SURPRISE.

Yeah, I'm shocked too. Bit of a late update, I know, but as December dragged on and I still hadn't finished the chapter it became clearer and clearer that I should aim to finish it and post it today, so here we are.

MERRY CHRISTMAS/HAPPY HOLIDAYS/IF YOU DON'T CELEBRATE ANYTHING I HOPE YOU'RE HAVING A NICE DAY ANYWAY. EVERYONE GETS AN UPDATE :D

Long chapter too. 'Tis truly a Christmas miracle.

Warnings: mentions of torture, though not too specific or I might have to boost the rating to an M, which I don't want to do. And your monthly dose of angst, as always.

And the stuttering continues. Ellipses and hyphens reign supreme.

Your reviews for the last chapter were beautiful, thank you so much. Tbh your reviews are always beautiful. I love you guys, have I mentioned?

Anywho, allons-y!

(PS. IMPORTANT! So sorry if there was anyone who already read the Christmas update and got an alert today (9th/10th Jan) and thought this was an update. The chapter got deleted. Not FanFiction's fault this time, though. I needed to do some editing and the format ended up in html format and wouldn't let me replace the chapter (I blame the small, faulty ancient laptop for that part) so I had to delete and reupload. Sorry for any inconvenience. The editing in question isn't even in the chapter itself, merely in the A/N. All that trouble for this. Unbelievable.)


Seventeen

Brave Faces

There's a routine, a pattern. Now that time has passed and his mind has adjusted to perform actual thought process besides screaming internally, England has begun to notice.

Other America tends to rotate between the little knives, the medium ones, the large ones, all the various other blades and sharp, twisted and spinning objects, and finally his machete, always in that exact order. The little knives are the least painful, and the machete is the most agonising. The variations in pain aren't entirely down to the size of the instrument- in fact, he uses different tools for different areas of England's body. The little and medium knives are generally for his arms and legs, the bigger ones more orientated towards his stomach. All the other ones save for the machete are for wherever Other America sees fit at the present time. The machete is always for England's chest, and it tends to venture almost curiously up towards his throat at the very end of the round. And right at the moment England is convinced that his throat is going to be slit for sure, Other America takes it down several notches and retrieves the little knives to start the round again.

England finds his mind is able to start processing thoughts as it would do normally when only the small and medium knives are at work. When the larger knives and all the other instruments are being used on him, the pain is of course greater, and his mind is more engaged with the agony than with its ability to dwell over anything else. And when it's the machete... there's nothing but the burning of the blade. The agony is all that exists during that part of the round. There's no way his mind would be able to process anything else.

After such a long time being strapped to the table, being forced to play Other America's game, he can barely feel the minor weapons. His skin is numb; or rather, it registers no new burning sensations from the blades, because it's now permanently burning. Like being in the middle of the ocean, growing accustomed to the cold.

He still cries out, but not with the knives. The miscellaneous instruments and the machete are enough to make him scream, but eventually the sound of his own voice grows muffled and automatic, like it's not even his.

There's some scheme at work here, there must be. The disturbing, yet logical fact of the matter is, England has now developed a preference.

He yearns for the knives.

They are the nice part. They're his favourite part of each round. He spends the rest of the time, especially the parts involving the machete, wishing for the knives to come back. He can almost ignore the pain when it's only the knives; it hurts the least. And he can almost think properly, can almost engage his mind in anything beyond the pain. He misses the knives when they're not in use. He craves their return when the other instruments are in use.

Of course, he would prefer it if this session ended completely, if everything ended completely. But he knows that a sweet release won't be coming as simply as that. So the knives are the best case scenario. They're his true relief, his safety. He's almost dependent on them.

And worst of all, it's only when they're in use that England's brain is strong enough to comprehend how wrong this is.

Other America is engineering his mind. That must be the scheme- to make him rely on the smaller blades, for them to be his reward at the end of each excruciating session with the machete. To make him enjoy the knives in this twisted little way.

At some point, he dully realises that Other America does indeed finally look how he's supposed to in this world: the tanned skin and the dark brown hair. The enchantment has slowly worn off for good. His image doesn't flicker into the appearance of his counterpart anymore. This provides another small dose of relief for England.

A corkscrew spiralling into his shoulder and shooting jets of electric-like pain through his nerves distracts him from his recent revelations. He hisses and groans without even fully registering the process of his muscles in his mouth and throat. It's like it's not even his own body announcing the received pain, only feeling it.

