HAPPY 5TH Y'ALL (for literally anywhere in the world where it hasn't actually gone midnight and is actually the 6th. There's gotta be someone reading it on the 5th. I'm literally begging the universe).
So I'm hopeless, but wtf else is new lmao.
Anywho, sorry for the shorter than usual chapter. I was originally gonna do a 5th of November, 2011 chapter in the Otherworld, cuz I thought that would be appropriate for today. But I'm in a much better mood than I've been in over the last few weeks, and I think actual fluff just sorta started to emerge about halfway through. This chapter is seriously lacking in the USUK department, I am sorry to announce, but England and Sealand fluff? I think I might have choked on just how much there is. Sealand was barely even meant to be in this chapter, and he ended up becoming the sole POV. I think this is the first chapter of this story that hasn't featured England's perspective.
On another note, I didn't do anything overly special tonight. I'm at Uni now, which means living in a town instead of the secluded countryside I'm used to, and man I've heard a lot of fireworks tonight. Spent almost all day indoors tho, so I didn't see any unfortunately. Apparently they had a pretty good show on the beach. I'll have to go next year- provided I've finished the anniversary chapter in time next year. Assuming I'm still writing it next year lol. I'm starting to mind how long it's all taking less and less, actually. Either I'm growing less paranoid about all those fears I spilled out months ago, or I'm way too invested in the idea of finishing it two years from now, on it's fifth anniversary. It's probably unreasonable, and, let's face it, pretty incompetent from me as a writer, but you can't deny it would be poetic.
Warnings: some creepy, weird shit at the start, but then the fluff sweeps in and it's basically candyfloss from there on out. At least I hope it's as sweet as I'm envisioning it.
Allons-y!
Twenty-Nine
Brother's Grace
Sealand dreams that night.
It is almost the nightmare he has grown accustomed to as of late, one where the other England- Oliver, a voice whispers- is standing in the reflection of the mirror, smiling patiently, watching. It's always as if he's waiting for something, and Sealand always forgets what it is, and fails to see it coming. But sure enough, the hand will come snaking towards him, moving through the glass like water and stretching out to grab his arm. And then the monsters are there too; black, billowing clouds of smoke, writhing across the walls behind Oliver like shadows and reaching the mirror from all sides before covering the whole thing.
They never stop there. The black mass extends to Oliver's arm next, sweeping across it like tar streaming across his skin. Sealand can't scream in the dreams. He can only struggle faintly, almost completely immobilised in fear, while it trickles closer… closer.
One small mercy is that he always wakes before it touches him.
Tonight is different. The mirror is there, and so is England. But it isn't the England of the other dimension, nor entirely the England of this one. He looks like England, and Sealand knows when he looks at him that it is him. But England is all wrong. His eyes are too pale for a start, a much lighter and impossibly bright shade of green that gleams with flecks of amber and grey. The lighter hue only pronounces his pupils more, and at a casual glance they seem like only small black dots on a glassy, whitened canvas. His eyes… his eyes look dead. Sealand doesn't know how or why, but he knows this too. He has never actually seen a dead body before, but he knows. The eyes shouldn't shine the way they do, but still they are dead.
England watches him. Waiting.
Sealand is as frozen as ever, but for the first time, he finds himself wanting to do anything but run. This is his brother, not Oliver. He knows he shouldn't be afraid, even if he is. This is England in the other world. This is England, trapped and afraid and alone. This is what is truly wrong.
It's far easier to tell himself this without looking at England's eyes. For while he is intent on remaining, nothing quenches the fearful tugging in his gut when his own eyes make contact with those small, empty pupils.
Sealand's fingers twitch, and he realises abruptly that he can in fact move them after all. He raises his hand, slowly and nervously. The mirror is dangerous; Oliver and those monsters have latched onto him time and time again, and Sealand fears what will happen now. England makes no move of his own, but the child is hardly expecting him to try pulling him in, the way his counterpart would. Maybe this time, Sealand must pull England out.
But when his fingers reach the glass, he finds only a cold, solid surface. His hand travels no further than the mirror, and he presses his palm to it after a few seconds of apprehension; no matter how calm he feels in the absence of Oliver and his monsters, the thought of being so close to the mirror, let alone touching it, is still an unpleasant one. He half expects his hand to fall through at any second, with his body following through after it. And then he'd likely be trapped on the other side with his brother, and who would pull them both out then?
England is motionless for a few more seconds, and then his own arm begins to rise.
Hope flutters in Sealand's chest, and the movement offers a worthy distraction from his fear of the mirror, or of those dead eyes that he knows are still watching him. Is England responding to him? Is he reaching out to him? Will he let Sealand pull him through? Will it finally bring an end to all of this?
England's hand freezes, inches from the glass. His face turns slowly, stiffly, so his hardened gaze shifts instead to his own palm, which, with an equally sluggish twist, now faces upwards.
Sealand squints in frustration. Why- why won't England meet him in the middle? Can't he tell he's being helped?
