Whoa. Wasn't expecting this to be so successful. Thanks, guys!

I don't usually update so quickly but I was overwhelmed with all your feedback and I already had this chapter and the next one written out, and I'm currently working on the fourth chapter. By that point, we shall be seeing the other nations aside from just England and his brothers. Beforehand, I want to establish England's current mental state and his new place in the world he left behind.

Allons-y!


Two

Reality Falls

After the doctor's inspected him properly and then told him to rest a little longer, England lies in bed, his heart pounding furiously. He feels jumpy and restless. He shouldn't be here. He should be running.

But why?

He tries to concentrate on exactly why he even needs to run, and why he needs that knife, but he can't remember. But why was he running in the first place, back before he fell in the river? Has he forgotten that too?

It's not snow.

None of this is down to logic or reason, though. He instinctively knows that he's not safe. He has to run as far away as possible.

I was running before, but I can't remember why. I fell in the river. Five years later, I climbed out of the river. There's no way I could have been in the Thames all that time. But where have I been? Why can't I remember?

I've been gone all this time, and my brothers had no idea that I was even still alive, let alone where I was? What about the other nations? Do they think I'm dead too?

Five years. He's missed an entire five years. Half a decade, gone. What's happened while he's been away? Have things changed much?

When night comes again and the hospital grows a little quieter, he decides to try and run again, but he's not leaving without his knife. There's something about that blade, something important, something that tells him that he needs it.

It's his protection.

As he slides out of bed, he knows deep down that he won't be getting far. Something's wrong with him. Something's very wrong. He can't walk properly. His legs are so weak and his chest is hurting terribly and he feels so light headed. But how's he meant to escape if he can't even make it more than a few feet?

'Going somewhere?'

England jumps violently, his hands instinctively flying to his side for a knife that isn't even there. In the corner of the room, previously hidden in shadows, he watches his eldest brother rise from a chair.

'Of course they weren't going to let yeh keep the bloody knife, so yeh can stop looking for it,' Scotland says with a strange level of calm.

'Aren't the visiting hours over?' England gasps, slowly lowering himself back onto the bed. The strain of standing is taking its toll on him.

'I had a few strings pulled.' Scotland walks over to England and stands directly in front of him. 'So, how concerned should we be 'bout the fact that yeh spend every waking moment trying to get away?'

'Hell if I know,' England mutters.

'And are yeh planning on doing any explaining at all?'

'What is it you want to hear?'

'Oh, I don't know. Maybe where yeh've been for the last five years. If it's not too much trouble.' Scotland's voice is laced with sarcasm.

England sighs. 'If I knew, things would be a lot simpler. There's a possibility I spent the entire time in the river, though that seems extremely unlikely.'

Scotland stares at him. 'What are yeh trying to say?'

'I'm saying I don't remember,' England says. 'The last thing I recall from the fifth of November, 2010 was falling into the Thames. I blacked out and when I woke up, I climbed out the river to find that five years had passed. That's weird, even by my standards. I honestly don't think a simple hangover could be that severe, do you?'

'Yeh've got amnesia?'

'Mild form, yes. I would imagine you know more about the last five years than I do. So, am I officially missing or something?'

'Yeh were declared dead two years ago,' Scotland says quietly. 'No one could come up with a better explanation. Nations have died before. Everyone assumed yeh'd met that fate too.'

'Everyone thinks I'm dead? They gave up?' England feels an uncomfortable twist in his stomach at that thought of everyone dismissing him.

'Doesn't mean there wasn't a search,' Scotland replies. 'We spent the first three years trying to find yeh. But yeh'd literally vanished off the face of the earth. And yer disappearance almost started a war. Nations grew paranoid, thinking that another country may have captured yeh as some sort of territorial invasion. Europe was a bloody mess.'

'And the people? My people, what happened to them?' Suddenly, England is more than anxious, he is frightened. A disappearing nation can hardly spell good news for the people of said country.

'Apart from the severely declining economy at first? They held on. Officially, England is still a registered country. The humans obviously don't know about our existence, so they aren't aware that yeh disappeared. Besides, yeh may be yer own nation but yeh're still part of Great Britain 'longside me and Wales, so we are able to substitute for yer loss. I'm the one who has to go to those damn world meetings in yer place now. I see why yeh hated them so much.' Scotland laughs bitterly.

