Britannian Idiot, American Idiot.
Act V. Everything is All Wrong
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Sealand huddled himself in between China and Japan, hiding his face in one of China's arms—he began crying. "I-I d-don't want to g-go b-back to England's house..!" The British boy stammered. China and Japan could feel him quiver. "I-I don't want to see him..! I want big brother back! He is not my big brother England..!" He sobbed.
They all were still at the parking lot thirty minutes after England and America's departure— trying to a great extent to think of an idea, but truthfully they didn't know what to do at the point; there wasn't much else for them to do. It was all up to America; his choice, his actions, and his alone.
Everyone knew when the time comes—they will know when they are needed again.
All that's left to do now is to wait.
The other countries watched the young boy with sympathy in their eyes. They felt truly terrible for the lad—they hated seeing a child so sad.
France went over to Sealand. He bent over the child and placed gentle hands on the little sovereignty's shoulder causing the boy to look up at France through blurred, glossy eyes. "Mon petit… We will not make you if you do not want to…" France cooed trying to comfort him, feeling very sorry.
He smiled sadly at the British child. "You can stay with one of us if you would like. We will leave a letter at Angleterre's home saying where you are." The Frenchman suggested.
Sealand nodded to the offer, but he knew that a note wouldn't make any difference—his brother wouldn't care.
"England heads up!" A football—USA kind—went spiraling through the air as America cried out— warning England to turn around. The two were at least a few hundred yards apart more or less, mostly more.
The supposed Briton—becoming less believable of him being one by the second—was unaware of America's call and stood turned around whilst the football drilled through the sunset colored sky towards his direction. He began looking around aimlessly trying very much to find anything to his interest— forgetting that he and America were playing due to his incapability to actually care at the time.
America ran frantically to England screaming at him to get out of the way and/or to push him out of the way, hoping that either one would work, "Watch out!" America warned again, running faster—anymore, he could have out ran/flew the ball.
England groaned, finally hearing America's voice—which annoyed him greatly. "Watch out for what?" He said indifferently still turned to the opposite direction of the flying football.
"Just turn the hell around!" America screamed, instantly wishing he hadn't said that and instead he should have said, 'Just get outta the damn way!'. The ball would smash into England's face. America tried speeding up his running, but could not run any faster.
! "England!"
Why was he trying so hard to prevent England from getting hit? Before the change—or the joke in America's mind—he would have let it happen then laugh, but of course he would help the, would be furious, Brit from the ground he would be lying on after the hit, afterwards. Him being the Hero, he would never deny anyone his assistance!
So why was he being so protective now? Why did he have to be protective of England in the first place? This moment also felt oddly familiar to America, as if something similar happened before like this too.
The football was now too far ahead of America with his eyes filled with fear. He knew his strength was way beyond any normal person— or country for that matter—that's why the both of them were very far apart in the first place to play their 'friendly' game of catch.
It was funny, when they had first started playing, America had recalled the first game they had played together back then—when he became England's colony—was catch. Now the first game the two played, since England became America's state, was also catch.
As the ball grew closer and closer to the unknowing, back turned England—aimed to the middle of his back, would be aimed to his stomach if he turns around—the Briton begins to fiddle with his person— fixing up any kind of 'flaw' that prevented his Hero-ness quality from showing.
The football was then a few feet away from pounding into England's back. Just as it was going to be drilled into England, in one movement he adjusted his glasses and ruffed out his jacket before turning around instantly and quickly—when the ball was a little less than a foot apart from the Englishman—and expertly caught the football in his hands, being unfazed and not pushed backwards by the powerful force of the thrown ball—with the sports ball just being shy away from England's stomach when he caught it with ease.
Slight smoke began emitting from in between England's hands and the ball due to the friction not causing England any sting from the forceful rubbing although giving his hands a noticeable burn. The smoke quickly dissipated into the air.
England's expression stayed the same indifferent look he had when turned around and stared at America with bored, but questioning eyes. "What?"
America stopped in his track—being a few feet away from England—staring in astonishment with his mouth agape at the episode that just took place.
H-how the hell did he do that..? H-He's so strong now..! How..? "E-England..! How did you get so strong..? That was a really hard throw! I know—I threw it!" America couldn't stop himself from asking. He stood there mesmerized. Without giving England a chance to answer America unconsciously cried out, "That was frickin UH-MAZIN!"
He couldn't have been so proud and so confused of his little state in his whole life—despite this was joke in his eyes, although couldn't figure out how England could manage becoming as strong as he was in a day, but was so proud of him nonetheless pulling the 'stunt' off; it looked cool, it was convincing and that was enough for America.
England shrugged and swiftly threw the ball to America who caught it last minute in surprise from being in his stupor. "I guess I always had this kind of strength. But I just caught the ball, no big deal." England smirked thinking for a moment. "Well it's no surprise that, I! The amazing HERO! Would be able to do that anyway!" England declared and walked over to America who was still holding onto the ball staring at England coming towards him.
Did he say that HE'S the HERO? That's totally something I would say! Hahaha! He really knows how to act like me! But AMAZING is kinda pushing it, because I'M the AMAZING HERO!
