America knew all of the little hidey corners in his own house, but it was exhausting to search through every cabinet and under every bed. As much as he loved McMansions, at the moment he regretted the size of his sprawling house.
He finished checking the linen closet and suddenly found Britain pushing him behind the door and pressing a finger to his lips. Expecting a kiss, America held his tongue. But Britain wasn't looking at his lips... he was staring at the hallway. Through a crack in the door, they both watched a child in a flowing green cloak slip into America's bedroom. When Britain nodded, America eagerly raced into the bedroom while Britain closed the door behind them.
"Hey, little guy, I know you're in here," America called. "It's safe to come out now. I'm going to protect you."
The soldier snorted as he stood guard near the door. "He won't believe you. No one ever wanted to protect me when I was his age."
"Don't listen to Mr. Downer here," America said as he scanned the room for possible hiding places: the bed, the closet, or behind drapes rustling gently in the wind. He walked toward the bed first, saying, "I want to help and I have cookies!"
"Yes, luring a small child with sweets. That's not suspicious."
America rolled his eyes. "Okay, now I'm positive I know who you are. You're definitely England's denial and his pessimism."
"No, I'm not!"
"Riiiight," America said with a grin, ignoring Britain's protests. "I've got you all pegged. The drunk is his low tolerance. The Victorian dude is his obsession with etiquette and manners. I think the angel is his prudishness. And the pirate is his desire to conquer and control." America paused thoughtfully near the bed. If he could figure out who the child was, that might make it easier to convince the kid to trust him.
"That's not much of an explanation," Britain complained. "Being different personality traits hardly explains why we would each represent different time periods."
"I think it's cuz we're nations," America said as he ducked his head under the bed and found only cobwebs. He had cleaned a bit before England's arrival, though not very thoroughly. "Tony says the machine would make a regular human go kinda crazy, but we have a way of seeing ourselves as different people that makes it easier to handle."
The soldier gave him a withering stare. "You voluntarily stepped into a machine that could have driven you insane? What on earth were you thinking?"
"Hey, it's not like I had anything to lose. I mean, I was already going crazy anyway trying to figure out how to get you to like me." America grinned. "Turns out I just had to be myself and myself and myself. Besides, why did you step into the machine?"
"I didn't step in, your alien friend pushed me." Nevertheless Britain's expression softened. "I can't believe you did something so stupid just to get my attention."
America chuckled, recognizing the statement as typical England doublespeak for I'm-madly-in-love-with-you-America-but-won't-admit-it. Returning to his search, he noticed the fluttering drapes out of the corner of his eye and frowned as he tried to remember if he had left the windows open. Heart racing with excitement, America raced over to the window and looked out, hoping to find the boy out on the roof ledge. He turned his head and found himself face to face with a bow and arrow.
"Stay away," the young England warned, holding his bow steady as he took two steps back, bringing him to the far edge of the roof's narrow ledge.
"Hey," America said soothingly, his palms lifted out to show that they were empty. "You should come in, it's not safe out there."
"Did you find him?" Britain called from the bedroom doorway. "Do you need help?"
"I've got it," America replied as he swung his leg over the window sill.
"No!" The child shook his head and did a miniature version of England's harshest glare. "Leave me alone. I won't let you hurt me again!"
America froze partway through the window, recognizing the part of England that feared and distrusted strangers. He wasn't surprised that a part of England still worried about being hurt again, but it stung to think that his lover didn't trust him enough to be honest about his fears. Wishing they could have a heart-to-heart somewhere other than the roof, America lifted his other leg through the window.
"I said stay back!" the child shouted as America dropped onto the roof. "I'll shoot!"
"It's okay," America replied confidently as he approached the child, holding out his hands and moving slowly, the same way he would treat a skittish foal. The shingles creaked ominously under his feet, but he kept going forward. "I trust you, England."
"Why?" the boy asked desperately, biting his lip as he stumbled backward and reached the edge of the roof. But he took one step too many. His eyes widened in panic and the bow clattered to the roof as he began to topple over the edge.
