Behind the Mask

by Kimanda

England has always been difficult to understand. To others and to himself, England has always hid behind his mask. But what happens when that mask is suddenly taken away? England must find himself again.

37. Chapter 37

Sorry, I know I've been missing for a month now or more! Agh, this is quite possibly the messiest upload ever but I was really trying not to go over the maximum of time I let you guys wait. I honestly didn't think I would have so little time, please forgive me guys. The chapter was also almost 61 pages long but I managed to break it in half and so you only have to deal with 38 pages. (I'm being nice to your eyes) I'm going to write a better intro, write the author notes and reply to the reviews later. Now, my only goal is to get the chapter up for you guys, I hope you guys aren't too annoyed with me for having disappeared like this. T_T I'll try not to disappear for so long, promise! I tell you, university is certainly a lot more demanding than school ever was. Still, I'm sticking to the story!

Have a good read, a great mindf*ck from our hated dark voice and I finally managed to introduce Portugal. Hopefully he came out well. Forgive me for any mistakes in this chapter, I was in a hurry... ^^;

Enjoy!

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Chapter 37

England suddenly woke in cold sweat, his cheeks wet with tears and his ears still ringing from that insane laughter. Laughter that had come from him. As the details of the memory rushed back to England, the nation became pale and closed his eyes tightly, willing himself not to remember the details anymore.

It took England a few minutes to calm his racing heart down by inhaling and exhaling deeply. He looked around the hotel room, trying to find comfort in the harmless objects and the confirmation that Ireland was still there. He and Ireland were sharing the same hotel room but slept in separate beds. Though Ireland was practically on the other side of the room and was deeply asleep, England still found comfort in listening to the even breathing of the other nation.

England was physically and mentally shaken, the nightmare was still too fresh in his mind. England strongly considered waking Ireland up as he doubted that he himself would be able to fall asleep again but he was struck by the feeling of guilt of waking up the other just because of a past memory. It was bad yes… but the prideful side of England wanted to show that he was strong, that he wasn't going to allow this one memory undermine him. It belonged to the past, after all. Nothing could be changed, it had already happened and that nameless avatar was long dead.

Anyway, despite being shocked by what the previous England had done, the smaller nation couldn't deny that it had been done out of self-defence. If England hadn't done anything, he would have died back then and… well, a big part of history would have been affected by that probably. Who knows how the other avatar would have done if he had succeeded in eliminating England and become the representation of England's people?

But what about the other times? Maybe the other avatar would have done a better job in your place.

England started at the dark voice sneering inside his head. He quickly and violently shook his head, willing the dark voice to leave him alone. Wasn't it bad enough that it appeared in his dreams? Why did it have to haunt him outside of his nightmares as well?

The little nation slid out of his bed shakily and padded over to the bathroom. Maybe a little water on his face would be able to refresh him a bit. England managed with a little of difficulty to scramble unto the sink and he splashed some cold water on his face.

While you're at it, why don't you try washing your hands? Maybe the red will come off this time. The dark voice snickered darkly.

"Leave me alone." England muttered quietly, splashing his face with cold water again. He suddenly got a brief flashback of a young England kneeling at the shores of a creek, washing his hands to get the blood off of him. This England was crying and begging for his hands to be clean. The red was long gone but England continued scrubbing his hands in desperation.

He whimpered in a tiny voice, "Why won't the red go? Why do my hands still feel dirty?"

England snapped his eyes open and shook his head to clear it from the memory. He hissed tensely to the dark voice, "I said leave me alone!"

Your first kill may have been out of self-defence. But how many died by your hands when they hadn't done anything to you, anything to deserve death? Don't you want to know how many you've needlessly killed? How much you've hurt the others?

"No, go away! I don't want to see-!" England burst out, jumping down from the sink. Dizziness suddenly hit him hard and England stumbled, falling unto his knees with a gasp. His head was throbbing painfully, threatening to split into two. His whole body felt like it was being torn into two separate bodies. England's vision became distorted, making the whole bathroom spin around him. A voice, sounding very much like his started laughing insanely, mirroring exactly the laughter that England had voiced when he had first killed.

England was standing on his ship, staring towards the horizon. The horizon was tinted red, the sky ablaze. Dark smoke ascended to the sky from the burning remains of the ships, high screeching and wailings emanating from them. Distantly a few humans were in the water, some struggling to keep their head above the water while others were floating lifelessly.

Staring at the carnage before him, England found himself laughing triumphantly. The laughter became increasingly higher-pitched and hysterical, sounding more and more the laugh of a madman.

Suddenly England yelled towards the ocean gleefully, "See what I did Spain? See what I did to your precious Armada? I can do anything I want and you can't stop me! You've just proven to the entire world that I have become stronger than you and I can do anything I please! And you will stand there and watch because you won't be able to stop me! No one can stop me! I am invincible!"

"Swallow those words bastardo!" A voice yelled hoarsely. England looked down in surprise and spotted an injured Spain in the water, clinging unto a piece of wood. Despite in great pain from the losses he had just suffered, he was glaring hatefully at England.

England grinned a wide sadistic smile, it was good to see a powerful empire like Spain down like this. He had it coming, what right did Spain have in sending his Armada to invade England? England had shown him the consequences of going against him. Spain's Armada had paid a very heavy price for their foolish beliefs.

Some of England's men approached England and looked down at what he was observing. Surprised murmuring sprung up among them, wondering how in the world this Spaniard had survived the attack. Of course none of them knew the true nature of what Spain was. How could they, they were nothing but simple sailors.

"Captain sir, should we fish him out?" One of the men finally ventured, almost too scared to look at England directly. The crew had learned to be in fear and awe of England's authority and fierceness. They had never seen a captain so vicious like England.

England briefly looked at the sailor before looking back down at Spain. Spain was looking at him and the humans miserably, shivering from the freezing waters. England smirked smugly at the Spanish nation and turned to his men.

"That won't be necessary. Either he'll float back to his blasted country from here or hopefully a shark will have a nibble on him before he reaches land. Either way, I don't want to bother with a smelly Spaniard."

The men around England chuckled as they started moving back to their posts. Spain started yelling abuse in Spanish at England who started laughing again. Spain looked quite comical when angered.

"Don't like being wet Spain? Does the pussy-wussy hate the cold cold water?" England mocked Spain, snickering in pure delight at Spain's enraged face.

"Damn heretic! Rot in hell! Cowardly bastard!" Spain yelled furiously, his face getting red from all the shouting. England continued jeering. Spain shouted, "Weakling!"

All of a sudden, England stopped laughing. He stared at Spain sharply, his green eyes narrowing dangerously and taking on an acidic aspect. England glowered at Spain, hatred and fury filling his heart. Spain grew aware of England's silence and smiled impishly, smug that he had finally struck a chord in the gloating Englishman.

"Sailors!" England barked sharply, causing a couple of men to scuttle quickly over to him. Without looking at them, he coldly ordered, "Bring that wanker on board and put him in the dingiest cell you can find. I seem to recognize him, he is from among the highest ranks. I wonder how much his foolish King would be willing to pay to have this man back… in one piece at least." The island nation sneered as Spain paled considerably at the Brit's words. Oh, he definitely enjoyed watching people cower in fear at his feet.

"No!" England protested, struggling in earnest to break free from the oppressing memory. He attempted to stand up but stumbled backwards and slid down against the bathtub. He still felt dizzy and his head hurt. "Stop it, stop it!" He dug his nails in his head in the hopes of shaking away the recent memory. The hatred, the rage, the insanity… England didn't want to see. Didn't want to hear. Nor feel.

You can't deny what your true nature is England. The ego snapped venomously. You were born like this. A hateful nation. A thirst for blood and suffering. This is you.

"This isn't me! Not my true me!" England countered back viciously. He had to get this damn voice out of him, to get it to stop poisoning his thoughts! But how could he do that?

You can't escape from the truth now, can you? There are so many memories that show just how much of a monster you were… which would you like to see?

"I don't want to see anything." England growled viciously and tried pushing the dark voice away mentally. It had always worked until now. The dark voice seemed to disappear… but then it PUSHED ITS WAY BACK!

England gasped in shock as he literally felt something stir within him, something that felt too alien to be a part of him. What was that? Was that the dark voice taking on a more concrete form? Should it be able to do that?

Let me show you! The voice growled dangerously and England felt himself being pulled unwillingly into another nightmare.

England was panting heavily, his whole body trembling from the exertion. Standing before him, looking equally exhausted, was France. Both nations' uniforms were tainted with blood, their own and possibly from the other.

France was glaring at England resentfully, fighting to regain his breath. England was staring back at France coldly, holding unto the blood-splattered musket tightly. France raised his hand to angrily wipe at the blood on his face, the red liquid coming from a small cut on his cheek.

"You will not have New France." France spat out venomously, his blue eyes blazing fiercely. He in turn also held his musket more tightly in his hands. It didn't look like either of the nations had fired at each other, it seemed they had used their bayonets against each other.

"And who will stop me? You?" England growled, his tone incredulous and mocking. The French nation bristled at the insult and launched forward, jabbing his bayonet at England's chest.

The English nation nimbly side-stepped the attack and aimed his bayonet at France's forearm. France quickly pulled back and went back to facing England off.

"Oui, me. New France belongs with me and I have will have no one, especially you, take him away from me. He's better off with me." France shot back, frowning at England.

England let out a bark of laughter, "Better off with you? I have serious doubts about your claims! Tell me, how much have you broken him already?"

France scowled angrily, "Don't you dare imply that I have been abusing New France! How can you think so lowly of me in terms of taking care of children?"

"Hmm, let me think… maybe because of the things YOU did to ME back then?" England ground out sarcastically, his acidic green eyes flashing fiercely.

"That was in the past. I was younger back then. Anyway, why would you be any better at taking care of children? Who knows, maybe Amérique is nothing more but a mere toy to you."