Next is the machete. England's mind registers nothing at all during this part, save for the only thing that does matter: the machete itself, carving its way slowly up his chest, heading its way for his throat, cutting deeper and deeper each time.

When the knives finally come back, England sighs in relief, and almost smiles.


'Don't be too brutish, Al!' Other England's voice calls fussily as he enters the room, carrying a large tray completely covered in elegantly designed cupcakes. England can barely lift his head to look at his doppelgänger but the other Brit approaches the table England is lying on quickly enough, eager to look down at Other America's handiwork.

'Like any of this too brutish for you,' Other America remarks, rolling his eyes. 'And your charm thing doesn't work for shit. He knows I'm not the other America.'

Other England places the tray down on the side table, next to all of Other America's instruments. He folds his arms and pouts disapprovingly. 'I told you the enchantment wouldn't work indefinitely. And I want a pound for that.'

'I don't give two shits about your swear jar. And why the hell would I use your currency?'

Other England sighs. 'Two pounds. Three if we count 'hell'.'

Other America stares at him. 'You have got to be kidding me.'

'Never mind that for now!' Other England says, the pout disappearing and being replaced by an excitedly, bubbly smile. He bounces over to England and grins down at him. 'Enjoy the game? I bet Al did! He must let me have a go next time!'

Other America makes a 'tsk' noise. 'You've had a whole month as your go. You probably just kept poisoning him.'

'He only ate one of the cupcakes! He's very stubborn! And he's got a bit of a bad mouth on him, too! He owes me quite a lot for the swear jar!'

'Mention the jar one more time and I'm tying you down to the table for a little session,' Other America threatens.

With his eyes squeezed shut in a happy yet eerie smile that sends a shiver up England's spine and somehow reminds him a little of Russia, Other England turns to Other America and very cheerfully says, 'I'd like to see you try.'

Other America's face twitches slightly, almost like a very minor flinch, and he shifts ever so slightly away from Other England. 'You're insane, you know that?'

'Now that's not a very nice thing to say, Al,' Other England says sweetly, gently picking up one of the small knives on the table and twirling it expertly in his fingers, rather absentmindedly. 'I hope the two of you have had an enjoyable evening. I myself have had great fun planning out the next game, and I can promise it will be exciting.'

Other America, although a little hesitant at first, smirks and seems mostly in charge of the situation once again. 'Great. As long as it's not boring.'

Other England's electric blue eyes rest on his doppelgänger, the knife still rotating in his hands. 'Oh, don't worry,' he says softly. 'I'd hate for that to happen.'


'England? Sealand? Is everything okay in there?' comes Wales's voice as the door opens. 'Is it alright to come in?'

Sealand tilts his head slightly, still watching England. He's clearly wondering if he should be the one to answer in case England hasn't collected himself properly yet. But England straightens up, fixing his eyes on the nations now standing in the doorway.

'It's f... fine,' he says.

'You sure?' Wales says hesitantly. 'Would you prefer it if it's just a couple of us who come in or-?'

England rather visibly rolls his eyes to emphasise a false sense of casual about him. He wants them to think he's calm. 'N... no. Everyone. We need t-to talk, right? That's what everyone's b-been trying to g... get me to do, isn't it? M... might as well t-take the opportunity now.'

Wales looks relieved. He opens his mouth to reply but Russia strides past in an instant, smiling widely. 'So we will all have a nice chat, da? Excellent!' he says pleasantly, stopping beside Sealand, who jumps a little in shock and looks rather nervous.

'Hello, England's little brother,' Russia says pleasantly.

'M-my name is Sealand!' Sealand squeaks indignantly, though his voice is rather small.

'Oh, okay. Hello, Sealand! And hello, England.' Russia's violet eyes fix on England. 'You are feeling well, da?'

'Better,' England replies as the rest of the nations file into the room.

'Still cold, though,' Russia says, a little quieter. The smile remains on his face but not in his eyes. 'Or perhaps not.'

England feels uneasy. 'W-what do you mean-?'

'... like I said before, maybe I should just, you know, wait out here,' he hears America say, and he glances over at the younger nation. America is hovering in the doorway, looking extremely uncertain, which is new for him because usually he is the confident one leading the way into most situations. England swallows nervously at the sight of him and his pulse speeds up. He just hopes his unease doesn't show. The last thing he needs to do is make an arse of himself now, right as he and the other nations are finally handling the situation.

Blonde hair. Paler skin. Definitely not him.

But Other America had blonde hair and paler skin too, before the enchantment had worn off and he had reverted back to his own colour scheme.

But he's in the other world. Not this one. He never was here. You just hallucinated him. You're being ridiculous, England chides himself. Except...

Except he may well have truly been here. Yesterday. Which is exactly what England needs to clear up with his fellow nations. The events of yesterday need to be deciphered properly.

'Don't be ridiculous,' Canada says to his brother, his voice as soft as ever but still firm.

'Everyone,' England repeats, forcing himself to look America directly in the eye. A pair of blue eyes look right back at him. England's pounding heart softens and slows down slightly. He feels the strange urge to laugh in relief, but he manages to keep his composure.

His gaze travels over the other nations next. Wales looks a lot less stressed than before, which makes England feel a little less guilty. Italy is smiling brightly at him, while most of the others seem to be wearing fairly neutral expressions. There seems to be no hostility coming from anyone, which is another thing that is quite new. If anything, they're all quite guarded. Not in the sense that they're wary of England, more that they're concerned that they are the ones who will slip up in some way around him.

Pity. They pity him. It's clear on their faces. England resists the need to squirm uncomfortably. He can deal with antagonising behaviour but not pity. They're all acting very cautious around him like he could break at any second. To be fair, all evidence so far suggests that this is justified. But England can't be fragile. That kind of thing can't be tolerated, especially in front of others. A momentary lapse of vulnerability, the slightest sign of weakness, and he could end up strapped to the table, screaming as the machete-

No. England briefly closes his eyes. Don't think about that.

'R-right,' he says swiftly. 'First things f... first...'

'Are you sure you're ready to talk, England-san?' Japan asks softly.

England nods. 'Everything w-will make a lot m... more sense to you all w-when I do. I th-think. And I... I can't handle it b-by myself anym-more. I shouldn't. I almost w... went too far before Ireland f-found me.'

Ireland sends him a small smile, clearly satisfied that England has acknowledged his previous antics as a mistake.

'Too far?' France echoes. 'What do you mean by that?'

England shivers a little. 'J-just one thing. Before I explain. I d-don't want to d... do it here.'

'Not here? Where do you want to do this?' Germany asks.

'Th-the hospital,' England replies. 'I n... need Scotland to hear it all t-too, and I d-don't want to have to g... go repeating m-myself. Besides...' England briefly glances at America, his mind racing. He has to clear this up. 'There's something v-very important he has t... to know.'


America breathes in and out slowly, trying not to let panic set in. He really is going to look guilty if he acts like it.

But that look England sent him before was unsettling. Sure, it's pretty much become the norm for England to look at him with fear, but the words that went along with it? That's what concerns America. England had glanced at him very deliberately and said that there is something very important Scotland needs to know.

Don't be an ass. This is stupid. You have nothing to worry about. You were nowhere near Scotland when he fell.

But what if England now believes it? What if he wants to tell everyone that Scotland is right?

No. England wouldn't do that. He can't possibly believe it, even if he is currently completely delusional.

England knows me, America thinks. Probably better than anyone else, even Canada. He raised me, for God's sake. He knows exactly what I'm like- he has to. He knows I'd never do something as... evil as that.

'Do not fret, America-san,' Japan murmurs as the cab they're sharing pulls up at the hospital. They've come here in this car with Canada, while Russia, Germany and Italy have taken another one and the British Isles have all taken the final one. Sealand probably complained a lot about that. America almost manages a smile at the thought. He really is quite fond of the little micronation, and he's sure that Sealand is going to tell him all about how terrible the cab ride was when they're all inside the hospital. The kid seems to have absolutely no doubts about America's innocence, which America finds reassuring. He just wishes Sealand's older brothers were of the same opinion.

England probably complained about the transportation arrangements too. The old England would protest because he used to claim that he hated spending time with his brothers and he would find the experience highly irritating. The new England is probably panicking about being in a confined space with others, regardless of the fact that they're his family. America just hopes that England has endured the car ride successfully.

'England looked at me when he said the part about wanting to talk to Scotland,' America mumbles, knowing that he can trust his brother and Japan. 'He looked like he's decided Scotland's right about me.'

Canada shakes his head. 'He really didn't.'

America laughs bitterly. 'Yeah, right. He's completely terrified of me, so it makes sense to find a reason for it. And what better reason than believing that I attempted to murder his brother-'

'America, he really didn't look at you like that at all,' Canada says, smiling strangely. 'He didn't even look scared.'

'If I had to guess, I would say that England-san does in fact believe quite strongly in the exact opposite to what you think,' Japan agrees. 'This important discussion he wishes to have with Scotland-san is likely a chance for him to defend you. And he may even have evidence to support his argument.'

'Evidence?' America asks, tilting his head.

'Wales believes that England's regaining memories, possibly in his dreams. Apparently England admitted it to Scotland the other day. And Ireland pretty much confirmed this, didn't he?' Canada says. This is true. Although Ireland hasn't really elaborated on what happened in the park this morning or what he and England discussed, he did mention something about England having regained a month's worth of memories from his disappearance. Which of course makes sense, as England seemed to be sure of where he'd been when he talked to America and Sealand yesterday.

America wonders if England told Ireland that he was in another world. So far, the only people America is certain know of the truth are himself and Sealand. He gets why England is probably reluctant to tell the other nations. They were all sceptical of magic, and the concept of an alternate dimension? Yeah, that might not sit well with them. But they all promised to listen, and America is happy to defend England's story.

'But even if he is remembering what happened to him,' he begins uncertainly, 'that won't offer evidence that I'm innocent. England was nowhere near the building when it happened, so it's not as if there's something about yesterday that he needs to remember.'

'Scotland-san has come to the conclusion that you also played a part in England-san's disappearance,' Japan says seriously, looking uncomfortable at bringing it up.

'Because I always stood against everyone else when England was declared dead,' America mutters. 'So Scotland thinks I knew something that everyone else didn't. Plus England's terrified of me and had a breakdown when he saw me at my house yesterday. Yeah, I get Scotland's logic, even if it is stupid and obviously wrong.'

'But don't you see, America-san?' Japan presses on. 'If England-san is remembering what happened to him, then he'll be able to prove that you had nothing to do with it.'

America blinks. 'So...'

Canada puts a hand on his brother's shoulder and smiles brightly. 'It's going to be cleared up, America. Didn't anyone tell you the reason England and Sealand went back to your house yesterday?'

'Well, to be honest I think everyone had more pressing stuff on their minds,' America admits.

'England stormed out of the hospital after Scotland accused you of pushing him,' Canada explains. 'He was furious. He and Sealand went straight to your house to warn you about the accusation, not to condemn you.'

'But he still had that breakdown when he saw me,' America tries. 'And none of us even know why-'

'One thing at a time,' Japan says. If he weren't such a calm person he'd probably sound impatient. 'I'm sure we're going to learn a lot today from England-san.'

'And honestly,' Canada says, a strange, knowing smile playing on his lips, 'the fact that you genuinely believe England blames you is concerning. As if he'd have that little faith in you.'

America watches as his brother and Japan take the lead, heading into the hospital with him trailing behind, and he wonders exactly what Canada means by this.


They all meet at the entrance. There are a few complications at the reception with regards to a limit on how many visitors a patient can receive at any one time, but the nations are prepared for this. A promise of it being an international and confidential emergency and a few flashed IDs later, an exception has been made for the group and they are permitted to visit Scotland's private room. Being nations, all with positions of high political power and strong connections, really has its perks.

Once again, America really feels as if he should wait outside.

'Scotland thinks I tried to kill him,' he admits, putting it rather bluntly. 'I really should stay out of his sight.'

Germany sighs. 'Ja, that would probably be best for the time being. We will of course have to talk him round so that you can come in and listen with the rest of us-'

'There's no way it will be that simple,' America says, aware that he sounds unnaturally gloomy. 'He's not exactly the most patient guy ever. He won't listen to any of you.'

'Oh, he w... will,' England says quietly. 'That's b... been his main focus w-with me. Getting m-me to talk. All he w... wants to do is l-listen to w-what I never say. B... but I'll talk.'

'You will?' America says, daring to risk a glance at England. Maybe, just maybe, Canada and Japan are right. The Brit is avoiding eye contact, though his general gaze seems to currently be looking downwards and certainly in America's direction. He seems rather small, with his arms pressed against his chest and his hands clutching them. Ireland and Wales stand on either side of him and Sealand right in front. The micronation seems perfectly at ease and there's even a smirk on his face, as if something has amused him.

'Y-yes,' England replies, his eyes flickering up and meeting America's for a second before quickly shooting back down again. He gives a very small shudder and it takes all of America's willpower not to give into despair right here and now, to beg England to tell him why this is happening.

'Something beginning with L,' he hears Sealand whisper, the micronation's voice so quiet that it's practically inaudible.

'L... light,' England replies, his voice equally low. Hardly anyone appears to hear them playing this little game.

'Nope,' Sealand says.

'Ireland and I should go in first,' Wales decides. 'If Scotland sees England straight away he's probably going to become quite frantic and insist on England listening to... well, his accusations. We need to go in there first and tell him to hear England out, and for him to be a bit more... gentle.'

England rather visibly flinches at the last part, then scowls deeply. Wales seems to be already regretting his choice of words.

'S... stop that,' England says. 'Stop treating m-me like an invalid.'

'England-san,' Japan says carefully. 'I'm sure your brother meant no offence. He is simply looking out for your wellbeing.'

'You're all t-treading around m... me like I'm p-porcelain,' England hisses. 'Y-you can hardly say w... what you really think t-to my face, b-but opt to speak b... behind my back, where y... you think it's so m-much safer, for me and for y... yourselves.'

There is a ringing silence for a few seconds, then Sealand very softly prompts England. 'L?'

To America's surprise, England does not grow irritated with such a childish game like he would expect him to. The older country closes his eyes for a second, then opens then and lets them fall on a bedside table in one of the rooms near to where they're standing, clearly visible through an open door. 'Lamp.'

'No.' The micronation grins. 'You suck at this game.'

'Wales is right,' Germany says. 'He and Ireland should start this off. The rest of us will follow through afterwards and we'll wait until it's the right moment before America joins us.'

Wales and Ireland nod, then open the door and go inside. Everyone can just make out their muffled voices with the addition of Scotland's. After around two minutes, Wales appears and ushers the others inside. They leave the door slightly ajar so America won't miss any of the conversation.

'Yeah, so... I'll just wait out here,' America says, giving everyone a thumbs up. He shoots England and Sealand a grin, momentarily forgetting his current predicament with England. Honestly, the gesture feels so natural to him, like any other day at a meeting involving the two, back before everything went wrong. The micronation grins right back and marches forwards into the room like a little soldier, much to America's amusement.

He and England lock eyes again, and for the briefest moment, America is sure he spots England smile back.


Scotland does look considerably better, which is ever so slightly concerning. Being a nation, he is capable of healing much quicker than humans, and sooner or later the hospital staff are going to grow curious. This doesn't mean that the change in Scotland's appearance is overly noticeable; he's still wrapped up in casts and bandages, of course. But his eyes are a little brighter and he doesn't seem to be in as much pain as before.

'England,' he says, his eyes falling on his younger brother almost immediately.

'Yeah, never mind the rest of us,' Sealand says, rolling his eyes. Wales cuffs him very lightly on the head with a fond smile.

'Hello, Sealand,' Scotland says with a chuckle. The laugh doesn't seem to hurt his throat as much as it did when he laughed yesterday.

England steps over to his brother's bed and stops at the bottom of it, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. 'Hello, S... Scotland.'

'Been a bit of a roller coaster for yeh since I last saw yeh?'

England shoots a glare at the other nations. 'What did you t-tell him?'

France holds his hands up in defence. 'Not much. Just that things didn't go so well yesterday.'

'They didn't actually have to tell me anything; I just assumed,' Scotland says sheepishly. 'I mean, yeh're living a rather hectic life right now, little brother. Presumably something must have happened since I last saw yeh.'

'A f-few things, I s... suppose,' England mutters.

Scotland eyes him rather suspiciously. 'Are yeh well?'

'More so th-than you are.'

'In the head, England. How's yer head doing?'

England feels the urge to snap at his eldest brother for asking this question in front of everyone, though he supposes that everyone here already knows that he's gone completely mental. 'Oh, y-you know. Everything's p... peachy,' he says, the sarcasm flowing out before he can stop it.

'England...' Wales warns him.

'And what about America?' Scotland says rather abruptly, his eyes narrowing. Ireland and Wales clearly haven't mentioned that America is here yet, probably to keep Scotland calm as long as they can.

'Scotland,' Wales hisses. 'Not now.'

'Actually, Wales, I would say it's rather important,' Scotland says icily. 'For everyone's safety.'