A light appears over England's palm, small and circular. It glows gently at first, but as it begins to expand, so does its brightness increase. Sealand holds his breath, his confusion gone momentarily. This is magic- actual, corporeal magic, something he doesn't yet know how to do- something he isn't even sure if he'll be able to do. He's never seen anyone do it before- not England in the past, not any of his other siblings, not Norway. The sight of it leaves him completely stunned. Is this what England is actually capable of, when he wants to be?
The light is breathtakingly bright now, as much so as the most powerful of lightbulbs before the point of blowing. Sealand can feel it too; the glass is beginning to warm against his fingertips. Instead of pulling away, he finds himself completely transfixed. Will he be able to do this one day? Will England show him how, once he's back in the right world?
Sealand is filled with giddy excitement, and his underlying fear washes away. He never spends time with England, not really. He doesn't know if he wants it that way or not most of the time, because they're rubbish at getting along. Deep down, he thinks it might be because England doesn't want that. He doesn't want- or need- a little brother now, after everything. Especially when the brother in question isn't even really a country. Just an minor annoyance, decades ago. Just something half forgotten now.
Sealand casts away these old, familiar thoughts, and focuses on the light once again. It truly is a sight to behold. How many other nations- how many other people- could do something like this? This is real magic. This is-
The light bursts into a small, hovering flame.
Sealand flinches ever so slightly, but England remains as still as ever. He shows no response whatsoever to the fire mere centimeteres above his palm, nor the way it continues to expand the way the light did before, flickering and crackling strongly with each passing second.
What are you doing? Sealand wants to ask, but he now finds himself just as paralysed as any other dream. He can only watch in nervous curiosity as the flame grows larger and larger, until it is crackling well above England's head.
And then his brother turns, and Sealand is left forgotten against the glass.
He finally makes out more than just his elder brother in the mirror, for now that England's attention is focused elsewhere Sealand is given the chance to observe more in the mirror. There are shapes in the background, dark and blurry, just about distinguishable as figures. Sealand's throat catches. There are others watching them? What if Oliver is one of them? What if…
His mind goes blank, and all the questions disappear. On the other side of the glass, England is now walking slowly towards the group of people. The bright, unsteady flame still leaping about above his hand. It looks like it could burn him at any second- not just the skin of his palm, but the rest of him too. It dances so close to his shoulder and head, and Sealand watches in a sort of grim anticipation, chills trickling up and down his own skin. England is in danger- a danger he has created- and he doesn't care.
He just keeps walking forwards, towards even an even greater peril.
Sealand finds his strength, finds control of his own body, and finally a noise comes from his mouth. It is a high pitched whining sound, so small and childlike that he would cringe if this were any other situation. It's a sob, he realises faintly as tears form in his eyes and begin to trickle down his cheeks. And now he truly does want to run and hide, like he would wish for on any other night. He wants to run all the way home and curl up in his bed and squeeze his eyes shut- or else find someone, anyone, and leap into their arms and feel safe in their embrace. If only he weren't alone. If only someone was here with him.
England is here, but England is all wrong. And he's getting further and further away.
England stops a few feet from the hazy mass of figures. In the light of his flame, Sealand can just about make out the faces of some of the closest ones. He only catches passing glimpses- a scarred face here, a shock of red hair there. The eyes glow crimson and electric blue and so many other unnatural colours the more the fire illuminates them, and Sealand remains rooted to the spot, his hand still frozen against the glass.
Help, he thinks weakly, and then realises the word has come tumbling from his mouth as little more than a whimper.
England doesn't hear him. Sealand hopes that's the reason his brother doesn't turn back.
'England,' he manages to stutter. 'England…' Come back. Leave them. Please.
He isn't quite sure what he's even afraid of anymore, but something tells him it isn't the eyes of the other nations, nor their looming presence.
'England,' he pleads again. He can barely hear himself, so he can't imagine how anyone else might.
England remains just as motionless for a few more seconds. And then, without any warning, he throws his arm down, scattering the fire at his feet. It leaps up again instantly, expanding once more along the ground between England and the other nations. In an instant, it has rolled hungrily towards the group and engulfed them in flames.
Sealand screams.
The flames burn on, reaching higher and higher, above the frame of the mirror. There is nothing else to see but the flames. Nothing but England, who stands as a silhouette, silent and motionless, against the wall of fire.
This is your reward, the flames whisper, the words weaving in and out of the crackling and hissing of burning- burning things. Sealand doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to look, but he can't turn his head or close his eyes.
And this is your penance, the flames sing mournfully, and then they are gone- dimming, diminishing, fading away in a soundless breeze. They leave only an empty space where the figures were, with nothing to suggest that they were ever there at all. Sealand breathes out in relief, while his stomach churns in sickness.
England stands alone, with nothing left. Around him, the world is dark and empty. His arms hang meaninglessly at his sides, and his head slumps slightly. Above him, a small downpour of flakes appear. They drift slowly and harmlessly through the air, innocently blanketing the ground in a small sheet of pale grey and catching in the blonde locks of England's hair.
It could just be a quiet winter night, if anyone were still naïve enough to believe it could possibly be snow.
England finally turns back to face the mirror. His face is no longer empty. His eyelids flicker above green eyes, his real eyes, and his mouth opens to take a shaky breath.