The other stiffened in shock at France's words. England started shaking again, beyond enraged. Knowing France's nature, England clearly knew what France had been implying with "toy". His blood boiled at the false accusation, how could France even insinuate that both he and England were alike? They would NEVER be alike!

"You will pay for such an insult!" England snarled angrily, launching himself at France fiercely. France smiled grimly and England realized too late that France had been manipulating him again.

England barely dodged France's attack as the Frenchman's bayonet scraped England's uniform and dug into his shoulder painfully. Instead of pulling back as France had anticipated, England viciously thrust his bayonet into France's unprotected side. The other nation gasped in pain and fell back by reflex.

Not allowing the other nation to recover, England went after France and struck him with the butt of his musket. France groaned as the musket made contact with his nose, producing a sickening crack.

The elder nation fell to the floor, clutching his nose in pain as blood flowed freely from it. England stood over France, glowering at the nation on the ground. England was still angry. England was not satisfied.

With a click, England was pointing his musket at France's chest. His finger was on the trigger. France stared at the musket in shock, realization slowly dawning upon him in what situation he was right now. England started smiling sadistically in response to the other nation's expression. Now he probably wished he hadn't provoked England, huh?

"It's really a shame that a nation like us can't be easily killed, hmm? I would really like to live in a world without you, imagine how much better the world would be." England chuckled darkly but then shrugged his shoulders. "Ah well, at least enjoy having this bullet."

France was staring at England with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something. England grinned widely at the nation's helplessness and added, "Since you lost this fight, I might just as well claim New France from you. He'll be better under my care."

Before France could protest, England pulled the trigger.

Stealing a child from an enemy and breaking that enemy's heart both literally and physically? That sounds just like you England. Do you know that New France, you renamed him to Canada later, was quite heartbroken by that decision at first… he even hated you.

"WILL YOU STOP!" England screamed at the dark voice and threw his head back violently, hitting his head on the edge of the bathtub. He cried out in pain as he clutched his head, the pain at the base of his head throbbing. Ow… what was that wet feeling on his hands? Was he bleeding?

Outside the bathroom, someone called out worriedly, "Sasana? Where are you?" The voice sounded like his own. Panic kicked in and England staggered to his feet, wobbling unsteadily on them.

Why did his body hurt so much? Why did his head hurt?

Questions flooded his head and England was unable to keep up with his own thoughts. He faintly heard the door of the bathroom creak open and light flooded into the dark bathroom. England looked up fearfully and screamed as he beheld the person before him. It was an older looking England, soaked from head to toe in blood and wearing a blood-thirsty grin.

England frantically scrambled away from the bloody England, searching wildly for means of an escape. His dizziness caused England to stumble again and he hit the tiles of the bathroom. Before he could make another move he was being gathered into the arms of the England lookalike.

As the small nation started to struggle against the grip of the other, the older England held the smaller tightly to his chest. "Sasana, Sasana, calm down! It's me, Ireland. I won't hurt you!"

The Brit suddenly stopped moving in shock. Ireland? But he was sure it had been the other England… but he had been clearly called Sasana. Only Ireland called him that. England let out a shuddery breath, his heart still beating frantically.

A few seconds passed before Ireland loosened his grip on England. He then cradled England gently, staring at England calmly. England looked up and found it odd how his vision seemed to distort Ireland's face. England gazed at Ireland silently, feeling himself relaxing and become boneless. Great tiredness weighed heavily on his bones.

What had just happened?

England blinked in surprise as Ireland reached for a towel and dabbed England's forehead. Now England was aware of his forehead stinging. Why was there a cut there? He hadn't felt the initial pain of this wound being opened. Ireland sighed heavily, "You were eventually going to re-experience one of your civil wars … you've had three in your life, after all."

"C-civil wars?" England stuttered tiredly, trying to reach his forehead and touch the cut gingerly. It was a long, thin and jagged horizontal cut. There had been some blood but Ireland had wiped most of it away and the cut was closing, leaving behind the tell-tale scar from a newly acquired memory. But England had dreamt about three different memories… which one had given him the scar? He had been victorious in all three of the memories. But wait…? "What is a civil war?" England asked quietly, blinking a few times to clear his vision. The pain in his body and head was disappearing and he was starting to see Ireland more clearly. He wondered why he had thought Ireland was the original version of England. He didn't even understand why he had panicked so much.

Ireland was observing England carefully, his own green eyes narrowed, "Firstly Sasana, are you feeling alright now? Are you still feeling dizzy? Do you still feel you could split into two different persons?"

England shook his head quickly and then groaned in pain. Ireland frowned at the response and before he could ask, England explained, "Just… the back of my head hurts."

The Irish nation's frown deepened as he slid his hand under England's head to check the source of the pain. He inhaled sharply when he redrew his hand and saw the blood on his hand. "Christ Sasana, did you smash your head somewhere during that moment of yours?"

"Uh…" England began uncertainly before Ireland gently but firmly made him sit up and bend his head forward slightly. He let out a sigh as he started dabbing at the wound at the back of the Brit's head to get a clearer sight of it.

Ireland then muttered after a moment, "Hang on, the wound isn't too bad, it might close up fairly quickly. Sheesh Sasana, you know how to make us worry for you every single time."

England grimaced but held still as the Irish continued wiping the blood away. "Sorry…" The younger nation apologised softly, looking down at the tiles of the bathroom. Some drops of blood could be seen here and there, they were certainly from his wound.

"Don't apologise. You were in your civil war phase, it is understandable. We all lose our marbles during our own civil war."

"But what is it exactly?" England asked inquisitively, feeling the familiar sensation as the wound on the back of his head starting closing, the skin re-stitching itself again.

"It's a war within your country, between your own people. Since both sides of the war are both your people, your sanity tends to go into shreds as you are pulled from side to side. You don't know yourself and sometimes we even hallucinate the other side of us which starts to feel more and more real the more sanity we lose." Ireland explained, stopping in his dabbing to watch as the wound closed again.

"And… I had three of them?" England asked slowly, raising a hand to trace a finger on the jagged scar. He was surprised when he felt the scar disappear entirely beneath his finger. He questioned perplexed, "How come that scar just disappeared now?"

"Because the war from which the scar is a result of was an internal one. So logically, the scar disappears after a short time from the outside. Civil war scars are all rather similar, they always appear as jagged lines either on the forehead or over the chest." Ireland then tilted England's head forward again just to take a good look at the recently closed wound on the back of England's head.

England remained silent for a moment, looking thoughtful. He then moved away from Ireland and turned around to stare at his older brother. He carefully asked, "But Ireland, I don't think I saw a memory from one of my civil wars. I saw three different memories, but I was fighting against someone else each time and I won against them."

Ireland cocked his head to one side as he regarded England in confusion. "What do you mean Sasana? You re-experienced the pains of one of your civil wars without actually seeing the memory itself?" The elder brother frowned when England shook his head. Ireland scratched his chin, "That certainly doesn't make sense, you should have logically seen the memory… what were the three other memories about? "

The small nation bit his lower lip, reluctant to tell Ireland about the memories. With a lot of hesitance, he recounted the memories of him fighting against France and of him mocking Spain. After several prompts from Ireland, England finally volunteered the third memory about his encounter with an unbound avatar.

The Irish nation looked very astonished by the last memory, "You fought against an older avatar and defeated it? You never mentioned any of that, that's the first time I've ever heard of this."

"But it did happen…" England said quietly, shivering internally as flashes of that memory reappeared in his mind. He wished that the memory was nothing more than a nightmare but it felt too real. England resented that fact.

"I think the two other memories are easy to place, the one with France was during the Seven Years War where you got Canada from him and the memory with Spain was when the Spanish Armada tried to invade you."

"Doesn't look like Spain was too successful in his invasion." England muttered lowly, a hint of sarcasm leaking into his words. He looked down at his hands for a few moments, remembering the brief flashback of his younger self trying to rinse his hands of blood that wasn't even there. England didn't know if his hands still felt tainted, the island nation was just starting to feel numb. He didn't know what to think of anymore.

Ireland glanced at England briefly, disturbed by England's tone but choosing to ignore it for the time being. He continued, "I still think it's strange that you got three different memories and none of them related to a civil war at all. I wonder why… was there something that maybe blocked the initial memory?"

"Yeah, maybe it was that blasted dark voice again, huh?" England replied bitterly, balling his fists in barely-concealed frustration. Why did his hands feel so numb? Were they tainted or not? Was he the one and same England, guilty of the same horrors his past self had done?

"Sasana…" Ireland sighed, reaching out with both arms and pulling the Brit into a comforting hug, "I know that this ego thing is not being easy on you at all, but you can't forget that you shouldn't heed its words. It has nothing to say that should concern you, it has no right to judge you."

"Don't baby me." England muttered, struggling out of the Irish nation's grip and standing up. He turned around and looked at Ireland, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.

Ireland blinked in surprise, noting how hard England's eyes had become… just like they used to be once… Ireland swiftly shook his head and smiled worriedly, "I can baby you, you're my baby brother after all."

"I don't deserve it." England gritted through his teeth.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a monster and I shouldn't be shown any sympathy."

"…And who told you that?" Ireland questioned tensely, looking at England sharply.

"…" England looked to the ground, not wanting to answer the question to which both he and Ireland knew the answer to.

"Sasana, what have we told you? What did Ceanada tell you? Don't listen to that damned voice in your head!" Ireland exclaimed, leaning forward on his knees to grasp the shoulders of the smaller island and forcing England to stare directly at him.

"But how can I not listen to it when it has evidence that proves how much of an asshole I was in the past?" England demanded exasperatedly. He then ripped his gaze from Ireland's eyes and stared resolutely at the ground again. Softly, he murmured, "Sometimes I wonder if things wouldn't have been better if that unbound avatar had finished me on that day."