Japan tries to handle this in a polite fashion. 'You see, Scotland-san, we're quite certain that everyone is safe. America-san isn't-'

'I know what happened to me, alright?' Scotland's voice grows louder. 'I remember what happened.'

Germany clears his throat uncomfortably. 'There are several things we all need to discuss here, Scotland. Perhaps we should try not to fall into a dispute just yet-'

'No, y-you know what? L... let's get this cleared up, sh-shall we?' England says boldly, crossing his arms. He's conscious of the door to the room being left open a little for America to hear.

Scotland takes a deep breath. 'I know yeh all think it's the concussion talking. But I know what I heard. It was his voice. It was America.'

'I know,' England says.

'You- you what?' Scotland is so surprised that his darkened expression clears up almost immediately. The other nations let out gasps of shock.

'England?' Canada calls out, his voice high pitched and horrified.

'Wait- what?' France chokes.

'Yeh... yeh believe me?' Scotland asks, still completely taken aback.

'N-not in the w... way you think,' England begins to say, but his shaking voice is quickly overshadowed by cries of disbelief and outrage.

'What are you doing, jerk?' Sealand demands, and the micronation's face is filled with anger that looks completely out of place for someone so young and generally carefree.

England tries to say something again but the other countries are all being so loud and their now frantic movements are unsettling. They all seem to be intent on getting England to explain himself, and yet they are leaving him no room to get any words in.

He's gone about it all wrong. In acknowledging Scotland's argument to some degree, as little as it may be, he hoped that this would satisfy his elder brother enough to calm down and listen. He thought he'd use everyone's momentary shock to his advantage because it would get them all to shut up for a few seconds, which would give him a chance to say exactly what he needs to. But he clearly underestimated how quickly the uproar would begin.

'P-please...' he tries, but he is abruptly cut off by his own panic. He's surrounded in a room with several angry people. Germany is attempting to restore order but it does little to calm England's frantically beating heart or his body growing cold in unease and fright.

One thing distracts him from his panic, however, one thing of ever growing concern.

The door. It's not closed. America can hear this. America-

He attempts to speak one more time but the words catch in his throat. America is standing in the doorway, staring right at him. His eyebrows are scrunched together in anguish and his eyes are shining with pain, the look of utmost betrayal on his face.

England hears a growl of fury from behind him, and the other nations all shut up in an instant at the sight of America. 'What the hell is he doing here?' Scotland spits. 'Yeh lot brought him along? Why the hell are yeh letting him walk around as he wishes? He's dangerous! For Christ's sake-'

America clenches his fists and spins around, disappearing from view immediately.

'America-' England calls out, feeling sick. Before he's even conscious of what he's doing, he's pushing past the other countries and racing after his former charge.

'England!' Scotland shouts after him, but he ignores his eldest brother.

All in an instant, England's terror is forgotten. His mind is still panicking, though not from fear of everyone around him. The only thing racing through his mind is that America is hurt, that he heard only part of the story, that he thinks he has been betrayed.

America is already heading straight for the ward doors, refusing to look back. England stumbles after him, his heart pounding violently and his limbs growing weak and numb with trepidation.

'Am... America...!'

England doesn't care who else might be following. All that matters is that he reaches America and... and what? What the hell is he supposed to do? Quickly explain it all when he can barely get his words out, especially around America himself?

This is sickening. It wasn't meant to go this way.

'Amer-rica!'

The bigger nation finally halts in the rather empty corridor after several twists and turns from the ward. He turns around and faces England slowly, lips pressed together very tightly. This is as far up as England dares to look. Managing to keep his eyes on America's face is difficult enough. He stops too and sways a little, rather dizzy from the nausea.

'If I run, I look guilty, don't I?' America says. His voice sounds empty.

England shudders. 'Y-you're not g... guilty. I k... know that.'

'That's not what you said back there.' There's a quiver in America's words. He sounds like he's barely holding back tears, and this mortifies England.

'I'm s... sorry. I j-just wanted Scotland to s... shut up,' he whispers. 'And for him and everyone else t-to know that th... there is a logical r-reason for why he thinks it w... was you. Which I w-would have explained i-if everyone hadn't interrupt-ted me.'