Face to face with each other, America grins happily, wrapping an arm, that wasn't currently holding onto the football, around England's shoulder. He shook him a bit in a, 'well done, that was awesome!' manner. "Dude! That was freakin awesome! Your big bro couldn't be prouder!" He exclaimed, not realizing his grammatical error.
"Thanks. But seriously, it was no big deal." England said obviously not noticing the error, clearly with irritation in his voice from not wanting to be touched. He ran a hand through his hair, not looking at America. He slipped off the American arm that was around him, still not looking at America himself and started to stare off through the green field.
...Why won't you look at me? America shook away the thought, thinking again, It's all just a joke! He concluded and takes a look around at their surroundings. They were at the largest park in Great Britain and one of the most beautiful ones with spacious fields perfect for playing long distant games such as this. And one hell of a great place to play hide-and-seek!
America then moves his attention to the darkening skies that were colored in perfect shades in order of light black, navy blue, and violet the closest it was to the two when you would look up with it getting lighter of magenta, orange and then ending in a tiny flicker of light that glowed golden the farther the streams of the color of light went, centered of the setting horizon.
"It's getting pretty late. You should go home and rest. Another meeting tomorrow!" America said acting maturely, looking and England with seriousness in his tone, but his eyes shouted out merrily—with America being America, he's usually always cheery.
England nodded stuffing his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. "Yeah you're right. We should split." England agreed then started off towards his home—which he thankfully didn't forget, only the names and locations of cities and counties, his past before the spell, and his entire self completely—but again, the not-so-bright American didn't know that and thinks everything is a joke even though some things just weren't possible to be accomplished in one night for this 'joke' to be credible and/or possible—example, the football incident, no one can get that strong that insanely fast.
While the Brit walked, something snapped in America causing his protectiveness to sneak it's way in again. He didn't want England to be by himself in his house—completely disregarding the possibility of Sealand being there, which he wouldn't be—something bad could happen.
And of course with him being the Hero and all that jazz, he couldn't risk the chance of his little state from being shot or mauled by unrested spirits—cause ghosts were fucking scary, they were the real deal. Hell, America couldn't risk letting England walk back alone—he could be mugged or raped on his way home because he was really an attractive guy, he always was.
He always looks good.
…Wait. Did he just think that?
No, of course not! That's silly! America again shook off the thought immediately going back to what he was originally thinking—England + alone = a BIG no, no.
"Hey England! I'm going to crash at your house tonight okay?" America requested, not giving England a choice.
England continued to walk acting like he hadn't heard America's call making the American's blood boil. "Hey! England! Pay attention when I'm talking to you dammit!" He scolded now being very angry. He only wanted to make sure England is in no harm, not mooch off of him—he had a hotel room anyway. He didn't need to do this, but he was and it came from the bottom of his heart.
America just stood there frowning angrily with his teeth clenched. He has some nerve ignoring the effin AMAZING HERO!
England stopped in his tracks not looking back, "Dude are you coming or not?" The 'Briton' asked nonchalantly, noticing that he hadn't heard any footsteps following him.
America blinked, "W-Wait… What..?" He asked being perplexed at England's response.
Without looking back, England waved a hand in the air telling America to walk towards his direction, "Come on. You said you're staying at my place right? Let's GO." Emphasizing 'GO' by extending the vowel for a few seconds.
The confused American blinked again, now just realizing what England was saying, "Oh yeah! That's right let's get going!" America said merrily, jogging to England's side who began walking again.
The two walked together through London to reach their destination—England's house.
It was already night time as they walked the beautiful path leading up to England's manor. England's house was secluded from the city—being located in the most breathtaking part that lied in the outskirts of London and hidden in the evergreen forests and surrounded by beautiful gardens. The only way to England's manor and all its glory was through that path.
The path itself was breathtaking, not to mention being very long. It was somewhat spacious—not too wide, not too narrow, but enough to feel cozy and safe. The sides of the path were decorated with a line of trees, many different flowers, and other kinds of greenery. Trees and plants rustled in the small breeze that began to pick up, making soothing melodies.
As they walked, America's mind became lost in memory of past events that felt familiar to him. How many times he and England had walked down this path together was too much for him to count, but he remembered each and every one of those times—it was very nostalgic.
America smiled, remembering all the pleasant memories—and for just walking down a dirt road. "Hey England. Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"Remember way back then when I was your colony we were going to your house after playing in the park? I remember that it was so cool playing catch for the first time with you cause I got it stuck in a tree and you climbed up to get it, but you fell on the way down!" America snickered at the vision of England losing his grip on a branch and falling off an oak tree, but stopped laughing knowing how bad he felt for England getting hurt for him.
He still felt bad, but wouldn't tell the Englishman that. England always got hurt for him, which makes him feel bad.
I was scared to hell when he fell! Knowing how old he is he could of broken into millions of pieces! I really shouldn't have laughed; now he'll probably get mad at m—
"What are you talking about?" England asked interrupting America's thoughts.
America blinked out of his thinking. He cocked an eyebrow up and looked at England questioningly. "Hmm..? You don't remember? Okay, sure it was like a long time ago, but I would think that you would remember this one cause you fell!"