'And the government and the monarchy...?'

'Still intact.'

England breathes a sigh of relief. 'Good.'

Scotland frowns. 'Yeh're dead to the world, England. Nothing good 'bout it.'

'Well, I'm back now.'

'Yeah, yeh are.'

There's a moment of silence, then England asks, 'Have you told the other nations?'

'No. It's just me, Wales 'n Ireland. No one else knows.'

A part of England is itching to know if the other nations have actually missed him. To be honest, he can't really say he has many friends and he knows that many openly dislike him, but surely the world felt his loss? Why else would they spend three years searching for him?'

Only three, though. That's not long for a nation. They gave up on me.

England leans forwards and puts his head in his hands. The aching is getting progressively worse.

'Have yeh forgotten how to sleep or something?' Scotland says grumpily, though England can tell he isn't really irritated anymore. A small part of him is wishing that Scotland really is glad that his little brother is back. They never see eye to eye, but England wants Scotland to care.

'Miss me?' he manages as his body trembles and he feels himself falling backwards onto his pillow.

He sees Scotland open his mouth but he doesn't stay conscious long enough to hear the reply.


'… When are we going to tell them?'

'At the meeting?'

'No way, moron, everyone will literally be talking about nothing else and they'll never actually discuss the things they're meant to be talking about.'

'Come on, it's a G8 summit meeting. It's not like anyone ever stays on topic anyway.'

'Besides, it's a perfect opportunity. We'll have the chance to talk about it with seven other nations. It's better if we don't break it to the entire world at once. We'll start small, okay? We should tell them then.'

England opens his eyes and once again practically throws himself out of bed, thrashing around wildly with his arms. A second later he's on the floor, his legs still unable to carry him.

'Get back into bed, stupid, yeh'll only embarrass yerself,' Ireland says, rolling his eyes.

England struggles to push himself off the ground and only manages to move when Wales walks over to help him back onto the bed.

Wales takes his seat next to Scotland and Ireland in the chairs opposite England's bed, clearly not quite ready to resume their discussion now that they know their younger brother is awake.

'Oh, please continue,' England says dryly. 'As the conversation was about me, I'm sure it won't matter much if I know what is being said.'

'We're just talking about how we should go about informing the other nations that yeh've come back,' Scotland says.

'I was saying yeh should start phoning everyone up and saying stuff like guess who's back?' Ireland suggests with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 'That should really freak 'em out; I mean, yeh've already had tremendous success with Wales. He almost had a heart attack when yeh called him from that phone booth. And Scotland and I weren't exactly expecting to hear a hysterical Wales callin' us up to say that he'd just gotten a phone call from yeh.'

'Can you please take this seriously?' Wales says, exasperated.

'Just tryin' to make light of an extremely improbable situation,' Ireland says casually, leaning back on his chair. 'I mean, how are yeh meant to tell everyone that yer supposedly deceased little brother has magically returned from the dead?'

Scotland rolls his eyes. 'Anyway,' he says, 'we're trying to decide whether to come out with the truth at the G8 next week.'

'There's a G8 meeting next week?'

'Aye, in America.'

'America...' England says slowly, suddenly wondering what America must have thought of his disappearance. And suddenly a jolt of fear runs through his body and he quickly jumps up again, only to be restrained by Scotland almost immediately.

'Seriously, England, yeh've gotta stop doing that,' Scotland grunts. 'It's like yeh're expecting to be murdered or something.'

But England can barely hear his brother over the sound of the blood pumping in his ears and his shaky, uneven breath. This isn't right. He can't be here. He has to run, before-

'Calm down, brawd bach,' Wales tries to soothe him again.

'Can't- can't-' England gasps.

'What's wrong with him?' Ireland demands.

'I can't stay here,' England insists.

'Yeh can't even walk,' Scotland says. 'Yeh'll be staying right here until yeh're strong to leave.'

'But... I have to...'

'Can't be weak, can we? Weakness gets you killed.'

England yelps and clutches his head. It's not real. That voice is just in his head. It's not real.

'If you want to survive, you have to be strong.'

The pain in his head is searing now. The voice isn't real... but it was real, in the past. This is a memory. One of his lost memories, coming back.

'If you can't make it, I'll kill you myself.'

There's something sharp being jabbed into his arm. Is it a weapon? Is the owner of the voice killing him like they said they would? No... it's a needle. The doctors have rushed in and England's brothers are standing back, letting their little brother get put out.

No... if I am unconscious, I am defenceless. If I am defenceless, I am weak. If I am weak, I die.

That's the game.

'It's alright,' the people around him are saying, but it's not. They're going to send him to sleep, and he can't protect himself when he's asleep. He can't even protect himself when he's awake; he's ill and someone's taken his only weapon away.

His eyelids are growing heavy and his heart is thumping wildly in panic. 'Sc... Scotland...' he croaks, trying to get his brothers to stop this from happening. 'Ire... l... nd... W... l... s...'

I'll die. I'm going to die if I lose.

They'll find me.


Each time he awakens, he repeats his actions: desperately throwing himself out of bed, quickly searching around for his knife, attempting to run... but he's always apprehended before he can make it to the door and he never does find the dagger. Besides, he can't walk more than a few feet.

His brothers aren't always there, but more often than not there's usually at least one of them sitting nearby. It's normally Wales. He's always the one with the most compassion towards England, and the one with the most patience.

'We've informed the Prime Minister of your return,' Wales informs England after the younger has been forced back into bed and told that sedative won't be used on him if he stops struggling. 'Obviously, there's enough confidentiality about your existence alone, so the news that you're still alive is still being kept from everyone. The Prime Minister-'

'Who?'

'What?'

'Who's the Prime Minister? It was David Cameron when I left, but there must have been another general election in May.'

Wales almost looks amused. 'You sure have missed a lot, brawd bach. It's still Cameron. Though how he managed to secure another term after how rubbish the economy's been in the last five years is beyond me. Most people blame him, after all; it only started to go downhill a few months after he was elected- back when you disappeared.'

England's eyes drift over to the window as his brother is speaking. He's never made it close enough to the glass so he doesn't actually know what floor he's on. In his state, could he even survive a fall? He's a nation, so he has a higher durability than humans... and with everyone trying to stop him from running, it's not like the door is a valid escape route anymore...

'Anyway, as I was saying, the Prime Minister hasn't actually told any of the other world leaders, so none of the other nations should know about your return yet.' Wales smiles, all of a sudden. 'And the doctors say that you're making a steady recovery. They want you to try walking as soon as you're up for it-'

England is already out the bed before Wales can finish his sentence. 'I'm fine, see? Ready to go.'

'Are you sure?' Wales looks worried. 'They said to take it slow-'

'I want to get out of here as soon as possible,' England replies. 'But I'm not cooperating with anyone until I get my knife back.'

Wales is frowning now. 'England, what's the deal with this knife? We found it on you in the telephone booth. Why do you want it so badly? What aren't you telling us?'

'You know where it is?'

'England, please-'

'It's mine. I need it back.'

'But why? Where did you find it? Did you have it on you when you climbed out the river? And why are you so intent on running away?'

'I... I don't know.' England tries taking a couple of steps forwards. He's already feeling sick but he is able to put more pressure on his legs. Good. He should be ready to get away as fast as possible soon. But why? 'I don't know why I need to run, or why I need my knife. All I know is that I do need these things. It's... instinctive, I suppose.'

Wales is silent for a few seconds before he says, 'Do you really not remember anything from the last five years?'

England shakes his head, deciding not to mention that cruel voice he heard or how he can see flashes of what he assumes are memories in his dreams, although they seem to flutter away just out of his reach only moments after waking up.

'I don't know what happened to me,' he says finally. 'I know things are really different now.'

He knows he's changed, but he isn't sure why. All he knows for certain is that he can't trust safety because there is no true safety, and that he must find his protection.

And then he must run, because otherwise they'll find him.

They?

When he closes his eyes next, he's greeted with the sight of a malicious pair of crimson eyes watching him from the waves of darkness.


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