France slowly raised his seat, all the while watching Germany disappear in his rearview mirror. England began walking back inside and France switched his car on, slowly creeping into the driveway like a predator stalking prey. England made it to his doorstep when he heard a car door slam. Bewildered, he pivoted to see France dashing towards him. England dropped his umbrella and yelped as France grabbed his shoulders.
"What are you doing here, you bloody git?" England exclaimed.
"We need to talk," France declared, pushing England towards the door. They both entered the house, England quickly scooping up the umbrella on the way. Water droplets slunk down France's hair, beading and falling at the tips. England's sweater now sported wet handprints on the shoulders, a product of France's lack of shielding from the rain.
"You know it's bad luck to have an umbrella open indoors," England grumbled, quickly shutting it. The excess water soaked his entry rug, much to his dismay.
"What did you tell him?"
England furrowed his brow. "I beg your pardon?"
"What did you tell him?"
France's face fell void of all pigmentation, his eyes painting a picture of uncertainty.
"You've gone crackers too," he shook his head in disbelief, "I don't know what you're on about."
France flew into the kitchen, England trotting behind him in confusion. France had not announced he would be visiting, and if he did, England would have told him to bugger off. His relationship with France consisted of constant bickering, their mutual participation in the Allied Forces being their only point of agreement. If France insisted on stopping by, unable to take no for an answer, England would have mentally prepared himself for the onslaught of petty arguments bound to unfold. He watched, dumbfounded, as France refilled the kettle and pulled a clean mug down from the cabinet.
"Right, so you think you can just barge into my house and make yourself something to drink with my things?" England protested, his voice raising an octave in the face of stress.
"I just did, didn't I?" France responded.
England sighed, his chagrin shutting him up. France had a knack for knowing exactly how to irritate him. He watched as France pulled a tea bag of Assam from a tin, tossing it into the clean mug. France spun to face England once more, catching a glimpse of England's flushed cheeks. England immediately turned his head to the side to avoid his gaze.
England huffed. "Why did you come here?"
"I know you told Germany," he spoke quietly, his uncertainty melting into an all-knowing tone.
Indeed, Germany spun the tale of how France let his passion for Italy overtake his senses, slipping enough information into the conversation for Germany to continue his crusade for the truth. Germany had no clue that the more he fished for answers, the murkier the sea of deception became. Truth be told, England fought to bite his tongue while speaking to him; whether Germany knew it or not, England wanted to give him the answers he sought, but the law prohibited it, and to break the law meant to introduce more complexity into the mix. France was well aware of that fact, so the manner in which he bursted into England's house only solidified England's perception of his arrogance.
"I didn't say anything," England finally responded, "You know I can't."
France emptied the kettle into his mug, the steam from the water swirling upwards. "I saw the way you hugged him in the driveway. Why would he reciprocate if he didn't get what he wanted?"
"You've seen the poor bloke, he looks a right mess. I'm gobsmacked he could even drive."
"You're avoiding my question."
England despised the way France picked apart his every word. He spoke with confidence, but the second France questioned it, he flurried into a fit of stumbling over every syllable that came out of his mouth afterwards.
"I told him I couldn't speak of it and he didn't question it."
"I find that hard to believe."
England glared at him while he sipped his tea. "And why's that?"
France let out an indulgent sigh, arguably with the intent to frustrate England even further. "Oh, Iggy, don't be coy. Everyone knows you've always opposed the terms of the treaty."
England blushed a deeper crimson, the effect of the nickname even reaching the tips of his ears. "Don't call me that."
"You know I'm right."
"I don't know how you could support the terms of the treaty."
"Because it protects everyone, including you, unfortunately."
England sighed and sat at the kitchen table, taking the chair he'd donned only ten minutes prior when Germany poured out what was left of his soul. He was the only European country opposed to the passage of the Imperium Declaration. Its stipulations felt morally reprehensible,
its concerns focused on saving everyone's skin over Germany's well-being. His territory's physical disconnection from the rest of Europe soon became an emotional disconnection when he was the only person to vote against it. His unpopular opinion became the subject of much scrutiny, giving the others another reason to label him as "The Black Sheep." Truthfully, England's heart felt torn while Germany begged for answers. Germany approached the only country that despised its terms, yet with the silhouette of conflict looming behind him, the cataclysmic toll it would take on the world if all parties declared war on England, what options did he have? He merely put a hand to his shoulder and attempted to telepathically communicate that he wanted to give him the answers he yearned for, but breaking the law was simply out of the question. The hug in the driveway came from the overwhelming sense of guilt and pity brewing in England's chest. Germany's reciprocation gave him hope that he understood.
"You act like I don't understand the ramifications of breaking the treaty," England scoffed, "I'm not going to do it."
"And that's one of the reasons I came here, to make sure you knew that," France retorted. He sat in Germany's chair, pushing the used mug out of the way and setting his own down.
"One reason?" England sputtered.
France drummed the side of his mug with his fingers, his nails tinking against the ceramic. "The others want to come back together and ratify a new clause, and you're expected to be there."
England shook his head vehemently, pushing his tongue into the rift of his canine tooth. "You're mad! No no no, mate, you've lost the plot if you think I'm going to let myself be dragged into it again."