"Nope. Don't remember. Besides, I don't fall off of tree— Heroes don't do that!"
"Riiiight..! Of course! Whatever you say dude!" America sarcastically remarked. He showed off a smirk to England.
England didn't look back, making an annoyed face and continued facing forward, being able to see his home in the distance. "Are you losing your memory old man? I'm serious. I never fell out of a tree. Maybe you did and hit your head! Because you're accusing me of doing it—and I didn't. Alright?" He pouted slightly still not looking at the American.
Why won't you look at me..? Oh right… The joke. "Alright alright..! I believe you—it was a while ago anyway."
"And I am not old fyi!" America reprimanded, pouting.
"Whatever. You sure act like you are! You're so uptight!" England exclaimed bringing his hands to the air.
America chuckled shaking his head. He's really into this joke isn't he? He knew he said that to England before—being old and uptight.
A very loud and noticeable sound of rustling was heard in front of them halting America, but having the Brit still walking.
That sound came from no damn tree..."England stop!" America stepped in front of England, spreading his arms to his sides to make England stop.
"What the hell is it?" England asked clearly annoyed.
"There was this noise! Somebody's around here and they might come here to attack you! As the hero and your big brother America! I won't let my little state become a rape victim! Or anything else that could hurt you!" America announced loudly still having his arms at his sides even though England had stopped walking.
England sighed and patted a hand on America's arms telling him to put them down which he obliged to. "It's probably a raccoon or something, jeez paranoid much?" England walked around America and started off again.
Being slightly embarrassed and blushing at his mistake, America tried his best to redeem himself. "Oh right! Yeah that's totally it! There's no one here of course!" America looked at England's back that was turned to him and ran up beside him.
The two finally made it to England's mansion looking absolutely magnificent and walked up to the front door. England began digging through his jacket pocket to find his keys.
After a few minutes of looking, England pulled out a keychain with a couple of keys in different colors and shapes. He singled out a gold key that was slightly larger than the others and pushed it into the lock. With a twist and a shove, the door was opened and the two nations went inside.
England stripped off his bomber jacket, tossing it onto the couch. He walked casually to the kitchen—counter still with groceries that have yet to be put away—while loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his tan uniform.
Taking a mug from the cupboard and setting it down onto the counter next to the groceries, the now sapphire-eyed nation begins rummaging through cabinet to cabinet to cabinet to drawer to drawer searching frantically for something.
"Whatcha looking for little bro?" The American asked cheerily walking into the kitchen without wearing his bomber jacket, having it be thrown onto the couch also.
"Coffee pot." England quickly stated whilst searching his whole kitchen going through more cabinets and drawers he already looked through.
America shot a perplexed look at the busy body Britain walking up from behind the other country. He shouldn't be looking so hard for something he doesn't have. America chuckled. "You're not going to find it you know." He noted to England. "You don't have one silly!"
The Englishman who was searching through the bottom cabinets stood up from the ground, scratching his head in aggravation. "Ugh really..?" He groaned, sounding almost like a whine.
England brought his arm back down and went through the drawers searching for something again.
America sighed and leaned back against the kitchen wall, "What are you looking for this time?"
"Instant coffee." He quickly stated again sliding open each drawer and searching thoroughly through each, one by one. "Since there's no coffee pot to boil the water in I'll just put in one of those single packets of instant coffee in the mug, add some water, then heat it in the microwave! Genius!"
The American sighed again, shaking his head. "If there's no pot for coffee why would there be coffee in general? Dude you don't got any of the stuff!" He exclaimed trying to force the information into the British man's head.
England stopped his searching and slumped over the counter—opposite side of the one with groceries— in total defeat, resting the side head on surface, feeling the cool top on his cheek. He looked longingly at the mug in front of him. "Man I seriously need something strong and caffeinated! I'm beat from today!"
The counter laying American look alike stayed on top its surface until the sides of his face began to hurt from the temples of his glasses digging into his skin. He lifted his head along with the top half of his body that was lying on the counter in a manner that made him look like he was possessed—scaring America internally.
The Briton turned his head ever so slowly making it believable that he was indeed possessed and stopped turning as soon as he made eye contact, gaping at the American with a desperate look.
Shivers went down America's spine. He wanted to look away at scary England, but couldn't break the eye contact he had with the Brit.
"I… really… want… some… coffee...!" He wheezed freakishly turning his gaze away from America's to every one of the cabinets and drawers he had opened then stopping to look sickly at the tea pot and everything else that was tea related, neatly—or at least used to be until England was rummaging through the cupboards—placed inside.
England gagged, quickly turning his head away and sticking his tongue out in disgust, "I don't even like tea. It's boring and tastes nasty! Why do I even have it?" He recalled the same instance involving his wardrobe being filled with 'nothing, but fancy shmancy crap'.
America—quickly getting over the scary possessed England moment—laughed and went over to the country—he patted the other's back. "See? That's exactly what I've been saying! Coffee is where it's at!" He grinned happily at England who didn't grin—or look back for that matter.
Why won't he look at me still? Joke or not that's plain rude.
