I shall be putting a few quotes from some infamous serial murderers before the rest of the chapters because I can.

"I like children; they are tasty."

~Albert Fish

"She was giving me oral sex, and she got carried away . . . So I choked her."

~Arthur Shawcross

"You feel the last bit of breath leaving their body. You're looking into their eyes. A person in that situation is God!"

~Ted Bundy

Not long after England had discovered that America had truly committed suicide, he was fading through a portal to the 1700s for what seemed like the umpteenth time. He found himself awoken days before he had suggested to King George that they change their battle strategies and outfits. It would remain that way, as well.

That way it had remained until the tiresome, agonising déjà vu known as the American Revolution. Crystal fluid met the bare ground as it had those two other times. Tears bore from the faces of both men, as well; only this time, England's tears fell like water from a flooding waterfall compared to America's. The soul difference was that the Englishman knelt before his now former colony, his pain-stricken face hidden in his hand in an attempt to bury the agony so far down that it wouldn't be found. America stood above him, his ice-cold cerulean orbs piercing into England like a blade, though there was still some pity for the other hidden in them.

Unsure of what exactly to do to let his frustration and pain out, Britain merely shouted, "Dammit!"

America simply continued to gaze at the nation that had once taken such good care of him as a young colony. With that thought in mind, he said solemnly, "I'm not your little brother anymore." He took a step closer to the other. "I'm your equal." he swore.

Although the words made England's already aching heart yearn for aid even more, he still felt a peculiar sense of satisfaction. Perhaps it was because his beloved United States Of America wasn't in pain, and he was instead. He didn't reply to the American's statement, but a brief thought did run through his head.

'I'm sorry that I was so selfish last time. Perhaps this can make up for it?'

That night, as England led the remaining of the troops to a ship that would return them to Britain, he felt tears tingling at his emerald eyes. He could feel tiny drops of water forming and falling to the tip of his eyelashes, then falling down his face.

"Mister England, is something the matter?" he heard a soldier ask him hesitantly.

The Briton's head turned towards the source of the voice. What he was unaware of was that there were streams of salted liquid strolling down his now flustered cheeks.

"What do you . . . " he trailed off, never quite gaining the courage to continue his inquiry.

After his (hopefully) last trip to the 1700s, England was sinking into the portal once again. He could only pray that his agonising works had some sort of pleasant outcome for America.

His head ached mercilessly as usual, as if telling him to keep from traveling back and forth. Something urged him to put his head back down on that warm, inviting pillow instead of the hellish kingdom known as consciousness. Though no one was quite aware of it, when England was tired, there was little chance of getting him out of bed no matter the circumstances. Yes, even the eagerness to see that adorable, daft little American was beaten by his suffering forehead screaming at him. But he deserved a rest, right? Yep, he definitely did. With that insistence in mind, Britain's head was sent back down towards the feathered heaven known as a pillow. He drowned in that ecstatic heaven for about 5 seconds.

Loud bangs against his hotel door made his eyes fly open. The bothersome sound of knuckles making contact with the wooden surface made him growl out loud, as if it was an attempt to tell whoever was making those sounds to just leave him to his own devices. That attempt was apparently not good enough, seeing as the pounding on the door only got louder and faster.

Not even bothering to try and fall back asleep, England was shifting from his position and removing himself from the bed. With a rub of his forehead and a low groan, the Englishman was moving towards the door. His fingers touched the knob before twisting it and opening it. He swung open the door with an unpleasant scowl on his face and then felt his heart skip multiple beats. England almost had to pound on the spot where his heart resided to get it functioning again. Once the organ began pumping blood throughout his body once again, he could truly assure himself that the sight in front of him was real.

"Dude, get outta your jammies! The meeting is starting in like, 5 minutes!" Golden locks bounced as a familiar American moved with his exclamation. Cerulean orbs pierced through England's smaller form, supporting the American's statements.

England found himself helplessly unresponsive at the astonishing feeling of sea-blue rushing over him. Suddenly, the atrocious, pounding pain seizing his forehead seemed invisible—along with the urge to lull himself into a slumber. The only feeling he craved was that of azure orbs clashing with his flourished, garden-like ones. And an amazing experience that was—meeting America's perfectly normal eyes after what seemed like an eternity. It felt like the entire ocean that was hidden in those eyes had been poured on him. But the sensation was short-lived at the sweet, boyish voice that was also quite mesmerising.

Fingers were waved in front of his face in an attempt to knock him from his trance. "Uh, bro? You okay?" America asked with an eyebrow raised that seemed equally confused.

England could feel his cheeks bloom with unwanted heat at the thought of himself staring dumbly at the American. He stumbled on his words, but found himself able to form a reply. "Y-Yes. Perfectly fine."

America nodded slowly, as if not quite sure whether to believe the elder or not. "Then get ready." he said.

Britain didn't have the ability to reply, so he just closed the door on the other's face. He felt a sense of guilt for doing something so un-gentleman-like. Brushing that weight off of his shoulders, he sighed and began washing up and dressing, a certain happy-go-lucky American lingering in his love stricken mind.

Yay this chapter...kinda ended happily? Fuck it at least America is back to his old self.

I feel bad for everyone who reads this on Wattpad...because I'm gonna have to post it later for them ;-; I mean, I have school in like 5 minutes and I don't have enough time to download the app, italicise whatever needs to be italicised, and then publish it. No.

Until next chapter, mis amigos~