"You were present for the original signing, you need to be present again."
"No no no no no, I won't do it, I'll even say it in your bloody language if that's what it takes. No."
France shrugged. "Fine, but you can't say I didn't try when you don't agree with what the clause says."
"What does the clause pertain to?"
"What happens if he remembers on his own."
"You think he will, then?"
France massaged his temples as a means of venting his stress. "You've seen him, he looks like a ghost. Prussia told me he's losing his grip on reality; he sees everyone as a suspect. At this rate, he could find out any minute. That's why we need to draft a new clause."
He stood and quickly gulped down his tea, much like he had when concluding his conversation with Germany. "You'll hear from me when it's time to meet."
England glared at him and leaned back in his chair, huffing as he crossed his arms. "I won't respond."
France rolled his eyes. "Typical."
England opened to his mouth to insult Frace, but France slipped out the side door of the kitchen before a word could come out. England exhaled deeply, attempting to flush the frustration from his system, but the headache that followed his interactions with France ensured it wouldn't fade away. Resting his head on his hand, he tilted his head to stare at the rain outside. The drops seeped into the ground, overloading the grass with enough emotional turmoil to drown it. The water pooled in some places, eventually spilling into ant hills and cracks in the concrete. The overflow of a single aspect of nature swept everything up in its path and took the entire ecosystem down with it; it was too much for England to bear.
Germany pulled into the driveway, quickly shutting off the headlights as to not alert anyone of his return. A few bulbs glowed through the windows, his house overflowing with enough light to spill outside its borders and attempt to brighten the sky, only to be swallowed up by the grey gloom. Any fleeting moment of joy had been squelched by the drowning nature of his discoveries and he longed to lay down for the rest of his life. Each minute of the day created another crack in his shelled humanity. He hoped to be left alone for the remainder of the day.
Picking up the garbage bin from the backseat, he tucked it under his arm as he crept towards the front door. He was able to slink inside and shut the door both quickly and quietly. He kicked off his shoes and made his way upstairs, keeping his head down to avoid possible eye contact. His inability to see what was directly in front of him meant that he collided with both Prussia and Austria at the top of the staircase.
He looked up at the two of them, each standing with their hands on their hips. They both wore the same concerned expression that worked on two levels, one being a result of worry, the other being disgruntled. Germany expected Prussia to look as terrible as he did, but miraculously, Prussia hid any evidence of a hangover. He wore his casual clothes, his t shirt wrinkled and jeans
"Where were you?" Austria asked, his eyes piercing as they locked with Germany's.
"Had to meet with someone," he grumbled in response.
"West," Prussia said, pressing the back of his hand on Germany's forehead, "You look awful."
Germany pulled his face away. Evidently, he'd been promoted to nickname-status once again. "I'm fine."
Austria waved at Germany's bedroom and Germany realized his door was wide open, the wind still pushing its way inside, the ceiling light fighting to bring life back into the room. "We know you threw up. I came to check on you and you were gone, but I could tell it happened the second I stepped in your room."
"I'm fine," he repeated.
"We're all getting really concerned about your health, Westie," Prussia cooed, "you can't keep living like this."
Germany, his energy completely drained, attempted to dodge the questions by walking between Prussia and Austria. They stood firmly, leaning against one another in a way that repelled Germany from breaking through. He merely bumped into the two, then stepped back.
"Starting now and continuing into the foreseeable future, you're not allowed to leave the house," Austria declared. He started to wrap his arms around Germany so as to coax him into his bedroom, but Prussia stepped in.
"I'll take care of it," he said, motioning for Austria to loosen his grip. Austria pried the garbage bin from Germany's hands instead.
Prussia slowly led him through the hallway and into the bedroom, his arms outstretched as he corralled Germany towards his bed. He remembered how Prussia would corral him this way even as a teenager, shooing him away with assertions that he wasn't old enough to be involved in "grown-up talk" with Austria, sweetening it with statements like "the awesome stuff will only happen when you're around, I promise." The memory stung, its bittersweet nature a reminder that the days of their fierce companionship were fading before his eyes. He missed the way things were a few days prior, the days where the most pressing issue in his life had been that Prussia finished the cereal before Germany could have some. With Prussia's arms nearly wrapped around him and the familiar nickname still ringing in his ears as he desperately held onto a shred of happiness, the tears welled in his eyes once more. He missed this.
Prussia pulled back the covers Germany lay down. Observing the unusually watery appearance of his eyes, Prussia wiped each thumb near the outer corner of Germany's eyes, a subtle invitation suggesting that letting the tears fall might relieve the anguish raging within his heart. "You won't get better if you don't rest," Prussia whispered.
Austria appeared at Prussia's side as he pulled the covers over Germany's chest. "Please promise us that you will stay here. You can't leave. You need to stay right here. Okay?"
Germany, once a fighter, no longer had the resolve to resist them. He was nothing. His heart crumbled each time he remembered how it felt to be loved by his brother again, and if he could cling to this ounce of happiness for just a little longer, long enough to feel human again, it would save his soul. He accepted it. "Okay."