"I gotta pick some up—oh and a coffee pot too…" England yawned, rubbing his eyes from beneath his glasses. His eyes were glassy and fluttered from the bothered feeling they felt from his rubbing hands. The Brit slumped slightly, putting a hand over his mouth and yawning again.
America chuckled and placed a tender hand on the tired nation's shoulder, "Oh looks like somebody's tired~!" He sang merrily.
Britain shook his head hastily—making it indescribable whether or not he shook his head to say 'no' or to shake away the grogginess—perhaps both. "No! I am not—" He yawns loudly and rubs his eyes again to wipe away the forming tears, yawning again whist he continued talking, "I am not tired…"
America sniggered taking England's wrist and pulling him out of the kitchen. "Uh yeah, I think you are! You are tired and you are going to bed this instant!" America ordered very grown up like.
England began to squirm and fidget around America's strong grip whining while doing so. "Aw man but I don't wanna go to bed!" He pouted, stopping his now known futile attempts to break free—abiding to America's guide to his bedroom.
"Now don't be like that England. Big brother America knows what's best because he's the terrific Hero! And Heroes know what's good and what's evil! Isn't that right, little hero? Having 'little hero' to indicate England himself.
The Brit started to retort while yawing again, "What the hell is 'little hero' s'pposed to mean..? I am not little! And I am to a Hero! Don't make it sound like I'm not!"
Laughing softly, America practically dragged the sleepy nation to his room and kicked open the room door which was ajar—lugging England onto the soft mattress.
"Okay my little state get into some PJ's and hit the hey! No questions alright?" America grinned then went to England's closet opening it to see jeans, slacks, skater shorts, lids, T-shirts, hoodies, sweatshirts, high tops, Nikes—everything you would expect an average American teen to wear.
Everything you would expect America to wear, but even America dresses better—sort of. Well at least he had some suits, vests and stuff unlike England right now.
The articles of clothing and footwear were scattered all around the closet—some being hung lopsidedly, some being on the verge of slipping off the hanger. The closet was a mess.
America clicked his tongue several time in a disapproving way, shaking his head. "You can't find anything in here! And you have a conference to lead! You can't go out looking out like a gangster! Do you know how many people will start to shoot at you—or expect you to shoot at them?"
The American turned around to look at the Englishman, scowling. "Hey England did you hear me?" He began throwing aside clothes until he found a spare uniform—the same that England was wearing now, which looks like America's—and a pair of pajamas that lied at the bottom of the pile.
He walked over to the bed where England was lying on his back and seeming to be sleeping, but immediately opened his eyes when he felt clothing plop onto his stomach. "Ah I heard you I heard you! I know it's a mess, but I'm too lazy to fix it." Hearing the part about having a cluttered closet and not the one about having more appropriate clothes.
America sighed and sat on the bed whilst England sat up and looked sleepily at America—not knowing he was staring. "You're gonna get fat from being lazy." America grinned teasingly.
England shrugged before falling back on the bed—leaving the clothes on top of him still. England yawned, closing his eyes.
America laughed then noticed England still wearing his day attire, "Change outta those clothes!" He half scolded half chuckled at seeing England all fidgety and whiny lying on the mattress. He would have never thought he would ever see England—the stubborn, no fun, boring, uptight, gentleman—acting so immaturely, so childish.
Hahaha you're really going all out aren't ya? This joke, but I don't act like that! Wrong answer America, but he didn't know that—it's no joke and he does act childish.
England groaned which soon turned into an irritating whine, "Don't want to… Too tired…" He yawned loudly shifting around the bed to make himself more comfortable. "I'm sleepy America…"
"Yes, I know you are, but really, change outta those clothes. You'll feel better and you'll sleep better." America stated. He caught a glimpse of England's hands which were noticeably burned. His eyes widen in shock and he fearfully pulls England upright making the other nation groan and complain.
"I don't want to change right now! I'm too tried!" England whined with his eyes half lidded, looking to the side.
America shook his head in disapproval, "Not about that!" He grabbed both of England's hands with his and pulled them up to the latter's face for him to see, "These burn marks! Where did you get these! Tell me right now! Did anyone hurt you?"
England scoffed sleepily still looking to the side, "No..! I got them from catching that football you threw, remember?" he chuckled, "That was literally a ball on fire..."
America lowers both his and England's hands and then rushes out the room to the bathroom. England could hear the rummaging of soaps, medication, shampoos, and any other toiletries he may have in there, falling out of the cabinet and onto the floor.
The America soon came back with a bunch of bandages, gauze, wrappings, and antibiotics in his arms—clumsily dropping them all on top the bed. "I need to bandage your hands—they could get infected!"
Groaning England fell back down on the bed, "Why? It's nothing really! I don't need any bandages! I doesn't hurt or anything!"
America crosses his arms and looks seriously at England, "You do! I can't risk anything worse happening to you because of those burns!" He grabs England's hands gently, but forcefully and starts rubbing on antibiotics.
It stung causing England to cringe so he tried to refuse treatment at first and attempted to free his hands, but gave up knowing he won't win this.
"Doesn't hurt huh?" America repeated continuing to aid England.
After a few–unnecessary—coats of antibiotics, America ripped two long strips of bandages and wrapping. He carefully and lovingly wrapped each hand until the burn marks were no longer visible.