America closed the distance between them in one stride, grabbing England and pulling him against his chest. He overbalanced as he leaned backward and landed heavily on his ass. But America didn't mind the pain. He could feel England's heart pounding wildly, proof that the little nation was safe in his arms. America buried his nose into the boy's hair and took a deep breath. "Geez, don't scare me like that, England."
Climbing to his feet, America carried the child back to the window and handed him through the window to Britain before crawling through himself.
"We're okay," America said when he noticed the soldier's worried expression. The child took advantage of their moment of distraction to kick Britain and squirm out of his grasp. America tripped over his feet as he tried to climb through the window and chase after the boy at the same time. By the time he and Britain had made it to the doorway, however, the young nation was nowhere in sight.
"Bloody hell. I should have kept a tighter grip on him."
"It's not your fault. I didn't think he'd try to run after I saved him." America sighed. "Give him some time and I'll try again. At least it'll be easier finding the other England."
Britain tilted his head to the side. "How so?"
"We've just gotta follow the music."
ߛ ߛ ߛ
As America suspected, they heard punk England before they saw him. Not that he was hard to spot. The bright green hair stood out. The music-loving nation had found the old record player in America's basement, along with America's vinyl collection, and had cranked the sound up to eleven.
The punk grinned at them when he finally noticed their entrance over the sound of the blasting music. "Allo, America. Looks like you've finally decided to join the party."
"What party?" America said as he glanced around the empty basement room. "There's just you here."
"I am a party unto myself," the punk purred as he leaned provocatively against the record player. "And the Captain was here earlier, but he went looking for more rum."
"I only had one bottle," America complained, certain that his rum was long gone.
"No wonder he's been gone such a long time." The punk straightened up and ambled over to America in jeans so tight America didn't understand how he could walk. "Are you going to keep me company now?" he asked with a smirk and half-lidded eyes.
"No," the soldier interrupted. "We have a mission, remember?"
"Right." America gulped, trying to ignore how much he wanted to bend England over the record player and make his toes curl while Sex Pistols played in the background. "Uh, you haven't seen a halo laying around, have you?"
The punk arched an eyebrow. "A sinner like me?"
"Cut the crap, music-boy, and tell us what you know!" the soldier shouted, grabbing the punk and shaking him by the lapels of his leather jacket.
"I know what you need," the punk sneered. "A good kick in the pants so that stick up your ass can give you some pleasure instead of just making you a scowling bastard."
"How dare you!" the soldier yelled, his face completely red.
"Whoa, calm down," America said as he stepped between them and gently pushed them away from each other. "You guys don't need to fight. There's plenty of me to go around."
The soldier quickly backed away. "I'm not fighting over you!" he protested. "I'm here to find the halo so we can help Britannia Angel. Remember, America?" he asked pointedly.
"Oh, yeah," America replied, embarrassed that the halo had slipped his mind so easily. He turned to the punk and gave him his most adorable puppy eyes. The kind guaranteed to work on any of the Englands. "Do you know where it is?"
It worked, but not as well as he had hoped. The punk stopped making bedroom eyes and sighed. "I felt something in the Captain's coat pocket earlier, and I don't think it was because he was happy to see me," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Thanks!" America barely had a chance to say goodbye as the soldier pulled him up the stairs. Britain really didn't like it when he spent time with the other Englands, not that America could blame him. Half of the adult Englands were pure sex on legs. And the other half were tightly wound balls of sexual repression. When the two came together it was like matter and anti-matter. America couldn't decide if it was going to end in a huge orgy or his house lit on fire. Maybe both.
Once they reached the landing on the first floor, they both heard the sound of clashing metal. It sounded like a sword fight.
"Is that what I think it is?" America asked, following Britain as the soldier continued running up the stairs. The sound was coming from the guest bedroom where they had left the gentleman, the angel, and the drunk. America ran faster, but he pulled to a shocked halt as he turned a corner and finally spotted what was causing the commotion. The pirate and the gentleman were dueling with swords. Actual swords!
"A low-born scoundrel like yourself could never understand the finer points of swordsmanship," the gentleman said as he parried the pirate's thrust.
The pirate smirked and swung again. "If yer life depended on the sword, ye'd know there be only one point that matters."
"Tsk! Your terrible grammar hurts me more than your pitiful dueling skills ever could."