'What logical reason?' America growls. He sounds more hurt than anything. 'Oh yeah, that's right- he somehow heard my voice. How damn convenient. He already believes I had a hand in your disappearance, he knows you've been freaking out around me, so why the hell wouldn't he take the opportunity to pin it on me? He just had to tell everyone he heard my voice and blame it on a concussion if it backfired-'

'D-don't say that,' England retorts a little icily. He has no right to be angry but he won't allow it to be thought that Scotland would do something that terrible. 'Scotland w-would never s... stoop to such a level. D-don't you ever say that again. Don't even th... think it. Understand?'

He knows that both America and Scotland would never jump to such terrible conclusions under normal circumstances. But these last few days have pushed almost everyone to the limit. England finds it rather agonising to think how much these terrible events have forced America to change. Of course he's going to feel angry and betrayed and alone. Of course he's going to start assuming horrible things like that with the way he's being unjustly treated. And as for Scotland... well, there's a very good reason he has jumped to his conclusion, too. If only England can just get everyone to listen.

America clenches his fists and turns around, ready to carry on walking away and England acts on instinct, quickly throwing himself forwards and grabbing America's jacket to stop him.

'Am... America, p-please,' he begs, his stomach lurching and twisting horribly at the contact. But he initiated it. Instinctively and without thinking, yes, but he chose to do it. He's in control.

At least, he is until America turns around and their eyes meet.

'England?' America asks, surprised that England has found the courage to reach out for him. 'Dude, it's probably better if I just go 'cause- England?!'

The older country's hand slips from America's jacket and his legs buckle underneath him. He's lost all feeling in his limbs as they stiffen in shock. Every part of him is falling, everything but his gaze; it's fixed directly on America's eyes.

America's crimson eyes.

'No...' he tries to say, but his voice is gone. America seems to act automatically, grabbing England's shoulder's to stop him from falling backwards and slamming into the floor. England squeezes his eyes shut. There. Out of sight, out of mind. But he knows it won't change anything.

He feels his body being shifted towards his right before his back very gently comes into contact with the wall and he is lowered down until he is sitting on the ground. The grip on his shoulders disappears.

'Iggy? Are you, um...?'

'Hallucina... ting. Yes,' England replies hoarsely. That's right, his mind whispers feebly. Don't panic. That's all it is. A hallucination.

Run, run, run, run, run- another part of his brain screams. Open your eyes! You can't protect yourself if you can't see! You'll die, you'll die, YOU'LL DIE-

'I'm, uh, gonna go get someone, alright? I mean, we're in a hospital, so I'm sure quite a lot can be done to help-'

'N-no,' England gasps. 'Stay. Im... portant things... t-to say.'

'It's okay, man. We can talk later. Like you said, you wanted it to be in front of everyone, right?' All traces of anger in America's voice have disappeared. The only thing abnormal about the way he's talking now is how quiet and full of concern he sounds.

America in the other world sounded like that too. At first.

'Say something... you w-would say,' England pleads.

'What do you mean?'

'Just... p-please...'

And then America chuckles, very lightly. It sounds nervous but genuine. 'Dude, you're on sitting on a hospital floor, totally freaking out, and you want me to talk in a certain way? Jeez, Iggy, I'll never understand what goes on inside your head.'

England manages a smile. Perfect.

He opens his eyes slowly to find America crouching down in front of him, a couple of feet away. The younger nation clearly thinks giving him some space is a safer option, and England is grateful for it. And he's relieved, most importantly, for America's eyes. They're sky blue once again.

'I'm g-good,' England says. 'It's over.'

'You sure?'

'P... positive.'

America hesitates for a second, then grins. 'Sweet. I knew this wouldn't last. Hero's intuition, you could say.'

England gives a rather giddy laugh. 'D-definitely you.'

'Huh?'

'You're d-definitely you. Th... the real you. Ha ha.'

'Iggy?' America tilts his head and frowns. 'You sure you're feeling better?'

And then England giggles. He can't help it. It just sort of slips out. 'Absolutely! M-much better. It is m... most certainly you. That's g-good. That's v... very good.'

'Who else would I be?'

'Other you. He's v-very different. N-not like you at all, in f... fact. J-just looks like you. Th... that's the problem.'

'Other me?' America echoes.

England nods. 'Mm hmm. In the other world. Parallel.'

And then America's eyes widen. 'Parallel? It's a parallel world? Like... identical?'

England can feel his eyelids fluttering. His chest feels rather light while his head is heavy, and any sound he can hear is growing muffled. He's passing out, he can tell. He suspects another memory is coming. But it's happening slowly. He has a few more moments of consciousness and he has to use them.