A few minutes of silence pass as America waited for a reply about his handiwork. He could hear the tired nation's slight snore—which was rather cute—and smiled fondly. England was already asleep.
Laughing softly, America scooted closer to the sleeping country and ran a gentle hand through England's hair—messing it a little playfully—then down the side of the sleeping nation's face, caressing the other's soft skin lovingly with the tips of his fingers.
The blue eyed country took the clothes that were on top of the other and set them to the nearest chair in the room.
Tiptoeing as quietly as he can, America cautiously walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him softly—not wanting to wake the other with any of the slightest sounds.
He walked casually down the hall to the guest room; opening the door, walking in, and plopping his body on to the bed on his stomach. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling giddily.
"Tomorrow I'm getting England a suit! He'll be so happy! This is going to be awesome!"
The Next Day: 8:00 AM- England's house.
Already dressed and fixed up, America had woken up early to go find and buy the best suit for his little state—for his England! Wait ! He has to eat! After all— breakfast is the most important meal of the day! I'll fix him up a little something something—something special cause nothing is too good for my state!
And that's what America did. An hour in the kitchen while the sleeping country slept soundly, he fixed up England a little something something—a special breakfast.
What's more special than hot Earl Grey tea, scrambled eggs, four strips of bacon cooked just right, an English muffin—no pun intended—and two pieces of toast cut into the shape of a unicorn—which took up most of the hour considering how many times he messed up and the careful carving of the bread using a butter knife, all made by hand? Nothing that he could think of at the top of his head.
He wanted it to be perfect because his little state was worth it, no—England, was worth it.
Taking out the prettiest and shiniest plate, teacup, and saucer out of the cupboard, the American cheerfully placed all his cooking onto the platter at certain places that he thought would look just right, placed tea leaves into the cup then pouring in hot water he had boiled, and then placing the teacup gently onto the saucer.
America stood back to see his job well done, mentally patting his back—being proud of his hard work, knowing England would be so glad—the old England anyway.
Swiftly, America placed everything on the dining table, shifting it all a bit to be placed perfectly. He was now able to head out. Oh, but of course, checking to see how sleeping England was before he left for the store.
Opening one of the double doors of England's bedroom a crack—only to cringe at the sound of the hinges squeaking, a blue eye peeked through the small opening to see a still sleeping nation lying opposite of the where your head should be and snoring that cute—but kind of obnoxious—snore slightly.
With a soft laugh and a shake of the head, America closed the door as quietly as he can then started out the front door off to the mall.
Without a car, it was difficult to get place to place, but America didn't mind. The weather had been unusually lovely this week—surprisingly having no rain—along with the beautiful scenery and he had been walking everywhere since he got here anyway—so he was used to it—and with England nevertheless, which made it better.
Walking down the same path he and England had walked down last night and many times in the past, the sapphire eyed nation grinned cheekily at the idea of actually going out to buy England a suit—a suit for Heaven's sake! For England!
It was a preposterous idea—yes, but it was happening. England, the prim and proper king himself, was in need of a suit.
America laughed, finding it hard to believe that it was real, shaking his head. "Wow. I wonder when this jokes gonna end." He asked himself curiously, kind of hoping for an answer to fall out of the sky, straight into his noggin. "It's been going on for like two days now. To think he would stop by now."
He stretched out his arms out to loosen some morning stiffness in his body making odd noises of stretching relief. "Ah well. He'll go back to normal soon enough, but he's still my state and I'll make sure to remind him when this whole thing is over!" America flashed a smile to the clear sky.
And off he went to the mall.
America was leisurely walking out of a men's store in the mall, at hand was a hanger with a plastic covering a complete suit piece colored in the most ravishing shade of emerald green along with a lighter green colored tie and a black dress shirt for underneath. The green will match his eyes after he takes those contacts off!
Although, he wasn't expecting England to end the joke—which wasn't a joke at all of course—as soon as he went back to the other's home to give him the suit, but once it did he had hoped the emerald eyed country would wear the suit every now and again.
After eyeing respectively at the clothes he had bought, America clutched onto the hanger tightly and made sure that nothing won't fall or slip through the plastic covering. He zipped through the shopping firm making other shoppers scurry to the sides to not be in the way of a rowdy American who crashed doors outside.
America didn't waste any time getting back to England's house which was fortunately close to the mall even though his home was out away from London itself. Running through downtown, running up the path he and England had walked many times before, America came up to his state's marvelous manor and darted right through the front door.
"England! I'm back!" He shouted as soon as his body was inside. "And look what I have for you~!" America sang, holding up the plastic covered suit, shifting his head this way and that—searching for England.
No one was around. America chuckled, "You're probably still in bed sleepyhead England!"
America started dashing for the bedroom straight passed the kitchen into the hall, but stopped and reversed his steps back to the kitchen to see the breakfast he had made being somehow disturbed.
Cocking an eyebrow up and walking towards the platter, America looms over the plate filled with food and sees a note next to it. There was a bite in one of the bacon strips, the head of the unicorn toast was separated from the body, and the tea along with the rest of the food remained untouched.