A shocked silence followed that statement. The Brit felt Ireland tighten his grip on England's shoulders almost painfully, the Irish nation barely managing to contain his emotions. England didn't have the courage of looking up and seeing Ireland's face, he knew he had said something very hurtful.

After a few tense minutes, Ireland growled lowly, "Sasana… do you have ANY love for your own people?"

"My people? England repeated slowly, looking up briefly at Ireland. His older brother's eyes were burning with an emotion England couldn't describe.

"Sasana, you exist because of your people and your people exist because of you. Without an "England", there wouldn't be any "English" people. There wouldn't even be an English language. Had that unbound avatar "finished" you and taken your place as a nation, there wouldn't have been any traces of "England" today. The avatar would have collapsed under the strains of being a nation due to his malformations, a mistake can't replace a nation, after all. Hell, maybe the other avatars such as Cymru or Pictland would have fallen upon that avatar like starved wolves and ripped him to shreds. There is only one reason why the country has come as far as it has today, and that's because you never gave up, you continued pushing forward. You loved your people. Regardless of all the bad stuff you have done in the past, you have always loved your people. That's what defines a nation." Ireland explained, glaring angrily at England.

"But they don't deserve me as their nation." England argued, shifting slightly in Ireland's grip. The other nation had still not relaxed his grip and it was starting to cut off the blood flow in England's arms. He was not sure, however, if it was the right time to complain about this.

"Then who does?" Ireland exclaimed exasperatedly, "Who the hell would be able to take your place and continue representing the English people? Are you honestly implying that you're ready to let your people down and allow someone else to take the reins from you? Don't you take any pride in being a nation?"

"No." England answered stiffly, "I haven't been given any reason why I should like being a nation."

"So you hate the very thing you are." Ireland concluded tonelessly.

"More or less." England nodded decisively.

Ireland sighed deeply. "Do you love your own people?"

"No."

"Why?"

England blinked slowly, looking for the right answer in his mind. Finally, he replied, "Because I can't understand how they can love a monster."

Both nations were silent for a while, Ireland scrutinizing England closely with critical eyes. England didn't miss the look of shock and disbelief appearing in his eyes, but they were quickly pushed back and hidden away from the Brit. Ireland stared at England for a little while longer, looking more and more conflicted by the second.

Ireland closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He moved his hands away from England's shoulders and moved them downwards so that they grasped the Brit's waist. Ireland stood up from the tiled floor and carried England with him, wrapping his arms around the smaller nation and pulling him closer to older nation's chest. The Irish nation then turned around and walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

"What are you doing?" England asked, allowing some curiosity to leak into his tone. He honestly had never seen Ireland so silent and calm in such a situation… it was almost unnerving. Like the silence before a storm.

"We're sharing a bed for the rest of the night, and you have no say in this." Ireland said stiffly, refusing to look directly at England.

"Why, to stop me from doing something stupid?" England demanded, shifting slightly in Ireland's grasp and finding himself a bit annoyed when Ireland tightened his grip on him.

"Exactly." Ireland answered curtly.

Too stunned by the answer, England fell silent as Ireland climbed back into bed. It took them a few minutes to settle down but when they finally did, Ireland still held England close to his chest. England squirmed a bit, feeling caged. But what could he really do, other than complain?

After a few tense minutes, England commented casually, "You know that you're more tired than I am. You won't be able to keep an eye on me once you fall asleep, which will surely happen before I fall asleep." England wasn't implying there that he was going to do something once Ireland fell asleep, but he did want to point out that it was a rather futile attempt from his brother to ensure that England wouldn't do anything. Did he honestly believe that England was thinking about hurting himself?

He probably did.

Ireland let out an annoyed huff, undoubtedly realizing the same thing now that England had pointed it out. Still, he hadn't loosened his grip on England. Both nations were silent for a while, neither of them wanting to give in to sleep. For one, it was the fear of getting more nightmares and sinking even deeper into his dark thoughts. For the other, it was the genuine fear that his younger brother would attempt something stupid, given his state of mind.

England then heard a soft hum that faded off quickly. A few seconds later, a second hum sounded, this one trailing off as well. The Brit looked up at Ireland, he was sure that the hums were coming from him. But why was he humming?

It became soon clear that Ireland was humming a song, though England was still not too sure why. The song Ireland was humming was very slow, had almost a wave-like quality. England found the song soothing to his spirit… before he was fully aware of it, England's eyelids became heavy and the small nation felt sleep returning to his brooding mind.

The Brit let out a soft sigh and felt himself relax, feeling himself sink back into sleep. Ireland continued humming his song for a few more minutes before he was convinced that England had slipped back into, what was hopefully a dreamless, sleep.

Ireland stopped humming after a moment and he relaxed his grip around the smaller nation, looking down to check if England had truly fallen asleep. He really hoped he wasn't going to get any crap for casting a relaxing spell on the Brit without England's knowledge or consent. But a sleeping spell would have been more obvious and Ireland's last victi-err, patient had almost fallen into a coma when Ireland had tried to cast that spell on them.

So a relaxing spell was the only answer. (and one of the few spells Ireland knew he couldn't mess up on) Ireland didn't know how to deal with a depressed England, he hadn't dealt with anything of this sort ever.

It scared Ireland. And this truth alone made Ireland feel ashamed of himself. He wished he could be a better elder brother…

But how could he? Ireland had never been faced with such a situation. Heck, England's family in general had little to no experience with troubles like depression and suicidal thoughts. It just wasn't Celtic mentality.

What was Celtic mentality is that you always stood up. No matter how hard you fell on the ground, you always picked yourself up, brushed yourself off and continued forwards. It didn't matter how much it hurt, it didn't matter how many wounds you had… it didn't even matter if you struggled. You just stood up as long as your legs could carry you.

That had been the mentality all the existing avatars of the British Isles had followed. Albion had kept fighting against the Anglo-Saxons, despite their growing strength in numbers. She had continued until she eventually collapsed from her wounds and exhaustion. Pictland had denied vehemently that her people were losing their identity and she had continued moving forward until the day she merged with Dál Riada and buckled under the damages caused by her being Gaelicized. Dál Riada himself had succumbed to his wounds inflicted by the Vikings a short while later, though he had previously for so many years insisted that he could still continue.

Of course it wasn't the healthiest mentality, it had actually caused many deaths that could have been preventable. But it was a good way to go down, to be remembered with pride. Ireland had watched those avatars fall with awe and respect, reminding himself that if ever he should fall, he wanted to go the same way. There was no time to reflect on your past deeds, whether good or bad. You moved forward and never stopped… and when death came, it was swift and by this point, you didn't care much about the pain anymore. That had been the way the Celts lived.

But then Ireland had to remind himself this: England wasn't a Celtic nation. England hadn't been raised by the Celts… but he had to a certain extent adopted their way of thinking. Once, England had also moved forward, had never stopped to look back. Every time another nation came and shoved England down, the Brit would rise again, more fierce and vengeful than ever. England's determination and energy had been the main reason why his empire grew to be the most powerful.

Then England had fallen from power, letting go of territories he had once conquered and retreating to his original island. The England Ireland knew from 1922 was gone, he had undergone an alarming transformation from an empire to a nation in less than a century.

Though many nations, including Ireland, had agreed that the change had been for the best, the Irish nation found himself wondering now if the change had been good for England as well. With the discovery of the dark voice's presence, Ireland wondered when exactly that bastard had begun to morph England's perception of himself.

The England from a century ago would have been too narcissistic and proud to consider ending his life… it was all that ego's damn fault! Its influence had driven England to commit the unthinkable!

…And the worst part about this was that it was doing it again. England's ego was reverting the Brit back to a similar state of mind the past England must have been in, prior to his suicide. No nation would ever claim that they bore no love for their people.

Despite the flawed nature of the humans, they were the main reason why nations existed. The reason why avatars existed. Why else would the avatars assume the shape of humans and even be capable of feeling human emotions? Humans were often greedy, selfish, ignorant, violent, uncaring, cruel, judgemental, sarcastic, materialistic… the list of their flaws was endless.

But regardless of the many wars the nations had to suffer for the humans, regardless of the countless plagues and natural catastrophes the nations felt along with the humans, regardless of all the pains a nation had to go through to represent their people… in the end, it was worth it.

If a nation survived all the horrors and then saw their people gathered together, cheering and laughing, singing and dancing, sharing and caring among themselves, the nation was able to stand back and admire their people.

"But for your suffering, this would be all joy and glory."

These words echoed distantly in Ireland's mind, echoing a faded pain the nation had once felt. But now Ireland saw those words clearly, and he understood. As a nation, you suffered incredible pain and loss throughout your existence. But, it was always worth it in the end.

Which is exactly the reason why England's words had caused such grief to Ireland, though the elder brother had managed to keep his emotions in check and hold himself back. Reacting to England's words might have encouraged the dark voice further. Ireland knew he couldn't avoid this subject, but he prayed that somehow, with the next morning, England's mood would have slightly improved and would be in a more stable state of mind.

Ireland didn't know how to deal with this adequately, and he wanted to avoid making the problem worse. Wales was probably going to yell at him for having used a relaxing spell on England without even asking for his consent. But it had been the only way Ireland could think of, it would have been either that or Ireland would have had to stay awake to rest of the night to ensure England wouldn't be tempted to do something rash.

Sure, it was a hit-and-run tactic and certainly it wasn't the noblest of tactic in existence… but it was a damn efficient one!

But Ireland seriously needed to talk with someone tomorrow about England's depression and growing disdain about himself and his own people. Maybe he should talk with Canada, the younger nation might have an idea on how to deal with this. He was the one who knew all about the ego, after all. The Canadian definitely had a better grasp about this issue than Ireland had.

…He should also think of talking with America about this, the superpower was spending more and more time with England and he needed to be aware of this as well. But then… Ireland should also talk with the rest of the family and England's friends… the Irish nation sighed heavily as he mentally counted how many nations he should mention this incident to. Tell too many and Ireland's an attention-seeker but tell too few and Ireland was irresponsible.