America grinned in amazement. "You have a sword cane? That is so awesome!"
"We should stop them," Britain replied.
"Are you kidding? I should go make popcorn. This is like watching Errol Flynn and Cary Elwes duke it out in the best movie ever made."
The soldier rolled his eyes and strode forward, taking advantage of the pirate's focus on the duel to wallop him on the head with the butt of his pistol. The captain dropped his sword and went down like a rock. "Help me tie him up," Britain called to America as he gave the pirate a thorough pat-down search.
"I say! It wasn't gentlemanly to interrupt a duel in that manner," the Victorian England complained adamantly.
"To hell with manners, I want results!"
America shook his head and smiled. "It's a good thing there are so many of you, 'cause you keep dropping like flies," he teased as he lifted the unconscious pirate off the floor. He waited for the soldier to fetch a chair and rope, taking the time to examine the pirate more carefully. America felt sorry for him. He looked too young for his life of criminal conquest. They searched his pockets thoroughly once he was tied to the chair, but the halo was nowhere to be found. "So what now?" America asked.
The gentleman provided an unspoken answer by slapping the pirate's cheek. This time, his rough ministrations worked. Moaning groggily, the pirate slowly lifted his head and opened his eyes. He looked dazed and America suddenly felt bad for his role in knocking him out and tying him up. This personality was part of England and even if he was a jerk, he deserved America's protection as much as the others did.
The pirate's green eyes narrowed and his scowl deepened as he noticed the ropes binding his hands and legs to the chair. "So I'm to be yer prisoner, am I?"
"Just tell us where the halo is and we'll let you go," America promised.
"No," the pirate replied, spitting on the floor.
"Shall I slap him again?" the gentleman offered gallantly, holding his pristine white glove at the ready.
"No!" America said vehemently. He sighed and leaned down so he could look the pirate directly in the eyes, hoping he could convey his sincerity even to England's aggressive personality. "Dude, I know you didn't want to get split. But the sooner you help me get the halo, the sooner I can get you all back to normal."
"Ah, me lad, ye've made a grave mistake." The pirate smirked. "Ye think I want to return to bein' that pathetic barnacle ye call a nation?"
America scrunched his normal-sized eyebrows together in confusion. "Well, yeah. He's you. You're him. You are literally the same person."
"Oh, bravo on using 'literally' correctly!" the gentleman interjected gleefully.
The pirate snorted in derision. "You don't understand. England doesn't let some of us roam free anymore. He's forgotten what made him great."
"What makes England great is never giving in to threats. We can find the halo without his help," the soldier said, giving the pirate a cold stare.
"How about I propose a trade?" Captain Kirkland asked smirkingly. "I'll tell ye where to find the precious golden halo once America tells me who his favorite is."
"What?" America blinked. "How the hell am I supposed to have a favorite? I haven't even given you names. Speaking of which," he looked around and pointed at the various Englands, giving each a simple nickname: the soldier "Grumpy", the gentleman "Slap-Happy", the angel "Sleepy", the drunk "Tipsy", and the pirate "Sleazy".
Britain rolled his eyes. "No, you are not naming us after the Seven Dwarves."
"Oh, come on! I was gonna call the kid 'Bashful' and the punk 'Doc Martens'." America winked at the soldier and nudged him in the ribs. "Get it? Get it?"
"I don't think you're taking this seriously enough."
"I agree," the gentleman added with a harrumph. "And I must insist on being called Mister Slap-Happy, at the very least."
"Don't ye find these two as dull as a rusty old blade?" the pirate complained from the doorway. "Join me and the feisty lad if ye want some fun."
"Hey, you were tied up!" America protested, glancing between the pirate and the pile of ropes near the empty chair where he had been tied a moment earlier.
"Lad, there en't a knot in the world that Cap'n Kirkland can't untie," the pirate replied with a laugh and a tip of his extravagant feather hat as he sauntered out of the room. "Just remember my offer. I 'spect ye'll be needing it."
Author's Notes
Yes, the seven Englands will get nicknames, but no, these aren't the actual nicknames yet :3
And somehow pirate!England has ended up sounding kind of... Scottish? I don't even know what's going on with his accent. I'm going to blame it on the rum.