That night, worn out from acting civil all day, England found a second envelope waiting on top of his computer keyboard. This time England studied the envelope before opening it. It was white and had his name written on it in red biro. Other than that, it was just like any other envelope he had ever seen.

England tore it open a small card fell to the floor.

America is coming for negotiations. I wouldn't stick around.

The words were typed and, again, were in red ink on white paper. There was some French writing below the English, which appeared to be saying the same thing. England turned it over, but there was nothing on the back.

He placed the card back in the envelope and sat down on the floor. Could he trust someone who wouldn't even show him their face? If they were lying, England could be abandoning his country exactly when they needed him, but if the spy was telling the truth he could be saving his people from yet another blood-soaked war.

England picked up the phone. "Germany, can I stay with you for a couple of days?" he asked.

"Er, I dunno," Italy replied. "I'll ask."

There was a fumbling on the other end of the line, followed by a couple of minutes of silence. "He wants to know why."

England couldn't help smiling to himself a little. "America wants to be friends. And I think I've learnt my lesson as far as war's concerned."

"Ok, just a moment."

Another pause.

"You can come!" Italy said. "Just… don't cook. Please. Especially not pasta; yours always makes me want to cry. And we don't really have tea and you can't drive on the left and you have to know which end of a grenade to throw and you have to be okay with Prussia stalking you cos he always does that and-"

"Thanks," England said.

Italy didn't get the hint. "-if you're vegetarian I wouldn't bother coming and you don't have to wear lederhosen all the time and you'll need to work out if what Germany says is meant to be a joke or not and… and…"

"I'll be fine," England said. "Thank you."

He paused with the phone in his hand and hurriedly, as though someone was going to stop him, dialled Japan's number.

Nothing but that bloody answerphone message. England threw the phone at the wall, and then promptly picked it up and put it back on its table. He knew he'd need to explain to his boss why he was suddenly making friends with Germany, but he figured the politician would understand and would manage to keep America at bay.

If not, there might not be any UK for him to come back to, and England couldn't help imagining himself living in America's basement, like Prussia in Germany's.

He packed a bag and told his boss what he was doing and left for Germany's place.


It quickly became evident to England that Prussia and Germany were making themselves scarce around him. He didn't mind; this was an awkward time for the three of them. They'd been enemies in both previous world wars and now they were allies in neutrality. It was awkward for both sides.

England found himself spending increasing amounts of time with Italy, which couldn't be doing anything good for his sanity. Italy seemed mostly unfazed by the tension in the air all around Europe. The whole continent was just waiting for something to shatter the neutrality, already stretched thin between each country.

That night, England slept on a sofa. He found it difficult to get to sleep with the excuse-for-a-pillow Germany had given him, but eventually found himself drifting off.

And that was when the nightmare came.

Noise so loud, he was deafened within minutes and fire blinding his eyes and scorching his skin until he could smell the sickening smell of his own flesh cooking. And the worst thing? He was completely and utterly alone. No friends. Not even any enemies. No-one. And still the noise and the flames, but nothing but darkness.

Eventually, England managed to wake himself up with his screams. But the pain didn't stop. His arm was fire. He rushed into the bathroom and filled the sink with water. Even with his arm completely submerged, it seared with blazing pain.

Italy ran in after a few minutes. "I was sleeping-" he complained, but stopped when he saw England's facial expression.

"What happened?" before England could answer, Italy ran off. "I'll get Germany," he said.

It was a few more minutes before Germany arrived. He frowned at England, who still had his arm completely submerged in icy water. "How did you burn yourself?" he asked.

"Burn?" England asked.

Germany ignored him. "No…" he tailed off. "Phone your boss," he ordered. "Now!"

England took his arm out of the cold water and the pain immediately spiralled up to his shoulder. He gasped with the sheer force of it and was about to go back to the relative comfort of the water, when Germany pressed a mobile phone hard into his good hand.

Still unable to think clearly, England managed to dial his boss' number. He picked up the phone after eight rings. "What is it?" he asked, clearly more than a little irritated at having just been woken up.

England started to speak, but Germany snatched the phone from him. "Are you in full contact with all your major cities?" he asked.

"Um, yes," a pause. "I'm sorry, who is this?"

"You need to check," Germany insisted. "If you're too lazy to do it yourself, get someone else to. Get your emergency services to report on any strange sightings of lights, noises or shockwaves."

"Yes? And why should I listen to you?"

Germany glanced at England. "Because I have a Mr Kirkland with me and he is not doing well, and I think I've seen something like this before. Phone me back when you get the results. I'm not sure you'll think it a priority, but you must. Auf Wiederhören."

Germany hung up and tossed the phone aside. "Get your arm back in that sink," he growled at England. "I have some important calls to make."

He left the room, leaving the mobile on the tiled floor; presumably he was going to use the landline to phone whoever he deemed important enough to call at three in the morning.

England glanced at the phone and snatched it up with his good hand. He knew that now really wasn't the time, but…

He fumbled with the keypad until he managed to dial Japan's number. Come on, come on! But, as he really should have expected, the answerphone clicked in once again.

England threw the phone hard against the wall. The casing snapped off the back and the battery fell out. The three parts of the phone landed with a metallic thud in the shower.

England pulled his arm out of the sink. The pain immediately opened up like a blooming flower, but he didn't care. He sat with his back against the wall, legs drawn up to his chest. His arm screamed at him and livid red marks were beginning to flood across the skin. Sweat beaded across his forehead and his breath was coming in ragged uncontrollable gasps. It was like the pain had taken him over.

An immeasurable amount of time passed and Germany entered the bathroom again. "Heilige Schwanz! I told you to keep your arm underwater," he said. He shook his head and looked away. "Um, England," his voice softened as he crouched in front of the grimacing country. "Do you think you're ready to hear this?"

England managed to nod, he could feel his hair sticking to his damp forehead as he did so.

"Are you sure?"

"Y-Yeah."

Germany sighed. "Your country, I mean, York… it's been bombed," he closed his eyes and looked away for a few seconds.

England tried to take that in, but couldn't. It slid over the top of his consciousness like ice.

"A lot have people have died," Germany continued, "there aren't even estimates yet, but… the whole city is just wasteland. Your arm… You're injured because a whole portion of your population and land is gone. And it's not just you. Krakow, Innsbruck, Barcelona, Keila… there might be more… Europe is being ripped apart."

Still, the implications of Germany's words hadn't quite sunk in.

"You need to get a bandage on that," Germany nodded to England's arm. "I'll get Italy to do it. I'm calling an emergency meeting of the European Council of War… I'm sure you don't object to me leading it?"