Ah yes, he should also call and tell Scotland that England had remembered the lake incident. He was sure Scotland would want to know and probably also try to apologise to England for his past actions. Without having actually voiced it, Ireland still knew that Scotland felt horrible about that incident and felt responsible for having supposedly "awakened" England's hatred towards his brothers. Ireland wondered how England felt about the memory now, he hadn't had exactly the time to digest it with the other memories that had piled on top of it from tonight. At least he hadn't changed his interactions towards Ireland, which hinted that his hatred and distrust towards his brothers hadn't returned. (somehow, Ireland felt infinitely glad about that)

Ireland let out a soft hum as he started running his hand through England's blonde locks, not fully aware of his actions. His mind was far too preoccupied. After a moment, Ireland exhaled heavily and murmured to the sleeping Brit, "Sasana, believe it or not, we all have red hands. We all are guilty of something. We all feel regret. All nations are tainted in blood from those who have given up their lives for us. If you think you are a monster, so are the rest of us. We're all monsters."

They were naturally flawed, like their humans.

But what else could be expected?

---

"Hey England, why do you look so tired? Didn't you sleep well last night?" A voice asked inquisitively behind England's back. The smaller nation lifted his head to look behind him and saw America take the empty seat beside the Brit. He was carrying an alarmingly large bag filled with hamburgers. It was lunch time during one of their World Meetings and most nations had chosen to stay in the meeting room and just stretch their legs and talk with other nations. England, on the other hand, had just spent most of the time dozing.

England sighed and rubbed his eyes sleepily, "With my nightmares? They were especially bad last night, how could I sleep with them?" England sighed again and lay his tired head on the table. He had woken up with a horrible headache and had been still trapped in Ireland's arms.

Poking the Irish nation in annoyance had successfully dragged his elder brother out from his sleep, upon which Ireland had relaxed his grip and England squirmed out of bed. His body felt stiff but it was his head that hurt the most. It was literally throbbing. When Ireland had asked how well England had slept, the Brit had moodily complained about his headache.

Ireland had then winced and muttered something under his breath that sounded like "why am I so bad at magic…?" and if England had felt a bit better, he would have immediately questioned what Ireland had meant by that. But his headache wasn't letting up and England let the issue go for a while.

Anyway, he knew that Ireland was somehow responsible for making England fall asleep so quickly, England was convinced he wouldn't have fallen asleep as swiftly as he did last night. And the unexplained headache…

What maybe still disturbed him the most were the memory influx he had gotten last night. Oh, and also his talk with Ireland. Upon reflection, England was surprised by how dark and morose his words had sounded. England had really been depressed last night, under the heavy influence of the dark voice. He could slightly understand why Ireland had seemed so disturbed by what England had said. On a side note, Ireland was still acting rather oddly. After the hotel room, Ireland had acted very distant and seemed to be trying to talk with anyone else other than England.

Had his elder brother been so disturbed by what happened last night?

"Mff mffmf mumf mmf mfmff mfff mufmm?" America mumbled incomprehensibly. England frowned and turned his head, seeing that America was currently chomping down on one of his hamburgers. America's love for hamburgers would remain a mystery to England, though he discovered that the previous England had also questioned the American's taste in food.

"What? I really didn't understand what you just said." England said tiredly, shaking his head and winced at his headache. He knew that it was lunch time but the American's hunger just seemed insatiable. England didn't feel hungry at all and he was quite sure America was on his fourth burger or something by now.

America chewed quickly and swallowed, repeating his question, "I asked if it was that stupid dark voice who annoyed you during your sleep."

"It was… partly the voice. But it was also the memories themselves." England muttered quietly, looking thoughtful for a while. He then turned to America, his eyes questioning, "America, how bad of a monster was I in the past?"

America started at the question and started to choke on the piece of burger that he had been currently wolfing down. He coughed and hacked and he thumped himself on his chest to dislodge the food that had gotten stuck in his throat. After successfully swallowing it down, America looked at England incredulously and exclaimed, "What the heck did that bastard dark voice tell you again?"

"More like showed me through my memories." England mumbled guiltily, slightly shrinking back from America's gaze. England didn't like it when America directed that simmering gaze at him.

"England, there were moments when you weren't the nicest guy around but you have to stop concentrating so much on the past. It doesn't matter so much anymore, what counts is who you are today. What point would there be to be always focussed on the past, huh?" America demanded, staring at England with scolding eyes.

The smaller nation flinched and protested, "But there are so many horrible things I did and I don't even know about them yet. How can I just continue ignoring the fact that I was such a hateful nation? How can I ignore that I may have been nothing more but a monster-"

Before England could say anything else, America put his index finger on England's lips, silencing the Brit. America was looking at England disapprovingly before saying, "Firstly, you did do horrible things but that does not label you as a monster. Don't let the deeds describe you. Secondly, you weren't horrible to everyone. If you had been, I would have never chosen you to take care of me."

England looked surprised at this new piece of information. "You…chose me?" England sounded confused and perplexed. America realized that England hadn't remembered that memory yet. Oh well, he had some explaining to do.

"You know, when you Europeans first "discovered" my continent, I was born a few decades later to represent your people who had come to live on my land. Many of you fought over me, each of you wanting to have me under their power so that they could grow stronger. Especially you and France fought over me, back then I was a bit scared about you two." America paused then, looking back into that fuzzy memory. He had been indeed scared by those two fierce empires that wanted to become his big brother so much. America continued, "You two fought each other often and neither of you could win. So in the end you gave me the choice to decide between you two. You know why I chose you over France?"

England stared at America silently, slowly shaking his head no. He regarded America curiously, awaiting the answer. America smiled and answered, "At first, you two tried to win me over with manipulation. But then you thought France was going to win, you sat down and started to cry, though you tried your best to hide it. That showed me that you genuinely wanted to be my big brother, I wasn't just another trophy to you. So I chose you."

"But… I still stole Canada from France. I hurt France badly and I probably hurt Canada too…" England said after a moment, looking over at the other side of the table where Canada was chatting animatedly with Cuba. America followed his gaze and sighed.

America explained in an unusually stern voice, "England, you were an empire back then. Empires were all about gaining power and weakening the others. And though you separated France and Canada from each other, ask Canada about how you treated him. He'll tell you that you actually treated him very well and you allowed him to keep his French roots and culture after he made it clear to you that he wasn't going to cut those links. Okay, you didn't really allow France to see him anymore but on the whole, you weren't harsh on Canada."

The Brit was staring in surprise at America, startled by the fact that America was trying so hard to convince him that he hadn't been a monster after all. America was gazing at him closely, probably trying to see whether he had successfully convinced England or not. When England made no move to respond, America felt inclined to say more.

"Look England, can't you let go of the fact that as an empire, you did things that are by today's standards harsh and cruel? No one can be perfect and we all make mistakes. Why do you feel the need of staying stuck in the past so much? Why do you always need to walk backwards?"

"I don't want to walk backwards!" England said defensively, balling his fists in frustration and silently cursing at the persistent headache. "But every time I try to walk forward, something is constantly pulling me back. My mind is always revealing memories that I'd rather forget but I can't because they haunt me."

"Don't allow them to haunt you. Every time a new bad memory comes up, remind yourself of the happier memories. Close out the bad ones, don't even pay attention to them anymore." America said with a tone of finality. He munched down on the last bit of his hamburger.

England sighed and said hesitantly, "I can… try." The Brit lowered his head to the table and held onto it, wincing slightly at the throbbing headache.

"England, I know it's definitely not easy for you, especially with those nightmares, but never forget that you're not alone. I, your brothers and many others will stick with you like glue, until the very end. No one will let you down." America insisted earnestly, gripping England's shoulder reassuringly to convince the Brit that he truly was not on his own. Even without his memories, England seemed to believe he would be on his own. Noticing the pained expression on the island nation's face, America was tempted to question, "What's wrong now? Are you feeling sick?"

"Headache." England murmured, closing his eyes.

"Oh, is it really bad?" America asked, sounding worried. He was about to ask if England had a fever when he felt someone tap on his shoulder. America stopped and turned his head to see who had tapped him.

It was Ireland, who said very quietly, "Can you come with me for a moment? I need to talk to you and Ceanada."

America started to protest in an equally low voice, "But what about Eng-"

But the Irish nation grasped America by the elbow and started pulling him away, whispering under his breath, "Taken care of, I asked Nua Séalainn to go and talk to him. Now come with me."

Without waiting for a response from the younger nation, Ireland dragged the American a considerable distance away from the table before he stopped near one of the walls of the meeting room. Canada was already there. America shot a glance back at where England was and saw that the Brit hadn't made any move at all, it was almost as if he hadn't noticed America's absence yet.

The America pulled his arm out of Ireland's grasp, frowning at the Celtic nation, "Hey, don't drag me around like that. I didn't even say yes to coming with you. England's having a headache and I wanna see what I can do for him."

Ireland grimaced and scratched the back of his head awkwardly, admitting, "The headache's kind of my fault, it should fade off soon enough though. You know, messed up a spell again, nothing dangerous. But there's another reason why you two are here, it's about Sasana."

"What's wrong?" Canada asked in a concerned tone.

The Irish nation looked at America and asked, "Did Sasana mention to you anything about his nightmares from last night?"

America shrugged, "He kinda mentioned them, but then he just straight up asked me how much of a monster he used to be." Canada and Ireland looked very startled by that and America quickly added, "Don't worry, I told him to stop focussing on the past so much and to think about more positive things. I also told him that while he used to be an empire, he wasn't the only one."

Canada looked perplexed, "But what memories did England get last night to feel so bad that he labelled himself a monster?"

