off, complete with holster, causing England to almost fall over.

"Yoink," he said with unabashed glee.

"My gun," Arthur said, somewhat distraught. America examined what had caused him so much trouble today, recognizing it.

"It's not a bad handheld. Looks like one I made," he said, because he probably did.

"You did or rather he did," England said, and America rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time, another him, ridiculous, two of him would make the world explode.

" Go to sleep. You should be back to normal, tomorrow," he said, pushing him upstairs as best he could. This was going well until the cool gaze returned.

"Very well, Alfred, if I cannot convince you by logic, I'll have to convince you by force." He turned, punching him in the face and knocking him down. England then dragged him downstairs by the scruff of his jacket.

"Woah," America said, worried by his sudden assertiveness. He didn't want to end up in a hostage situation after convincing Canada he knew what he was doing. England mysteriously produced some rope, and tied him up. Despite struggling with all his might, Arthur was just too good at reading what he would do, and too strong to be avoided by brute force alone. The rope seemed to glow ever so slightly, but that was silly. Even worse, England had found a gag, again conjured out of nowhere.

"Now be a good boy," England said, patting his head. America glared. Even now, he was being treated like a little kid. Stupid England.

Now, I normally don't ask for reviews, but come on, we are three chapters in. It's getting sad. (: