This chapter is quite angsty. Don't say I didn't warn you.
So, yeah... Not many characters in this one. It doesn't really answer questions but instead just raises a few more for England, and for you guys too, probably. But a lot of it will be answered too, I promise.
Allons-y!
Seven
Trustless Strangers
'Hello...? Please... if anyone can... hear me... please... just...'
'Where in the hell have yeh been?' Scotland snaps as England unlocks the hotel room door to find his brother leaning out on the balcony.
'Out and about.'
'That's not a bloody answer and yeh know it. Yeh've been gone the whole day. Yeh were meant to stay in the meeting, not run away.'
'I had other ideas. How can you honestly just attend an ordinary meeting when you know there's a supernatural force posing a threat?'
Scotland scowls. 'You killed it.'
England sighs. 'There will be more. That was just the first attack.'
Scotland steps inside and slams the door the balcony quite forcibly. 'Right. That's it. Yeh're gonna tell me everything now. Absolutely everything yeh know. No excuses. No ruddy lies. Your dreams, any memories that might be comin' back- I want to hear all of it.'
England frowns. 'Perhaps if you ask nicely.'
'The way I ask doesn't make a damn difference with yeh. All yeh seem to want to do is bottle it up inside of yeh and not talk about it and that's gotta stop now.'
England seriously considers walking straight back out through the door and going for a late night walk. It's got to be better that trying to explain everything to his brother.
'There's nothing to say,' he mutters finally.
Scotland looks angry now. 'England,' he says firmly. 'Talk.'
England pushes past his brother and slumps down on his bed. 'I'm tired. Just give it a rest, Scotland. I don't remember anything. That's the whole point of amnesia.'
Scotland leans down and grabs a fistful of his brother's shirt, pulling England up into a sitting position. 'What part of no excuses and no lies did yeh not understand?'
England pushes his hand away. 'It's none of your business,' he remarks icily.
'Then who's business is it?'
'Mine, and mine alone.'
Scotland glares down at him. 'Yeh're a bloody idiot. I'm trying to help you.'
England knows that, deep down. But there's still that stubborn part of him that overrules reason. There's too much history with his eldest brother to simply open up. He's still half expecting Scotland to call him a wimpy little brat and go back to openly disliking him like he should be doing.
'How are we supposed to help you figure all of this out if you don't trust us?' Scotland continues.
'I don't- I can't trust anyone,' England blurts out.
'And why's that?'
'Because you're all different.'
'You're the one who's changed.'
'None of you are the same,' England argues. 'I look at you all and you're not the people I remember and I don't know any of you. You're like blurred photographs. Like I can't see your faces. Your real faces. Being here with the rest of you just feels wrong. Like we're not the same. I'm not... I'm not...' One of you.
Scotland scowls. 'That's bloody ridiculous.'
'Well, that's how it is. You wanted me to talk- well, there you go. If you're not happy with my answer then tough luck, because it's the best one I can give.'
Scotland's silent for a while, before he says. 'Yeh know yeh can trust me. And Ireland and Wales.'
'I told you,' England says through gritted teeth. 'I can't trust anyone. I can't even trust myself. Not while I'm having all these crazy dreams and I'm seeing things and hearing...' He trails off once he becomes aware that he is in fact saying this part aloud, which he wasn't meant to do. Great. Now even his internal monologues are becoming verbal. He's definitely losing it. Or maybe he subconsciously wants Scotland to know.
If only I knew what I want, he thinks bitterly.
Scotland steps forward. 'Seeing and hearing things?'
'Y... Yeah...'
'Hallucinating?'
'M-maybe. I'm not sure.'
Scotland is just inches away from his brother now. England's mind is screaming at him to bolt but he remains where he is. It's practically the only self-control he has left.
'And what kind of things are yeh seeing and hearing?' Scotland asks.
'Voices... of whoever... found me.'
'The people who kidnapped yeh? The ones who gave yeh those scars?'
Do I trust Scotland? I don't remember mentally agreeing to the idea of telling him anything. Perhaps I should trust him. He is my brother. We haven't been enemies for a long time. And he's trying to help me. But being around all the countries, even my family, doesn't feel right. Trusting them feels wrong.
'Yes.'
'Do you remember what they look like?'
'Not yet. Just their eyes. One pair red, the other blue.'
'Anything else?'
'No. Not really.' England flat out refuses to say anything else. He's opened up far too much. Whether or nor he is beginning to trust his brother, he doesn't want to have to think about it.
Scotland sighs. 'Okay. Better than nothin'.' He examines his brother's face for a second before continuing. 'I told Wales 'bout the incident with the entity. He's coming here.'
England is surprised. 'What, actually flying over here?'
'Yeah, an' bringing Sealand with him by the sound of it, seeing as the lad's stayin' with him.'
'Is Ireland coming too?'
'Not that I know of. It would be ruddy hell if the whole family popped over.'
'Jesus,' England mutters, rubbing his forehead. He doesn't want to have to think about it.
Late at night, England reviews his situation.
Scotland is fast asleep and snoring quite loudly. If he wanted to, England could get up and leave. He probably won't be allowed to ditch the meeting tomorrow, and Scotland might even make him tell the other nations everything he has already admitted to Scotland.
He doesn't want any of them to know. He's not sure he can trust them- and not because of any bad history he might share with them, more to do with what he said to Scotland- about how no one seems the same. It's like he doesn't really know them anymore. He's uncomfortable being anywhere near the other nations.
Especially America.
England feels like punching himself. There's something seriously wrong with him. And nothing wrong with America. He hates to admit it, but something about the younger nation scares him. He's spent a few hours today with America and not once did he feel at ease. It's unsettling to know that this... fear is completely irrational, but to have it anyway.
I'm not scared, England thinks, glaring at the ceiling above his bed. Why the hell would I be scared? It's stupid. I should be scared of whoever did this to me. No, actually, I shouldn't. I mustn't be afraid.
'Can't be weak, can we? Weakness gets you killed,' he remembers one of his captors saying, the one with the demonic red eyes who tortured him. The one he keeps seeing, the one no one else has noticed.
He's the one I should be afraid of. And he's the one who told me not to be afraid.
At around four in the morning, England slips out of the room. He's fed up with trying to get to sleep and failing, so he decides to go for a a quiet walk while it's still dark. He has no idea how long he'll be gone so he's left a note for Scotland, in case his brother wakes up and realises he's missing.
Naturally, the city is still fairly busy and loud, but England finds that he doesn't mind too much. More people means it's easier to blend in and not be noticed. He imagines that the other nations won't be awake at this hour so he's not at risk of being spotted by anyone he knows. That's something.
Despite his suspicions, he catches no glimpse of the red eyed demon. For something that seems to like following him around a lot, the creature seems fairly elusive now. Strange as it seems, it only tends to appear when he's around the other nations. The one I'm seeing is not even real, England reminds himself. I'm just hallucinating. Wherever the real thing is, the one who tortured me, it's not here.
He reaches a park eventually. The gate is locked and too tall to climb with ease, but England simply waves his hand over the padlock and it begins to glow before snapping open. A simple enchantment like that shouldn't use up too much of his strength, and he'd like some privacy for what he's about to do next.
There is a little pond in the centre of the park, enclosed by a clump of sycamores. England reaches the pool and peers down into the murky water. It can't be too deep, as it's only a small pond. England closes his eyes and blocks out the sounds of the cars and the faraway sirens in the distance. As calmly as he can, blocking out all the worry and unease, he lets his magic flow out.
'Come to me,' he whispers.
Beyond his closed eyelids, he can make out a glow. He opens his eyes and is greeted with the sight of a hundred dancing fireflies skimming across the now lit up surface of the water. At least, an onlooker might believe them to be fireflies, as peculiar as the sight is. Then again, an onlooker wouldn't even be able to see them in the first place- most people can't. They most certainly are not fireflies. England knows better than that.
My friends, he thinks, smiling. For the first time in a while, he feels completely at ease. Finally, something that feels right.
'England,' the little voices whisper back. 'You have returned.'
They sound just as happy as England feels. 'I have.'
'You're alive,' they continue, relief evident in their voices.
England frowns. 'You thought I was dead, too? I mean, the other nations believed it, but they don't have the powers that you possess.'
'Where were you?'
'I don't know,' England says, feeling a little dejected. 'I was hoping you might. Couldn't you sense me at all?'
The fae flutter around nervously, clearly unsettled. 'You were no longer here.'
'I must have been somewhere. I'm starting to remember bits and pieces.'
'You were nowhere on this earth,' the fae reply. 'There wasn't a trace of you. You were gone.'
'But then... where could I have been?'
'The other one asked the same questions,' the fae continue.
'Other one?'
'Your kin. His magic was not as great as yours, but it was enough to summon us.'
They must be talking about Scotland, England concludes. His magic is superior to Ireland's and Wales's. If anyone had a chance of contacting this realm, it was him.
'We could not help him,' the fae continue. 'Nor could we help find you. We are truly sorry, England.'
There's a lump in England's throat, which is ridiculous. He shouldn't be saddened by this. He shouldn't show weakness. But he was so sure that the fae would know something of his disappearance. After all, it definitely had something to do with magic. How else would have vanished off the earth completely?
The fae were his last hope, and not even they could do anything for him when he was gone.
'Can you at least tell me about the thing that attacked the G8?' England tries. 'You must have sensed it yesterday.'
'It was a creature of dark magic, a malevolent entity,' the fae reply quietly. They're scared. It was conjured by a magic we know not of.'
'A different kind of magic? One you don't know about? How's that possible?'
'It comes from something unknown. Something that dwells beyond our understanding.'
'… Oh.' England reaches up and brushes away one tiny little tear that's threatening to spill. He is not allowed to get emotional. It's unacceptable. It's weak. 'Well... thank you for trying. And for speaking to me. I'm glad that I'm able to talk to you all again. I...' He swallows for a second, unsure of whether he should confide completely in the fae. He's been hesitant with opening up to anyone so far, but these are his friends, and they have been there his entire life. Besides, who are they going to tell?
'I... I don't know where I was, but I know it was somewhere very far away,' he says finally. 'And... I know I was alone.' Aside from my tormentors. 'I was alone and... I was afraid.'
England doesn't really intend to fall asleep beside the pond, but he does. He has spent the whole night awake and the exhaustion is finally catching up; only now does he feel tired. When he awakens, the sun has risen and the park is close to opening time. He slips out quietly without anyone noticing and heads back to the hotel. Scotland is nowhere to be seen by the time he has arrived, either for the meeting or perhaps to look for his little brother. England finds the note that he left Scotland scrunched up and in the bin, which means that the latter has definitely read it. Still exhausted, England slumps down on his bed and decides to get a bit more sleep. He is just closing his eyes when the balcony door slides open. England lets out a cry of shock.
'Yeh're back from yer late night wanderings, then?' Scotland says. He doesn't look amused at all.
'I thought you weren't here!' England shouts, embarrassed that he almost fell off the bed in shock. He's also also ashamed that he didn't bother to check and see if he was truly alone.
Scotland has a cigarette between his jaws and a prominent scowl. 'I thought yeh'd buggered off again. Been stressing out all morning.'
'That explains the smoking,' England says, secretly a little pleased that his older brother was concerned for him. Perhaps everything Scotland said about wanted to help him really is true. 'You usually behave yourself abroad. Last time I checked you were cutting back and everything-'
'Never mind that,' Scotland snaps hastily and England grins. 'Why couldn't yeh just stay put?'
'I left a note. Wasn't that enough?'
'Oh, how considerate of yeh. Bet yeh're too tired for the meeting now, huh?'
'Absolutely,' England says. 'Besides, I don't really need to be there; you seem to be able to handle meetings surprisingly well. I would have assumed you'd have left this job for Wales to do when I disappeared.'
Scotland pulls the cigarette out his mouth and crushes against the ash tray on the balcony table. 'He does national stuff, I do foreign stuff. Besides, I needed practice at attending international events in case the Referendum result was a yes.'
'Referendum?'
'Yeah...' Scotland leans up against door frame. He seems to be avoiding England's eyes. 'The, um, Scottish Referendum. Last year. To decide whether I would... yeh know... leave the UK...'
'Right.' The compassion England felt for his brother moments before is extinguished rather abruptly. Nobody bothered mentioning any of this to England when he was catching up on everything he missed. 'Why didn't you leave?' This is curious. Scotland's been complaining about being unified with England and Wales ever since... well, ever since they united in the first place. Shouldn't he have left at the first chance he got?
'In the end, the majority voted no,' Scotland finishes a little awkwardly. 'Besides, I couldn't leave Wales to do all the work. He'd have never coped without me.'
'I always used to do all the work and I managed just fine,' England says huffily.
'Yeh're a mystery, little brother. In so many ruddy ways. I should get going or I'll be late. Don't go wandering off again. Unless yeh plan on coming to the meeting later on in the day.'
'Not likely,' England says, letting his head fall back on his pillow.
He changes his mind after his sleep. The clock on his bedside table reads 13:43, so he decides he's rested long enough. He forces himself to think reasonably. The only way I'm going to settle back into this life is if I start to embrace the way things used to work, he thinks. I should go to the meeting instead of acting like a child skiving school, for one.
The meeting place is in the same location as the one they were all in yesterday, another government building (the first is currently under reconstruction because of the entity- or gas leak, as they're telling everyone).
The building is fairly quiet. England knows that everyone is on the third floor, so he heads for the elevator, only to stop in his tracks when he spots France, Germany, Russia and Japan chatting close by. The G8 must be taking a short break from the meeting. England immediately ducks behind an indoor pillar and curses himself for following these weird new instincts of his. There's no reason why he should hide from these nations. He's just being ridiculous.
But he does it anyway.
'You haven't told anyone yet, right?' Germany is saying. 'I can understand why Scotland wants to keep quiet about it for now. It's better if England's return is kept quiet until we understand a bit more. Besides, we don't want to put any other nations in danger.'
'So you definitely think that being in England's presence is dangerous?' Russia says rather calmly, with his usual chilling smile. 'I agree. It is peculiar how that creature attacked us all on the day we saw England again. It's definitely after him- and those around him. This is most strange. I like it.'
'That's not what I meant,' Germany says hastily. 'I mean, ja, sort of, but I'm not implying that it's England's fault or anything-'
'But he is dangerous now,' Russia continues innocently. 'He carries that pretty knife around with him. And he doesn't trust us.'
'What do you mean, Russia-san?' Japan says uneasily.
'You can see it on his face,' Russia says cheerfully. 'He is a very different person now. Something has snapped inside him. It is very interesting.'
'Something 'appened to 'im,' France pipes up. 'Something 'e won't talk about. Angleterre 'as always been too proud to discuss such things.'
'He doesn't remember anything, though. He said so,' Germany points out.
'He is probably remembering bits and pieces,' Russia guesses. 'And he chooses to stay away because he's afraid we'll figure it all out and he doesn't trust us. What I want to know is why he is still alive. We were told he was definitely dead, no doubt about it.'
England freezes. Who the hell told them that? He's about to decide that maybe this is just Russia messing with all of their heads when he hears Japan say, 'That's true. I didn't want to believe it, but who were we to argue? We had proof...'
Proof? What the hell...?
'Everyone makes mistakes,' France says quietly. 'Écosse may 'ave been wrong about Angleterre, but we can 'ardly blame 'im.'
England's breath catches in his throat. His eyes widen in shock.
Écosse. The French word for Scotland.
Scotland.
Scotland is the one who told everyone he was dead.
The nations didn't just jump to the conclusion that we was dead because they couldn't find him. They gave up looking for him because Scotland convinced them that England was no longer alive.
Why?
'But he was certain,' Russia says pleasantly. 'Scotland told us he was definitely dead.'
England slides down the pillar and ends up crouching at the bottom, still staring ahead with wide eyes.
It makes sense. Of course it does. Scotland must have talked to the fae and jumped to this conclusion. And then told everyone else. That's why the search was called off so early. After all, what's the point in looking for a dead man? Perhaps that's why Scotland's being so nice to him now. Maybe he's feeling guilty? This is... excusable. It has to be. England has to let this go. He mustn't let it bother him.
Scotland gave up on his little brother and convinced everyone else to do so too. And all the while, England was alive. Alive and alone.
He mustn't let this hurt him. He mustn't be weak.
I chose to trust him last night. And he's the one who betrayed me in the first place.
England grits his teeth and clenches his fists tightly, refusing to let this hurt. He has to be stronger than that. No tears. No sadness.
'Speaking of Écosse, I'm visiting 'im this evening for a drink. 'E told me that Angleterre 'ardly ever sticks around but with any luck 'e might be there too. Maybe 'e might even answer some more questions.'
'That would be good,' Japan agrees. 'I think there are some things that England-san remembers, but he probably feels too uncomfortable confiding in us. Like Russia-san said, I'm not sure he altogether-'
'Trusts us anymore,' Germany finishes.
They continue talking after that, but their voices are eventually cut off as they step inside the elevator. England is left alone in the lobby, still unmoving, his mind racing.
Get up, his mind says, but his legs won't move. He feels cold and numb.
I wish none of this ever happened. I wish I hadn't disappeared. I wish I wasn't broken up inside.
'Hey, England,' says a voice from in front of him and he looks up in an instant, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He knows that voice. That terrible, familiar voice.
Standing before him is the red eyed figure. The rest of the body is still hazy and indistinguishable but the demonic irises are all too prominent. And the smile. There's a smile.
'What are you doing down there?' the demon asks.
England almost screams, but when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. He presses himself up against the pillar, paralysed in fear.
You're not really here, his mind yells. You're somewhere far away. You can't hurt me anymore.
The demon seems to hesitate for a second before taking a step closer. 'What's wrong?' it taunts. 'It's just me.'
England's knife is still in his jacket pocket. But the demon is the person he got it from in the first place. After all, it was the blade being used to torture him. England doesn't want the demon to take the knife back.
With all the strength he can muster, England pushes himself away from the pillar and stumbles to his feet. Without allowing time to steady himself, he races towards the main entrance and throws himself at the doors.
You coward! his mind screams at him. Useless, pathetic, bloody coward! It was just a hallucination; it must have been!
He's supposed to be in the meeting, acting like an ordinary nation. Instead he's running as fast as he can away from the other countries because he's seeing his nightmares in his waking moments too.
And he can't confide in Scotland. Not now. He's not making that mistake again.
It's half past eight in the evening and Scotland hasn't returned to the room yet. He's downstairs in the lobby, probably drinking. England spotted him earlier at the bar and refused to confront him. He doesn't want to talk to him. He's not ready.
England crouches down with his back against the railings of the balcony, rotating his knife in his hands, eyes fixed but glazed over. His coat is wrapped tightly around him to protect him from the cold and the words of the other nations are echoing in his head.
'… he is dangerous now... he doesn't trust us... something has snapped inside him...'
So it turns out they're just as distrustful of him as he is of them.
He gets to his feet and leans on the railings, staring down at the street below. What the hell is he supposed to do? His captors must have been the ones who sent the entity after him. And they're certainly going to try again.
But who can he trust? Everyone he used to know have become strangers. People who believed him to be dead. People who expected him to be dead.
America didn't... Somewhere at the back of England's mind, he remembers that America said he never believed that England had died. But he probably just said that to sound like the hero he claims to be. Or maybe he was actually trying to make England feel better...
England gradually becomes aware that he recognises the lone figure on the otherwise deserted street below, heading towards the hotel. He'd know that wavy blonde hair anywhere.
That's right. He overheard France mentioning earlier that he was meeting Scotland at the hotel for a drink. England rolls his eyes and is about to exit the balcony and head inside when he spots a dark figure racing towards France. Even from this height, he can see the red eyes.
It's the demon.
England gasps and is about to shout out when he remembers that it's just him hallucinating. It doesn't matter that the demon is getting closer to France, because it's not really here. Besides, why should he care about what happens to the frog?
But then France turns and faces the demon, and England stiffens, his hands tightening on the railings.
France can see it.
It's real.
England is about to yell at France to run when he notices that France is calmly facing the demon. And the demon is just standing there, not attacking. They're chatting.
'What?' England whispers. This can't be right. If the demon was real all along, then how come no one was reacting it? And how come France is talking to it?
He gets even more of a shock when he sees France raise a hand and put it on the demon's shoulder, almost like it's in reassurance.
England backs away from the railings in shock. This is impossible. Not only is the demon he's been seeing over the last few days real, but it...
It knows France.
No.
He's working with it.
England slams the balcony door shut and sits down on his bed, knife still clenched in his fist. What can he do anymore? His brother told everyone to give up on him. France is working with the people who kidnapped and hurt him.
No wonder he has trust issues. He's surrounded by strangers and enemies.
'Not scared, are you?' says the red eyed demon's voice in his head. England's not sure if it's a memory or if the demon can talk to him mentally whilst attending other matters.
'Leave me alone,' England whispers, clutching his head. He's horrified to discover that his voice sounds like a choked sob. 'Leave me alone!'
The laughter echoes around his head, accompanied with one simple word. 'Alone, alone, alone...'
Don't be angry at France or Scotland. Or anyone, really. These things will sort themselves out in due time. Or rather, I will sort them out, as I am the author. ;) Basically, England is, uh, how do I put this? He's misinterpreting a few things around him. He's determined not to see the concern in those around him. The whole thing with France and the demon... well, that will make sense too. It's complicated.
Thanks for reading, and remember to review!