Ireland sighed and began to explain, "Sasana woke up from a very bad memory yesterday and right after that, he sort of had an episode of insanity and confusion because he partially regained his memory from one of his civil wars-"

"But hang on," America cut the elder nation off, "England didn't mention anything about a civil war. A civil war actually shouldn't make you label yourself a monster. He mentioned the memory of when he took Canada away from France…"

"Meiriceá, I wasn't finished." Ireland interjected sharply, "And I said, Sasana got that memory partially. He remembered the pain and the feeling of insanity that follows a civil war, a feeling both me and you Meiriceá are very familiar with. He even got the scar that soon disappeared. But…" Ireland now turned his attention to Canada, "He didn't get the actual memory. He got instead 2 memories that showed Sasana how much of a bastard he used to be. Can an ego become this strong that it can make Sasana see some memories and block other memories?"

Canada looked shocked and his purple eyes soon turned conflicted. He shook his head after a moment, "The ego should be nowhere near strong enough to be able to decide what memories England should see or not. That's really not good, that means England's ego can influence England if he doesn't take the initiative to ignore his ego."

"But that's the problem, I think he is listening to his ego again." Ireland said insistently.

"WHAT?" America and Canada both exclaimed simultaneously.

Ireland sighed, "I talked with Sasana yesterday after he had recovered from his episode, and he said some really harsh things about himself. It was almost as if he was starting to consider finishing what the past Sasana hadn't managed to accomplish."

Suddenly America shot forward and grabbed Ireland by the front of the suit and pulled him closer to the American. The younger nation then growled, "Are you telling us that England is going to try and commit suicide again?"

The Irish nation scowled, "Firstly, I did nothing to deserve your anger directed at me, so let go of me." Ireland grabbed America's hands and forced him to release his suit. After brushing himself off, Ireland continued, "And secondly, Sasana didn't directly say he wanted to kill himself again. His thoughts came dangerously close to being suicidal thoughts again. His ego is reverting him back to the state Sasana was a few months ago before he tried committing suicide."

"But… but what can we do?" America said helplessly, his anger quickly evaporating. If what Ireland was saying was true, then England was in danger of doing something stupid again. What if he was successful this time?

"We need to remind England that he is surrounded by others who care deeply about him. He needs to know that he is never alone, that someone will always be willing to lend him an ear." Canada said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest thoughtfully.

Ireland nodded, "I think Sasana needs to start spending time with nations he didn't hurt in the past. Sure, there are tons of nation he has a long history with, but with some of them, there's some really bad blood."

"Do you think England's getting all those negative memories because he stayed with nations that he hurt in the past?" America asked carefully. "I mean, he stayed with China and Hong Kong, he stayed with France and he stayed with Spain. They're all nations he hurt in the past."

"That's true…" Canada seemed very surprised by America's words, seeming to realize just now that the American did have a point there. Hadn't Canada's book often stated that negative attracts negative, hence the importance of thinking positively?

The three nations were quiet for a moment, each sunk in their own thoughts. America looked up at the two others and said uncertainly, "So, what do we do now? Do we leave the way things are, or do we try and nudge England towards the nations he actually had good relationships with?"

"That sort of bumps me off the list…" Ireland muttered, crossing his arms.

"But your relationship with England has improved." Canada pointed out.

"Only in the last hundred years. There's enough bad stuff to blot out the good." Ireland crossed his arms, looking annoyed. "I won't be able to help Sasana much, my history with him will not make him view himself as a better nation."

"Oh no, you're not going to abandon England now!" Canada frowned darkly.

"But-" Ireland began but was cut off by America.

"Ireland, you're still England's brother, no matter what happened a hundred or even two hundred years ago. He needs everyone's help, and that includes you too." America crossed his arms as he stared at Ireland disapprovingly.

Ireland huffed but didn't protest. After a moment he said, "But we still should consider having Sasana talk with other nations who he actually had good relationships with in the past."

"That's true, we need to convince England not to listen to his ego anymore." Canada agreed, nodding his head.

"Isn't there a way to beat this stupid ego?" America said curiously, looking at the two other nations. He asked Ireland, "Don't you have any kind of spell or thingy that could… you know, destroy the dark voice?"

"America, we shouldn't rely on magic to do this. Magic can't solve everything." Canada admonished tiredly.

"And even if we were going to consider magic, I don't know of any spells that can target the ego. Breatain Beag would surely lose his temper with me if I did try a spell on Sasana anyway." Ireland laughed uneasily, scratching the back of his head. Both America and Canada stared at Ireland blankly and then at each other, shaking their heads in confusion.

---

England yawned widely, he still felt rather tired despite his headache. But he decidedly felt less heavy-hearted. It felt good talking about his troubles with someone else, he never thought that sharing his thoughts could be of such a relief to him. England got a nagging feeling that his previous self had rarely, if at all, confided in any other person. It would explain why every time England got this down, he felt choked up by a ton of negative emotions. Centuries of keeping everything bottled up wasn't the best solution obviously.

Well, he had nodded off for a few minutes without really realizing it. But now he noticed the noticeable absence of a certain voice. Where had America gone? The American was truly a chatterbox, he disliked the silence and always seemed to feel the need to fill it with his voice. But why couldn't England hear him anymore?

"Hey England?"

The Brit jumped a little bit at the unexpected voice. It wasn't America's, this voice sounded much too calm and unAmerica-like to be him. But it wasn't Canada's either, the voice had a different accent than to what England had heard from the Canadian. England turned his head around to look at the unfamiliar nation.

A brown-haired male nation stood in front of him, having a strange curl on both sides of his head. The curls weren't very dissimilar from ram horns. He had pale green eyes and… had slightly thicker eyebrows. So this nation was somehow connected to England, wasn't he?

The unknown nation smiled, seeming friendly. He briefly looked behind his back before turning to England again, "I don't think I've had a chance reintroducing myself to you yet. I'm New Zealand, one of your former colonies."

England gaped slightly at New Zealand. Another colony? "How many colonies did I have?" England asked quietly, amazed that his previous self had so many colonies. How big had he been when he had been an empire?

"You had many, never got around to counting them." New Zealand chuckled, casting a quick glance over his shoulder again. He then turned back to England and regarded the Brit worriedly, "You're looking quite tired, did you get enough sleep?"

The Brit shook his head, "No, I get nightmares almost every night but they were especially bad last night. And I have a headache to top it off."

New Zealand cocked his head to one side curiously as he questioned, "That headache is possibly due to the lack of sleep. Do you think of something positive or negative before falling asleep?"

That question surprised England and he actually tried thinking back. After a while he shrugged, "I'm not sure, I never pay attention exactly to what I think before I fall asleep. But maybe… well I sometimes wonder about what memory I'll get during my sleep."

"They're not often good memories, right?" New Zealand smiled sympathetically and England could only nod at that statement.

"Most of the memories that cause me to wake up are the bad ones."

"Haven't you ever thought of thinking about something peaceful, something completely unrelated to your memories?" New Zealand proposed brightly.

England shook his head and looked at the New Zealander in curiosity. He wondered what the other island nation was getting at. "Like what?" He asked.

New Zealand looked thoughtful for a moment, biting his lower lip. He then said excitedly, "Sheep! And Kiwis!"

When the Brit looked at New Zealand wordlessly with a raised eyebrow, the taller nation seemed to colour a bit in the face in embarrassment. "Well, both creatures are fluffy and docile. I always think about them before going to sleep, it calms me down and I usually get very nice dreams after that."

England thought about it and realised the idea sounded quite familiar to him. He asked New Zealand just to confirm, "So it's something like counting sheep?"

"Yes, exactly that!" New Zealand nodded eagerly, then adding, "But I also sometimes think of kiwis instead of sheep."

"Counting sheep? Mate, you're even more childish than I thought." A voice guffawed behind New Zealand. Suddenly an arm was slung over New Zealand's shoulder and the nation found himself being pulled into a head lock by none other than his Oceanian brother. Australia laughed as he ruffled New Zealand's hair.

"Australia? Let go!" New Zealand struggled against the grip of the other. Once he managed to wriggle free, New Zealand looked at Australia reproachfully and questioned, "I thought you were too occupied on the other side of the room talking with Singapore. How come you're here?"

"Aww, I saw my little baby brother talking to England, so I decided I would come over and see what you two are talking about. Is there something wrong with that?" Australia grinned impishly, earning himself a small punch from the New Zealander.

New Zealand crossed his arms and pouted, "Stop calling me that, I'm not that much younger than you."

Australia laughed loudly and then turned to England expectantly, "You do remember who I am England, right? I know that the last time you saw me, you freaked out and ran away from me and past the kangaroos."

"It's probably what you count before falling asleep." New Zealand muttered under his breath, seeming a bit angry that he was being shoved aside by the boisterous Australian. It certainly didn't seem to be the first time that Australia took the spotlight from the smaller nation.

Unfortunately for New Zealand, Australia heard what his brother said and turned his head to glance blankly at him. He then burst out laughing, "Why should I count kangaroos before falling asleep? That's completely silly!"

"Then it's koalas." New Zealand huffed with a tone of finality. He still hadn't uncrossed his arms and he was currently frowning at his older brother. England stared at both nations back and forth, wondering why New Zealand seemed to close himself when Australia arrived. Didn't they get along?

"Pssh, koalas can't jump over fences, silly Kiwi." Australia teased as he poked New Zealand's cheek with his finger. "Anyway, I don't count anything to fall asleep. I just think of a waterfall. You fall very quickly asleep with that."

"Waterfall?" New Zealand said sceptically, raising an eyebrow. He looked unconvinced by the Australian's words.

"Yup, some kind of research says that thinking of a waterfall makes you fall asleep quicker than counting sheep." Australia grinned widely while New Zealand seemed to get even more ticked off by the Aussie.

"Counting sheep is the best method to fall asleep! It's always worked for me!" New Zealand protested loudly, huffing in annoyance.

"Not everyone is so obsessed about sheep as you are Zea!" Australia started laughing as he saw New Zealand get red in the face.