America frowned and picked up the note that was next to it to read it:
Hey America,
Food sucked. Take some cooking lessons. Went to McDonalds.
See you in a bit,
The Hero England
America felt upset and hurt after he had read the note several hundred times. He dropped the piece of paper in his hand and watched it float slowly to the ground.
His hurt soon turned into anger and he bashed his fists onto the table making the platter, along with everything on top of it, jump up a few inches then fall back down on the top surface.
"The nerve of him! After all the hard work I put into that breakfast! And I even made the little horn right on the unicorn..!" America pouted and his feelings drooped down to being upset again, "Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it right?"
His eyes widen in awareness of another issue, "Shit! He went out by himself! It's dangerous for him to go out alone!"
He abandoned the suit on to the couch—but placing it down delicately because it was still for his state, his England; even if he was mad at him.
America ran around the house like a mad man, feeling completely infuriated and terrified—holding onto the top of his head in total unknowing of what to do.
What if he was kidnapped! Oh God, I can't even bare to think what could happen to him! He's so naive and negligent I swear! I have to call the police! He could be in danger! No—I'll save him! I'm the Hero after all! Ahhh! But where do I look damm—
His running around immediately ceased as soon as he heard the opening of the front door. His head instantly turned to the nation that came in with a McDonald's bag at hand, a large soda in the other and an unconcerned expression on his face.
"England!" America cried out angrily.
"What's up?" England responded indifferently while sucking his drink through the straw.
America's anger rose. 'What's up?' that's all he's going to say?
England walked up to America, still drinking his soda and set down the bag onto the nearby table.
"What's up? I'll tell you what's up!" America scolded. He cleared his throat, trying to lower his voice in a mature, non-yelling tone—he didn't want to yell at his state and scare him. "You weren't supposed to be outside without MY approval! Someone could have taken you or hurt you without me knowing!"
Taking a few more sips England began to speak, "I was just at McDonalds! I left you a note!"
"And that's the other thing! What was with that note huh? I made that breakfast with my own blood, sweat, and tears!" He shot his hands into the air in a 'What the hell man?' manner.
England rolled his eyes drinking his drink, "Maybe that's why it sucked. Next time use more edible stuff and less sweat—let's not forget the blood and tears!" He mocked walking past America, placing his bag onto the first table he passed, into the kitchen.
"Hey don't walk away from me!" America reproached sternly—feeling very hurt with his state's last reply and that fact that England was just ignoring him in general. He watched England recline into an open seat and placed his drink next to him on the dining table.
From the kitchen England began speaking out louder than normal so America would hear, "Oh remember that cashier from yesterday that gave us all those freebies? Well my irresistible charms undoubtedly worked again and she did the same thing! Awesome right?" America could hear a hearty laugh coming from the kitchen.
America could feel that twinge he had felt the day before when the two nations were at McDonald's—it happened each time England would flirt with the cashier.
He realized that fact and agreed with himself that he didn't like it when England flirted with the cashier, he really didn't like it—he hated it, whether or not it was just to score a few extra burgers— no matter how much he loved burgers. He didn't like it one bit. For some reason, it really hurt him.
He was feeling a mess of emotions and couldn't decide or even tell which one he felt or wanted to feel. America sighed—the nation knew that he didn't have complete dominance over his newfound state, but it's not that America wanted to be a control freak, it's just he wanted to make sure England was safe, well fed, and won't get into any danger. He cared for his state, his England, so much and just wanted what's best for him.
The American country looked over to the couch where the suit lied. He quickly pushed aside his hurt feelings and quickly, but carefully grabbed the suit and went to the kitchen with England.
"Look what I got for you! You're going to need it today." America smiled wholeheartedly and handed it to England who took it reluctantly.
"Why? I already have clothes to use." England took the suit out of the covering and held it up in front of him to get a better look at the suit. "It looks expensive." He shrugged and brought his arms down. "Too bad. I'll never use it."
"You should though. You barely have any clothes for special occasions! You're not going to go to meet your Queen in a loose Marc Ecko T-shirt and pants down to your ankles are you?" America stated somehow feeling a small twinge of déjà vu. Had England told him to dress better before?
England frowned at America, "I think the way I dress is fine! It's comfortable."
"Sure, but it's not appropriate for meetings and stuff. I don't want to be seen with a punk in formal matters." America informed.
England rolled his eyes. "But I do have some nice clothes—my old clothes. I just stuffed it all into several boxes and carried them to the storage room."
He adjusted his glasses and handed the suit back to America not looking at him. "Here. I don't want it. I don't want to wear it."
Why the hell aren't you looking at me? America's anger rose back up clenching his hands into two tight fists—not taking the suit.
He was mad about two things—one: England has been avoiding looking at him and that was plain mean. Two: He had worked his ass off for England with breakfast, trying to save him from the football bullet, he even bought England a perfect custom made not to mention expensive complete suit piece and the fucking Brit didn't even appreciate him for doing it—not appreciating anything he was doing for him!
Before America could give his state a piece of his mind, the now sapphire-eyed Englishman dismissed from his seat, placing the suit over the backrest of the chair, and walked past America through the front door and sat down on the top steps.