'Im... portant. Very important,' he says, his words slurred. 'Other America. Bad version. He p-pushed Scotland. ''S'why Sc-Scotland thinks it's... you. Got through a reflection... somehow. Framed y-you. His fault. N-not yours.'

America's eyes (blue eyes, thank God) are open wide in shock and he looks ever so slightly... hopeful? 'You... you sure, dude?'

'Other you is b-bad. They all are. I th... think. They t-took me.' England, although firmly planted on the floor with his back to the wall, still manages to sway forwards. America reaches out and presses his hands against England's shoulders, stopping him from forwards. England jumps with what little energy he has left and lets out a very low whimper.

'Sorry, Iggy,' America says quietly.

''S'okay,' England mumbles. 'Not your f... fault. Jus' his. 'Cause you look like him. But y-you're not like him. He's bad. You're n-not.'

America's bottom lip is trembling. 'But... if this guy is me from another world, shouldn't he be the same as me? How can he be bad if I'm not? If we're parallel, we should be identical...?'

'No!' England says as forcefully as he can. He can't bear the thought. 'N-nothing like him. Please d-don't... don't ever b... be like him.' He doesn't mean to say that part out loud. It's a verbalised plea inside his head, not specifically to America but more to the universe itself. Please don't let America ever be like him. Please don't let them be alike. Please let me see America without seeing him. Please, please, please.

Please, let me look at him without fear.

Resisting the urge to close his eyes in a feeble attempt to somehow make it easier, England leans forwards, partially with his own strength and partially because he's no longer able to sit up straight anyway. Just like with Ireland in the park, he presses his body against America's chest and wraps his arms around the bigger nation to clutch the back of his jacket.

'England?' America says, a note of panic in his voice. 'Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, we, uh, both know you don't do too well with hugs and being near me and right now you're kinda doing both and-'

''S'okay,' England says, ignoring the twisting nerves in his stomach and the world blurring around him as he keeps himself firmly planted where he is. ''M'fine.'

'Iggy, it's fine. I don't mind. You don't have to do this.'

'Want to. W-want to be o... okay. Need t-to show you... I'm okay. Show you... ''s'not your fault.'

After a few seconds, he feels America's arms close around his own body. He's too tired to cry out or panic, and even if he had the energy he would do everything in his power not to. Because all that matters as his consciousness slips away is that yes, he is scared, but he can fight it. He will.

Because this is America. My America, from this world. It's the most important thing I have to remember when all those memories come back. I must remember.

I have to be brave.


Man, the temptation to write 'let me be brave' was too real. I finished writing this chapter just before the Doctor Who Christmas special and I've spent the majority of the day finishing off some Doctor Who fanart, so the tv show has been on my mind (well tbh, it always is XD). I finally posted the pic on my Tumblr. I have spent all of Christmas day hard at work on it. Between the fanart and this chapter, I am well and truly knackered. I shall just sleep for like four days now. Plz. Plz just let me XD

Does that count as actual USUK now? *Negan voice* Cuz boy do I have a feeling we're getting close (oh jeez. I need to go outside). The slowest slow burn to ever slow burn. Seriously. It's so slow it's almost going backwards. Of course, I'm not going to just shove a full on romantic relationship in with the current dynamics, that would be stupid. England is currently scared shitless of America, even though he knows exactly why, and that he shouldn't be. I've mainly just played around with how obvious it is that they care about each other.

And of course, I don't want to write some bullshit where the romance magically makes the damage go away. That's not how mental illness works. He won't just recover, especially with America himself being a large source of England's fear. England has severe PTSD and he's never going to be the way he once was. But I want to stress that he'll learn to find ways to cope with it. Given that the nations have all fought in wars and lost so much and have all been damaged mentally and physically during their long lives, they likely have their own individual ways of coping with these things. It just so happens that this particular thing is fresh and different from the usual damage, and the torment isn't even over yet, as the 2Ps haven't finished with England.

Woo. Congrats if you managed to read the long depressing stuff above. And on Christmas of all days. I'm unbelievable.

I apologise for angry characters in this chapter. America is at his limit. Scotland is concerned and, yeah, scared. You would be too. I know it's not fair on America but Scotland genuinely believes America tried to kill him. And he has a good reason to think so. His behaviour should be excused to some degree on account of that.

Okie dokie, well I'm gonna just go and take the dark cloud of gloom with me. Remember to review!

Toodles!