"I'm not obsessed about them! It's just a stereotype people attribute to me!" New Zealand spluttered in embarrassment.

"They always say there is a grain of truth in every one of them." Australia shot back with a knowing smile.

As both nations continued bickering between each other, England had proceeded to lay his head back down to rest. From what he could see and hear, these two nations were quite close despite Australia's liking in teasing New Zealand. Their tones were light, so there was no need for England to wonder further. Scotland called this "brotherly love", didn't he?

"Hey England, didn't miss me too much?" A new voice piped up. England raised his head slightly to confirm that America had returned. The American was smiling widely, looking a bit guilty that England knew that he had left the Brit alone without saying a thing.

"It's alright, I wasn't entirely alone." England mumbled, managing a small smile while he nodded his head towards New Zealand and Australia, both nations still arguing. America followed his gaze and watched in curiosity as both Oceanian nations continued quarrelling.

America then asked, "What are they talking about?"

"Whether counting sheep or thinking about a waterfall makes you fall asleep more quickly." England answered and America turned back to look at him, his wide azure eyes surprised. After a moment of pondering, America snorted.

"Those two were always a bit weird in my opinion. Don't they know that thinking about hamburgers will make you fall asleep? It always worked for me!" America declared proudly.

England could only groan in response and let his head drop onto the table. Bugger it all, I just want to sleep. Oh, and I also want that stupid headache to go away. England thought tiredly. He wasn't sure if he could though, he seemed to be surrounded by nations with odd ways of thinking. Was that Germany calling the nations to order, telling them the meeting will start again? England couldn't really be bothered to check, he just wanted to sleep.

Before he knew it, sleep had claimed him.

---

England jolted awake as he felt someone nudge him none too gently in the side with their elbow. He looked to the side to demand why he was being woken up so rudely. The culprit turned out to be America, but right now America's focus was on something else entirely. He was staring closely at something else across the room.

The Brit followed his line of sight and noticed that the meeting room was oddly quiet, even though all the nations were still there in their seats. But it seemed like something unexpected was happening because they were all looking in the same direction.

On the other side of the room, the double doors of the meeting were wide open and there was a newcomer England didn't immediately recognize. But the new arrival looked awfully familiar… England narrowed his eyes slightly.

The newcomer had white hair and red eyes, reminding England of someone he had seen a few months ago back at America's house during the American's birthday party. Who was he again? Wait… was it Prussia?

The Prussian was strutting around proudly, loudly proclaiming, "…And that's why I decided to come here to grace you all with my awesome self! Aren't you all lucky? I'm saving you guys from a potential death of boredom."

Germany was rubbing his temples tiredly, sighing exasperatedly, "Prussia, how many times do I have to say to you that, as an ex-nation, you're not allowed into the World Meeting? These meetings are only for nations, no one else."

"Ach, loosen up already Bruder. Those stuffy meetings need to be spiced up a little, ya?" Prussia grinned mischievously, walking around the round table. Every nation was following Prussia's movements intently, each trying to guess what the German was going to do next.

"Prussia, whatever you have planned, knock it out of your mind…" Germany growled lowly in a warning tone.

"Why?" Prussia asked coyly. He reached out for one of the water bottles that every nation got for the meetings. The dark-skinned nation, presumably an African nation, from whom Prussia had snatched the water bottle from, made a small protest but was silenced by Prussia's wide grin.

"Prussia, return that water bottle. It's not yours." Germany said sternly.

"But what if I'm thirsty?" Prussia questioned with an impish smile. He opened the water bottle and seemed to be taking a sip. But then his mischievous smirk widened as he added, "And what if I'm not?"

Before Germany could respond to that, Prussia aimed the bottle and threw it at one of the nations. A few seconds later and someone cried out in sudden surprise.

The water bottle had hit Hungary, spilling its contents all over her suit. She looked at Prussia furiously as she stood up from her chair. She muttered angrily, "You're so dead when I'm through with you Prussia."

"Gotta catch me first!" Prussia laughed, grabbing another water bottle from the table and opening it as well. Germany was gaping at him, too shocked to recover and try to take control of the situation. The Prussian grinned excitedly and threw the water bottle at Greece who was dozing.

It hit Greece on the head and all the water spilled out of the bottle. The Mediterranean nation woke up with a jolt and looked around to see who had dared to drench him in water.

Prussia yelled gleefully, "Hey Greece, Turkey totally threw that water bottle at ya!"

"He did?" Greece said quietly, anger and annoyance plain in his tone. He turned his head to look at Turkey who sat several seats away from him.

"I didn't, look, I still have my water bottle!" Turkey protested, motioning at the water bottle that was in front of him. The Greek nation glared at Turkey angrily, clearly not convinced. Greece grabbed his bottle and removed the cap, took aim and threw it at the Turk.

Turkey ducked to avoid the bottle but needn't have bothered. Greece's aim was horrible and the bottle hit Turkey's neighbour, Macedonia. The little nation jolted as the bottle hit her in the shoulder, the water spraying out.

"Very funny Greece, you think I wouldn't see this as something you've done on purpose?" The Macedonian nation hissed angrily, grabbing her own water bottle.

"Prussia, you're so dead!" Hungary screeched as she gave chase after the cackling Prussian. She almost got a grip on him when suddenly another water bottle hit her and drenched her to the skin.

The Hungarian stopped dead in her tracks to search for the new culprit. Romania stood behind her, barely holding back his laughter. When he saw that Hungary was glaring at him, he explained with a snicker, "Sorry, I couldn't resist the temptation."

"Resist this!" Hungary yelled and threw an open water bottle she had grabbed from the table at the Romanian. Romania quickly ducked and the water bottle hit Slovenia who was seated behind him.

Slovenia made a small "eep" sound as the cold water went down the collar of his suit. He lurched to his feet with a jolt and looked around angrily to see who had done it, his eyes settling on Romania.

"It was Croatia!" Romania yelped and swiftly pointed at the "culprit" while he started fleeing from the enraged Hungarian nation who was spitting swears in her language.

"Did not!" Croatia protested and stood up as Slovenia started to approach him menacingly. The Croatian nation yelled after Romania, "Don't push the blame on me, I did nothing to Sloveni-AAHH!"

Just at that moment, two water bottles were emptied entirely on top of Croatia's head. With his hair completely dripping wet, Croatia whipped his head around to see who had deliberately attacked him. He found Serbia standing behind him, grinning widely as he held two empty bottles in his hands.

Croatia narrowed his eyes dangerously and he growled, "Oh, you're just asking for it, aren't you?" Before Serbia had the chance to respond, Croatia launched himself at the Serbian nation with a yell.

A water bottle was thrown here.

Another water bottle was thrown there.

Dozens of nations got drenched to the skin.

Prussia jumped on top of the meeting table and bellowed, "WATER BOTTLE FIGHT!

And just like that, all hell broke loose and the meeting was plunged in total chaos.

Germany stood up and started yelling something, but his voice was drowned out by the ruckus and before the German nation could resort to any drastic measures, he found himself being tackled by Prussia and Denmark, both nations equipped with water bottles.

England looked around him in confusion and wonder. How had they come to this situation in less than five minutes? And to imagine that it started with only Prussia in the beginning… and the rest were simply chain reactions. The Prussian knew how to orchestrate a fight, that much was evident.

The Brit looked beside him and was surprised to see that America was laughing heartily at the quarrelling nations. England looked extremely confused as he questioned, "Why are you laughing at this?"

America turned to look at England, trying to hold back a bit of his mirth. He explained with barely suppressed laughter, "Because it's funny. It sure beats the stuffy meetings and it makes things more interesting.

"Hey, American bastard!" A voice shouted from afar.

The American turned his head just in time to see Cuba throw an opened water bottle at him. With lightning-fast reflexes, America swatted the bottle away from him and the object flew towards someone else. A resounding yell informed both English-speaking nations that the bottle had found a new target.

America grimaced slightly and called out, "Sorry Mexico, I honestly wasn't aiming at you!" The young nation's eyes widened and he suddenly ducked, barely avoiding a water bottle that had been viciously aimed at his head. "Okay…" America said quietly, starting to push England off his chair, "Let's go under the table, this might get rough."

Not knowing what else to do, England nodded and slid of the chair and went under the table. America followed shortly after, having to resort to crawling due to his size. But he and England weren't the only one who thought of seeking refuge under the table.

A handful of other nations had already crawled under the table, most of them being small countries that weren't much of military powers, such as Liechtenstein, the Baltics, a few African nations, a couple of Asian nations… a few of the nations were also under the table because they didn't feel like being dragged into the shenanigans of the others.

The fight continued to rage outside, many nations were running around, either pursuing or being pursued. Water was splashing all over the ground and many chairs were toppling over. England watched everything and though he did feel a tinge of amusement at the ridiculousness of the situation, he couldn't bring himself to fully enjoy it thanks to his headache. The whole ruckus sure wasn't helping improve it.

A few other nations crawled under the table, most of them drenched to the skin. A nation crawled in beside America and England and let out a long string of swears and curses in his language. America looked at the newcomer and chuckled sympathetically, "Wow, who got you so badly Portugal? You look like you were showered or something."

Portugal huffed angrily, blowing some of his soaking hair away from his face. He replied begrudgingly, "That idiotic Spain got me, can you imagine that he discovered one of those large bottles for a water dispenser and he emptied HALF of the contents on ME? Can you imagine that?"

America laughed, quietening down quickly when Portugal shot him a glare. America then questioned mirthfully, "And how come you're not getting back at him right at this moment? I'd have thought you would have paid Spain back for that shower."

"While he was chasing me with the half empty bottle, he crashed into Netherlands and spilled the rest of the bottle's contents on him. Last I checked, I was getting my vengeance completely free of charge from that guy. That hardly ever happens, and I definitely wouldn't want to interrupt Netherlands while he's being so unusually generous." At that, Portugal allowed a small smirk to appear on his lips as he looked from beneath the table to watch the scene unfold.

America followed his gaze and winced. "Ouch, yeah, I totally wouldn't want to interrupt Netherlands either. He looks pretty busy… errr, is he trying to shove Spain's head into…?"

"Yes. Yes he is." Portugal snickered gleefully.

While America and Portugal continued watching what was happening, England was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his mind focussed on what was happening around him. His headache was getting worse and worse and his vision was starting to blur.

Some of the nations had climbed on top of the table and continued their fight from there. The stamping of their feet was deafening, and the creaking of the table certainly didn't improve matters. England grit his teeth together as the sounds were multiplied tenfold in his mind, making the headache worse.

Odd, now the sounds were starting to echo. England noticed that the sounds were starting to sound louder and a lot larger. The Brit blinked his eyes, trying to understand what was going on. Was he being dragged into a memory?

Directly overhead, a nation tripped and fell on the table hard. The following crash caused England to shut his eyes tightly and grip his head as he felt his mind lurch forward in response.

---

When England opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the meeting room under a table. The surroundings had changed completely, he found himself knee-high in mud in a dark trench. He was holding a rifle securely to his chest, his eyes focussed only on what lay ahead of the trench.

All around him, England could hear high-pitched sounds that then became large booms. Some of those sounds were distant, others were too close for comfort. A second passed and England covered his face when an explosion caused the dirt nearby by to come raining down. England became aware of other soldiers who were with him, all of them staring intently forwards.

It was as if they were all waiting for an order.

"Move out soldiers, move out now! Come on, quicker than that! Do you want to get hit by a shell?" A harsh voice barked out the order distantly.

England and the other soldiers all jerked into action and climbed over the trench. They ran as quickly as their tired legs could carry them, many of the men stumbling. Shells fell from the sky like drops of rain, causing dirt to fly everywhere.

The Brit ran, trying desperately to ignore the sounds of the bombs exploding and the mutilated screams from the bleeding masses of what used to be soldiers. He couldn't do anything for these wounded men, everything was happening too quickly and the nation couldn't stop.

He and barely a handful of soldiers jumped down into what was now the front trench, the only thing that lay stretching before them was no man's land. And then there lay the trenches of the enemy behind no man's land.

England looked at the soldiers that had been in the trench before he and the other soldiers had arrived. He was shocked by the sight he beheld.

Some of the soldiers were looking dazed, seeming completely disconnected with what was going on. Their limbs were twitching and jerking uncontrollably, they could barely hold onto their rifles with their trembling hands.

One soldier was huddled on the ground, curled up in a ball and lying completely still. Only the rapid up and down movement of his chest indicated that the man was still alive, though barely.

A couple of soldiers were sitting on the ground, rocking back and forth. Some were silent, others were muttering incomprehensible things.

But what horrified England the most were those who were completely cracked. These soldiers were still standing, but one could see that their sanity had been shredded to pieces. Two of them were singing loudly together, drunk on their own madness.

One man was lurching around, laughing hysterically as he cradled a tin hat lovingly in his arms, as if it was a baby. He stumbled over to England with a wide crooked grin plastered on his pasty face. He giggled as he slung an arm over England's shoulder, "Look my fellow, this is my daughter! Isn't she the loveliest girl you have ever laid your eyes upon?"

England looked at the soldier blankly, not knowing how to react to the crazed man. England shifted awkwardly, trying to get away from the soldier. The Brit smiled nervously, "That's very nice…"

The soldier chortled happily and staggered away, whirling the imaginative baby around in the air. England stared after him, wondering how long this soldier was going to survive in this war.

"Forget about him, there's nothing we can do for him anymore. He's broken beyond repair." Another soldier said bitterly, siding beside England. The man looked at the other crazed soldier, sighing heavily.

"Why is this happening to them? I can't understand…" England whispered hoarsely, looking at the unstable soldiers. Centuries of wars could have never prepared England for this. This had never happened in any other war. Seeing his brave men shatter like this, being mutilated from the inside. England had heard about this new "phenomenon", shellshock. But he had never seen it this bad before.

"It's all because of this f*cking war." The soldier growled angrily. "The generals are sending us to our death while they stay safely behind the lines, thinking of us as nothing more than disposable pawns. Why are we in this war? What are we still fighting for?"

In another situation, England would have reacted strongly to this soldier. Normally, the nation would have told the human that he was fighting for his country. England would have told the soldier the glory that awaited them in the end, the pride and joy they would feel. Any other day, England would have told him all that.

But now, seeing these mentally unstable men stumble around, limbs jerking and cracked smiles, England found himself questioning himself. What were they truly fighting for? Was it worth it? Or was the price his men were paying much higher than the award?

The shells continued falling all around England and his soldiers, shaking the ground and ripping into the atmosphere with their high-pitched cries. One of the men that had huddled at the bottom of trench suddenly looked up at the sky and joined in with the screaming shells, attempting to raise his voice over the explosions. Without a warning, the soldier jumped to his feet and climbed over the trench with two grenades in his hands, running into no man's land hollering his head off.

England wished he could say that the soldier at least took one German soldier out with one of the grenades before he was gunned down by the Germans.

---

England felt himself come back to semi-consciousness, though he felt like he was stuck between reality and memory. The fight in the meeting was still ongoing, but it seemed like it was about to enter in a new phase.

"Hey, so that's where you guys are hiding! That's no fun now, isn't it?" England heard Prussia's gleeful voice and many of the nations were moving further away from the Prussian.

Lithuania stuttered, "Prussia, you can't use the fire extinguisher. That's certainly against the law here too, put it back in its place."

"Make me!" Prussia cackled, and suddenly there was a hissing sound. The nations under the table started stumbling and crawling away from Prussia, trying to avoid being doused by the fire extinguisher.

The noise and sudden movements of the nations caused something to snap in England, and he quickly pulled himself to his feet and made a mad dash for it.

The other nations were cursing Prussia as they were expelled from their safe refuge. Prussia was snickering as he went after Lithuania with his fire extinguisher. However he hadn't counted on someone else to stand up for the Lithuanian nation.

"You, like, totally leave Liet the heck alone!" Poland shouted angrily as he pounced on Prussia's back, pulling the German nation out from under the table and away from Lithuania.

America burst out laughing, Prussia's shocked expression was just priceless. The American had been on the far side of the table so he hadn't run in the danger of being targeted by the fire extinguisher. But then Portugal nudged him with his elbow into the side.

"What is it?" America asked, turning his head to look at the Portuguese nation curiously.

"Err… England ran off."

"WHAT?" America exclaimed, looking beside him to confirm that the Brit was no longer in his place. "Where did he go?"

"Not sure, I just saw that he had that odd look in his eyes again. Ireland explained that he had those eyes when he is in a memory phase?" Portugal asked uncertainly.

"Wait, he ran away while he was still in his memory phase?" America was stunned, that had never happened before. The American shook his head, "That's not normal, we have to go after him before he hurts himself. If he's running away while still in his memory phase, who knows what could happen to him. Come on!"

America crawled out from under the table, Portugal following close behind. The fight between the nations was still continuing, they seriously weren't showing any signs of stopping soon. Water bottles were almost extinct, the nations having used most of them. However, some nations had discovered a stash of fire extinguishers and the furious fight continued, the room becoming increasingly messier with all the foam.

In all the confusion, America looked around anxiously for England. If the Brit was running due to the memory, then he was bound to be disoriented and very confused. But if he was running because of the fight… where would England go? Someplace quiet, a place away from here.

His eyes fell upon the double doors that were still wide open. It would make sense that England went through them to get away from this commotion. America looked at Portugal and motioned with his head towards the doors, Portugal replying with a nod.

They quickly made their way out of the meeting, dodging the other nations and avoiding from walking in front of nation who had a fire extinguisher in their hands. No use getting pulled into a fight now.

Once they got outside, America and Portugal vaguely heard Germany roaring for the nations to come to order, but the German nation's voice still got drowned out. Portugal shuddered slightly and commented, "Germany is going to be fuming for a long while now, I hope Prussia knows a good place to hide. I'd rather not be in the room when Germany finally explodes in rage."

America nodded absently, his mind focussed on something else entirely. He looked up and down the hall, trying to figure which direction England would have taken when he was running. He then turned to the Portuguese nation and said, "Alright, I take right and you take left. If you find him, just give me a shout. Don't… try anything drastic."

Portugal rolled his eyes, "America, you're making me sound like I'm either Prussia or France. I know how to handle England just as well as you do, I won't do anything stupid."

The American laughed lightly, "Well, I was just checking." With that said, America turned to the right and went down the hall, just turning his head back once to see Portugal head the other way and turn around the corner.

The young nation started striding swiftly, sort of hoping that he had picked the right way. He also wondered how England was right now. Was he still in his memory phase? Was he terrified? Why had he run?

America continued searching for England, making sure he checked every corner and behind every furniture, in case the Brit had decided to find himself a good hiding place. The American was soon glad he had done that because about five minutes later, he found a trembling England hiding behind a large armchair.

The American crouched to his knees to look whether England was still in his memory phase or not. Though England's back was turned at America, he saw from his position that England's eyes were green and focussed, the Brit seemed to be completely connected to reality.

"Hey Portugal, found him!" America called out, hoping that his voice would reach the other nation and not just bounce off the walls of the hall. He turned his attention back to England and approached the island nation carefully. He asked quietly, "Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm sorry for running off like that, the fight caused me to have a… déjà vu from a memory." England whispered quietly, shuddering. He didn't turn to look at America as he continued, "I was in the trenches and there were shells falling around me everywhere."

America grimaced slightly, that memory sounded like it came from WWI. The memories from that period were truly horrible, why the heck did England's mind decide to unearth that memory during an innocent water bottle fight? America reached out to lay his hand gently on England's shoulder and made the small nation turn around to face him. America was shocked to be met with wide dilated green eyes and wet cheeks.