This sudden change of location baffled the American due to his mind being in depth with his plan of scolding England followed by a serious talk—aka a lecture.
His anger simmered down a bit, but he was angry nonetheless and was ready to give England that talk, when the American noticed the back door that led into the kitchen had an envelope halfway inside from the crack below the door.
Reluctantly walking over to the back door and pulling out the envelope, America turned it over to the front seeing 'Angleterre' written beautifully on it.
America looked behind him to see England sitting on the front steps eating his hamburger he had in his McDonald's paper bag he had set on the table then looked back at the envelope. He hastily ripped the envelope open and took out the letter inside:
Mon cher Angleterre,
Sealand does not want to return to your home and we will not force him or do anything against his will—he is upset and needs people who care about him right now. In the mean time, he will be staying with us. We will have one of us to watch over him for the next World Meeting.
We will see you then.
J'adore~
France and company
At the top of the page was a date which told when the letter was written—the date of writing was yesterday.
That was the final blow.
America's eyes widen in disbelief and disappointment. His anger rose once again and he stomped out the front door, stopping to stand in front of England who just finished his last burger.
The weather had changed drastically from this morning and looked like it was going to rain heavily by the looks of how dark the sky was turning in color.
The Brit looked up at the fuming nation in front of his with his arms folded, being able to see a piece of paper sticking out of his hand, and his foot tapping impatiently.
"Well?" America snapped suddenly.
"Well what?" England responded not caring what America had to say. He turned his head to the side to not look at America.
Well why won't you look at me? America shoved the note into England's face, "This! Did you know that Sealand wasn't here? How can you be so careless! You have other countries taking care of your little brother! You're so irresponsible!"
England pushed the note back to America who didn't take it and let it fall to the ground. He glared to the side, still not looking at the fumed American.
Look at me! Just look at me! "Hey look at me when I'm talking to you!" America scolded.
"Hey! I heard you alright? Why the hell were you reading my mail? Why didn't you notice that he was gone?" England retorted still not looking back.
Why the hell won't you just look at me? "Well you weren't going to read it! If you don't notice that Sealand was gone why would you notice that damn letter! He's not my responsibility! He's not my brother!"
"Why do you have to bitch about this anyway? He's not your responsibility so he's not your problem okay?" He continued to have his head turned to the side.
Look at me! "I'm bitching about this because you're being so careless and ungrateful!"
America let all his anger pour out, "You can't just forget about taking care of your little brother! I work hard to take care of you right? Do you know how scared I was when I saw those burn marks? You could get sick and die!
Do you know how hard I worked to make you a special breakfast? Really hard!
Do you know how much care and affection I put into having a perfect suit made for you? A lot! A whole lot—more than you can ever know England!
I care about you more than you can ever fucking know!
Do you know how worried I was when I came back here and you weren't? I really thought something was going to happen to you! And this is how you show you're thankful of everything I did—by not showing it?"
"I came back home unscathed! I wasn't attacked or kidnapped! I didn't get any damn infection from a leather burn! I didn't ask you to get me a stupid fancy suit! I didn't ask you make me breakfast!
You don't have to do all those stuff! I didn't ask you to! I don't want you to! I can take care of myself! You keep treating me like a kid! I'm not a child that needs to be protected and taken care of every second of every minute of every hour of the day! I don't need you!" England yelled back still not facing the equally irate America.
You're still not looking at me! England stop this! I hate it! America's expression turned into a mix of hurt and anger, but he continued to glare at England with seething teeth.
"England I'm done playing along with this joke! I want this fucking game to end! I want you back to your normal self! I want you to stop this right now!" America's voice was hard and commanding, but slight cracking was heard—he couldn't take this, he wanted this joke to end. He just wanted it to end!
He wanted England back.
"It's always about what you want isn't it? Always about you you you! And what the fucking hell is this joke you keep talking about? There is no damn joke! I'm not playing any game with you!" He yelled out continuing to look anywhere but at America.
Just fucking look at me! "Yes there is! Stop fucking lying and just end it!"
"There's no joke! I'm not fucking lying!"
"Yes there is!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
"Yes dammit!"
"No there's no damn joke you idiot!"
"Don't speak to me like that young man!"
"You can't tell me what to do!"
"Yes I can you're MY state!"
England completely snapped. He immediately turned his head to look furiously at the other nation.
America looked deeply through England's sapphire eyes—realizing they weren't contacts or anything—they were really the same color as his eyes. They were different, oh so different—and not just the color. That look... England... I didn't want that look... I-It's...It's not you...
"You're such a tightass! You want to control everything I do and you judge everything about me! I'm sick of you always telling me what to do and trying to do stuff for me! I can take care of myself! Got it? I don't need you suffocating me! I don't need you cradling me like an infant!"
The angry Brit paused to catch his breath before resuming, "I am not a child anymore nor am I your little brother!"
Having something else snap into him, England said, "You know what?" England stood up to face America with pure determination in his eyes like a true rebel. Maybe I don't want to be your state anymore!"
England took a second to gather his words out perfectly for the dimwitted American to know exactly what he wanted to say, as clear as day.
"America… What I want—is freedom! I'm seceding from you!"
The words echo through America's head as his eyes widen in horror of what England had just said. His mouth opens in total shock—unable to get anything out of it to say anything—he didn't know what to say. He grabs a hold of England's shirt, bringing the other nation up slightly and lifts his free hand to the air, forming it into a fist—ready to strike out at his state…His England…His precious, precious England…
Ready to strike his England…
His precious England…
"England… What I want— is freedom! I'm seceding from you!" America shouted out to the lone nation at the other side of the war zone.
With an army of 3,000 and a musket at hand that was raised near his shoulders pointing at the latter country a few yards in front of him, America looked at the other with frustration, anger, and complete determination in his eyes—he wasn't going to lose this no matter what.
Rain battered down on the two countries along with the band of 3,000 and the barren field they stood on. The unforgiving piercing drops showed no mercy to anyone or anything that stood in its way—slicing the air in different places and digging through wounded and tired bodies.
England, having no army to back him up, with his own musket at hand pointed towards his soon-not-to-be colony, stood looking sadly and betrayed at America.
"I am not a child anymore nor am I your little brother! What I want is freedom!" America shouted out with all his might trying his hardest to force the fact down England's throat.
England bowed his head having his body tremble slightly, but no one noticed through the storm that raged around and inside of them. "You fool…" England shot his head back up, staring furiously at America, and charged at the American at full force with his blade-front musket.
America had only a second to react, which he thankfully used, and brought his weapon up to the front of him to block England's attack—having the British country scrape through the wooden part of America's weapon instead of America himself.
The attack caused America's musket to be thrown out of his hands and being sent flying far away from the American.
As America looked angrily at the other country who was panting and held his weapon only inches away from his darling colony's face, "Get ready men!" One commander called out, every one of them taking their positions—readying their selves for what was to come.
England continued to pant and still held his weapon up pointed towards America—he chuckled sadly. "You really are an idiot…"
Clicking of guns was made as soldiers brought their weapons up and aimed them at England.
This time—America could clearly see England's trembling, the Englishman's weapon began shaking vividly even through thick rain. "Why..?" England choked out. "Why can't I do it..?"
England brought down his weapon and looked at America with heartbreaking eyes. "America..?" Tears begun tracing down his cheeks. He dropped his weapon and fell down to his knees—burying his face in his hands."Dammit why..?" He began crying out his hurt with his tears blending in with the rain, but America could see them so well.
"You know why…" America whispered softly and looked sadly at his now former caretaker—disappointed to see England break down. He never saw England so weak, so vulnerable before… It was pathetic..! It was so sad…
As England cried on the cold, wet ground, America could do nothing, but look sadly at his once big brother, "England… You used to be so big…" The new independent country motioned to his army to withdraw then turned around himself and walked away—leaving England to cry alone in the rain.
Rain had begun to fall down from the grey turning sky having the drops viciously pound onto the bodies of two nations.
Still clutching onto England's shirt who stared angrily—having his eyes say, "What're you waiting for? Do it!" it dared the other country.
"I-I can't..." America said, tears falling down his face—his heart being torn in two. "I can't do it..." He fell down to his knees—unable to strike at England.
"Dammit why I can't I do it?" He couldn't—never. America would never do it...
He began sobbing and buried his face into his hands, letting his now former state stare at his weak appearance. H-How is this happening..? T-This can't be happening! This shouldn't be happening!
England looked down at the crying country with dissatisfaction. He scoffed, "Look at yourself—and you call yourself my big brother."
The downpour raged down, making crashing noises as each drop hit the cold ground—those were the only sounds that the two nations heard. The skies turned darker surrounding both countries in a black veil unable to shield their bodies from the cruel rain.
England stepped inside his home and took one last sorry, but malice look at America—pitying his now former caretaker, "You used to be so big.." Backing up a bit, he closed the door—leaving America to cry alone in the rain at his front steps.
Why England..? I gave you my everything..! Why don't you care..? Why won't you look at me..? Why won't you look at me the way you used to..?
England… Come back to me..!
And there you have it! Another thrilling chapter! :D I hope you guys liked it!
Now by the show of hands, who thought this chapter was surprising in anyway? I really tried to give something really shocking in some way! ^_^'''
Aww poor America..! But he damn well deserved it for treating England like crap before! So now Alfred got a taste of what Arthur had been feeling for centuries!
...Okay now I feel really bad for America ;_;
Alright I'm going to clear some things up: Remember England is under a spell and the spell turns people into the one they think most about, BUT in the way they would view the person as such. England thinks about Alfred all the time and thus he turned into America and he views him as an uncaring, ungrateful, rebellious slob for the bad thoughts. For England's good thoughts of America, he sees the American as strong and amazing—football and the passing of the whiskey part, and all the Hero proclamations.
So naturally not everything will be fitted almost exactly as what happened in the Revolutionary War. Like in the war America didn't scoff, be all rude and stuff, but the new England did because England would think otherwise.
Any questions, comments, or concerns? I will be happy to answer them for you. :)
Okay! Please review! REALLY! . .NAO
Review or else I will take my oh so sweet time to put up the next chapter! Yes that is a threat so please oblige to my demand ^_^
REVIEW NAO!