"W-why're you crying England?" America stuttered out in confusion, leaning forward to wipe off a stray tear.

England blinked his eyes and sniffled loudly. He said inaudibly, "Seeing these soldiers in the trenches, their minds broken by the shells… I think I called it "shell-shock" back then…"

Shell-shock…? Ah wait, America had heard of that, wasn't shell-shock known today as combat stress reaction? Or PTSD? America hadn't dealt with it a lot in WWI, he came to know more during WWII where many of his soldiers got it, though his army had brushed it off as "exhaustion" initially.

"Hey, it's okay England. Don't cry, you couldn't do anything for them." America said comfortingly, reaching out to pull England into a warm hug. That's when he noticed that England was still trembling. America questioned, "What's the matter? Are you still scared about the memory?"

"No." England answered slowly, shivering slightly as he huddled closer to the American. "M'feeling cold." He mumbled under his breath.

"Maybe this will warm you up?"

America turned his head to look behind his back and saw Portugal, holding a cup of steaming tea in his hands. He walked over to America and crouched down to England's level, offering the beverage to the Brit. "Here, I'm sure you'll like this."

England looked at the tea curiously, reaching out for it cautiously. He took the cup from Portugal and brought in close to his nose, smelling the liquid. He noted curiously, "It's warm like hot chocolate but it smells different."

"That's because its tea, silly." America laughed lightly. He had to agree, giving tea to England was a good idea. The past England used to drink so much of it and it always seemed to brighten his mood up. He turned to Portugal and asked, "So, you heard me call for you?"

"Yeah, but then I saw this coffee and tea machine and I thought that it would be a good idea to get some tea for England, it's always helped his nerves a lot." Portugal smiled widely, turning his attention back to England.

The small island held the cup with trembling hands up to his mouth and took a sip. After the first guarded taste, England started drinking the tea almost greedily. America chuckled and asked, "So?"

England had finished drinking and licked his lips. "That was good."

"Feeling better then?" America asked, looking at England curiously. He frowned when he noticed that the island nation was still trembling.

The Brit shook his head, "Not really, but I think the tea helps a little. I still have that stupid headache though."

"Hey, it's going to be alright. That headache won't last forever." America smiled sympathetically and then ruffled England's hair. England frowned and moved out of America's reach, trying to flatten his wild hair again.

"Do you guys think we should return to the meeting? Maybe Germany has gained control of the situation again." Portugal proposed as he straightened up, looking down the hall where the meeting room was. They were far enough that they couldn't hear the nations anymore, but that didn't mean that the fight was over yet.

Still, they had to go and see.

America nodded as he stood up as well, "I suppose we could try and see, Germany can't get mad at us for leaving the meeting anyway. We have a justified reason for having left the room."

England pulled himself to his feet and walked to the nearest trashcan to throw the cup inside. Then he turned to the two taller nations and said, "If they're still fighting, then I'm just going back to the hotel. I honestly don't see the appeal of being dragged into a silly fight like that."

"Aww, but those fights are sometimes very awesome! I love being dragged into them, the fights let you get rid of your stress and lets you have some fun from these stuffy meetings." America smiled widely.

"It's interesting then that you didn't join in with the others. Why didn't you fight with them today?" Portugal pointed out, giving America a sneaky smile.

America looked at the Portuguese nation carefully, wondering why the other nation was smiling like that. The American frowned, "Well, I didn't fight today because… well, look at England's size! It would be totally unfair if someone attacked him, he wouldn't be able to fight back. As a hero, it was my duty to make sure that England would be okay."

"Sure you were." Portugal chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, so are we going now?" England called out to them, having already started to walk back to the meeting. America and Portugal only needed to take a few long strides to catch up with the Brit. The island nation looked back to see the two other nation towering over him and he huffed, "Show-offs."

"Nah, that's just a little hint that you need to start growing up again." America laughed lightly.

"I am growing, but not as quickly as everyone wants me to. I can't exactly tell my body to start growing more swiftly." England sighed, continuing to walk.

After a few minutes of walking, the three nations bumped into a dripping wet Lithuania and Latvia. Both Baltic nations looked genuinely miserable in their drenched state, though Lithuania also seemed to have some foam on him. They both stopped when they saw the others and Lithuania advised, "Don't go back to the room, the meeting has been adjourned and will continue tomorrow morning. We have the rest of the day off, it seems."

"So everyone is free?" America asked brightly.

"No, actually a lot of the nations will be staying a few hours in the meeting room. Specifically speaking, those who participated in the fighting and worsened the situation. Germany is absolutely furious, it took him about 10 minutes to stop screaming at the others for their immature behaviour." Lithuania explained, grimacing slightly.

"Germany is really angry with Prussia, he even promised that he was going to make Prussia wear a shock collar." Latvia said shakily, trembling from a mixture of apprehension and fear.

"Seriously, a shock collar?" America sounded astounded, both Portugal and England reflecting this emotion in their expressions as well.

"Latvia, I do think that was just anger talking. I doubt that Germany would do this to his own elder brother." Lithuania said doubtfully, looking for a moment uncertain but then seeming to accept that Germany couldn't be that angry.

"Well, I actually wouldn't be that surprised." Portugal shrugged his shoulders helplessly, "I mean, how many times has Prussia crashed a meeting in the past? Doesn't anyone else think he sort of has it coming to him with all the times he messes up these meetings just to get everyone's attention on him?"

"Yes, but Prussia does get often lonely. Since his dissolution, he's been restless. It must be very hard for him to accept that he's an ex-nation." Lithuania said sympathetically.

"I still think he's awesome, despite all the meetings he's crashed. I think Prussia comes up with great ideas on how to create chaos. I mean, you can't start a fight singlehandedly the way Prussia does. He totally knows what he's doing when he wants to start a fight." America grinned widely, no one could deny that Prussia was good at bringing chaos from order.

"Well, anyway, your absences were noticed in the meeting." Lithuania continued, looking pointedly at the three other nations. "But luckily, Switzerland saw you three and was able to tell that none of you participated in the fighting. So I suppose you three are free as well, the other nations who are found guilty of having fought have to stay behind and clean the room up. And they'll probably get a long lecture from Germany on responsibility."

"Do you think Germany will ban water bottles from now on?" Latvia asked curiously.

"Wouldn't that be a bit stupid to do?" Portugal pointed out, looking doubtful.

"It's a bit like saying we're not allowed to go to the toilet during the meetings. Banning water bottles is going against our rights, we have a right to drink. It won't be easy to ban them, that much I'm sure of." America crossed his arms and frowned, disliking the idea of having Germany ban something. He hated banning, it always made him want to do the exact opposite. He was then struck by a curious question, "Hey, aren't you guys normally three? Where's the dude who wears glasses… I mean, Estonia? And where's Poland? He seemed really angry last time I saw him."

"Estonia stayed behind in the room, he lost his glasses during the fight and he can't find them. Finland is helping him out now, Estonia told us that we could go and get changed first." Lithuania answered and before America could repeat his last question, he swiftly added, "And Poland stayed behind because he threw the fire extinguisher at Prussia and almost hit Germany in the face instead."

"Ouch, that certainly didn't help Germany's mood." Portugal stifled his laughter.

"Can we go Lithuania, I'm really getting cold now. The air conditioner is not helping." Latvia said with a shiver. Lithuania looked at the younger Baltic nation and nodded.

"Yes, I think it's best for us to return to our hotel rooms and get changed. I'll see you guys either later or tomorrow at the next meeting." Lithuania turned to the others and smiled at them.

"Yeah, see ya." America smiled widely.

Both Baltic nations nodded and continued on their way back to the hotel. America realized with a jolt that he hadn't heard England utter one word during the entire conversation. He looked behind him and saw that England was leaning against the wall, shivering just as badly as Latvia had done before. But Latvia had been drenched to the skin and the air conditioner had caused him to become colder. England wasn't wet at all but he still looked as if he was freezing cold.

"Hey, are you okay?" America asked worriedly, looking at the small nation worriedly.

"Yes." England exhaled shakily, trying to push himself away from the wall but winced at the attempt. He attempted to brush his discomfort off.

"You don't look like it." Portugal said, frowning anxiously as well.

"I a-am w-well." England replied, though his teeth chattered a bit. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, shuddering violently.

"England, you're clearly not okay!" America scolded, taking a step towards the Brit. He was convinced now that England was falling sick, no one would be trembling so much.

"I'm f-f-fine, I'm just feeling a bit cold and stiff in the shoulders…" England pushed himself from the wall and walked towards the two worried nations, giving them a tired smile. But neither America nor Portugal were convinced, the island nation was shaking so badly that he couldn't stay on his feet.

England wobbled slightly and fell forward, landing on his belly with a small "oof". America immediately crouched down and picked England up, looking at the small nation nervously. England was looking unnaturally pale and was shivering miserably. The Brit sighed, "I don't want to be sick."

"You don't really have much choice in this." Portugal smiled at England sympathetically.

America stood up with England in his arms, holding the small nation close to his chest. He asked warily, "Do you feel less cold like this?"

The Brit shook his head slowly. "Just feeling sleepy now…"

America turned to look at Portugal and said, "I don't think we can do anything else but take England back to his hotel room. He's clearly sick and isn't in any state to go anywhere else."

Portugal nodded uneasily, looking at England anxiously while the Brit continued trembling. The two other nations were to say the very least, mildly shocked by how quickly England's condition had deteriorated. This illness had struck England literally out of nowhere. America hoped that the illness would leave just as quickly.

England definitely did not need this!

---

A/N:

As I said, the chapter in itself is good but I might have messed something in the update or not. Please forgive me for that and be patient. I'll get back to everyone, first I just need to untangle myself a bit. I'm not thinking very straight right now! (but I'm not sick. Hope you enjoyed the chapter)