And then he falls to his knees, eyes clenched shut, fingers digging into the sea of ash, and he lets out a scream.
The glass shatters.
There's something wrong with England.
It's hardly shocking news. There's always something wrong with England. But that's normal now, so no one else notices. No one else sees it the way Sealand does.
There's something wrong with England, and it's more than just what the child sees when he closes his eyes and dreams of the fire and ash. He sees it when he is awake too, when he looks at England's eyes and sees, for the briefest of moments, flashes of those other eyes. Like echoes.
He learns this that very night, once he has woken from the dream and decided he doesn't want to get any more sleep tonight. He remains in bed just a little while longer, his limbs a little rigid and a fresh sheet of sweat covering his forehead. It's too hot under his bed covers, but he's too afraid to move for several minutes. Around the room, he can make out blackened shapes against the small bursts of light streaming through the large gap in his half-drawn curtains. They look huge and monstrous in the dark, like otherworldly beasts looming over him, ready to strike if he moves, and Sealand feels like a stupid little kid, having woken from a bad dream and being unable to do anything other than lie there, frozen in fear.
Sealand hears noises outside his room at one point, but they don't help add to the terror. He recognises the sound of the crutches Scotland has to use inside the house- the familiar clunking on the floor, and the occasional crashes as Scotland bumps into things, probably on the way to the loo. He hasn't quite gotten used to using them, and insists that he can walk without their help, but Wales won't allow it. It's either the crutches or the wheelchair, even in the house. Scotland hates it, and Sealand even hears him curse softly after a particularly loud bang. It's… it's amusing, if only a little. Sealand feels his body relax slightly, and he finally finds the strength to at least push the covers off his body. Eventually, he manages to slide out of bed and head for the door.
Even without peeking into England's room, Sealand knows his brother isn't in there. When they all came back from the meeting yesterday, England had headed straight for the basement with all his books. It's probably his new hideaway, now that he's found use of it.
Sure enough, the basement light is on when Sealand opens the door and peaks inside. He can hear England cluttering about down there a little, but for the most part everything is quiet. He thinks of the eerie silence in the dream, and of how all he could hear was the crackling of the flames before the screaming started, and he winces. It's late at night, and he knows there shouldn't be much sound, but it still feels wrong. He thinks about heading into the lounge and waking America up. He's sleeping on the couch again, what with England's most recent incident and the fact that neither he nor England had really meant for him to fall asleep in England's room last night. America could make the house less sombre and silent. He'd know what to do.
But he's asleep, and something tells Sealand that perhaps that's not entirely what England might be able to deal with right now.
He treads on three creaky steps on his way down into the basement, and he hears the faint sounds from below cease.
'It's just me,' he calls out, and he hears a sigh.
'You should be in bed.'
'So should you.' He takes two leaps down the last five steps, stumbling a little at the bottom. England is in the centre of the room, kneeling on the floor with books and papers scattered around him. He's in the middle of scribbling down notes, but as Sealand draws closer, he fails to recognise any of the words. If they even are words. Mostly, they look like strange curves, boxes and circles.
Sealand takes a seat nearby, crossing his legs. He points at the papers. 'What's all that?'
England's eyes have a certain frantic, wild look to them, but they are thankfully their usual green. Sealand feels relaxed immediately.
'They're j… just some druid symbols. Norway and I are c-collecting as much as we can from different cultures.'
Norway had been the first to go back into the meeting room earlier on, when England had had another breakdown- and is, Sealand guesses, possibly the only one that recognises that this one was different from the one England had yesterday. Or any of his others, for that matter.
He wonders if he should ask about it- ask why he'd felt that strange, crushing energy pulsating from England's glare yesterday, and the pure rage that swirled behind it. Ask why it hadn't been tainted with any fear whatsoever, or why England seemed to have forced it out into the open, as if he wished for it to happen. Perhaps even ask why it is that Sealand could tell all this, as if he was right inside England's head.
It's probably magic, he thinks, remembering the light that had become a flame in the dream England's hand. That's why I could feel it.
So England is somehow able to let his magic flow into his very emotions. Sealand isn't sure if that's a good thing or not, and he decides not to ask.
England shifts uncomfortably, a little further away from his brother than he was before. 'I'm n-not exactly the best company to have right now,' he says uneasily, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him. He seems reluctant to actually look at Sealand.
The micronation scoffs. 'You're not exactly the best company to have all of the time. Jeez, it's cold in here. And super late. Why don't you do this with Norway tomorrow?'
'Have to prepare,' England says shortly. 'Lots to do.'
Sealand frowns at him. 'Is this that thing people do where they stay busy so they don't have to stop and think about how sad they are?'
That makes England look at him. 'Why would you think that?' he shoots back quickly. And just a little too defensively.
Sealand shrugs. 'Everyone does it. Wales does it a lot with the meeting, like he did when your memorial happened. Finland told me about it. He says we all do it from time to time when we're sad, even if we don't realise it.'
'Did he now?' England mutters, staring off into space, his eyebrows furrowed. 'I'm not sad.'
'Not just sad,' Sealand says. In his opinion, he sounds quite wise. He wonders if England thinks so too.
England gives him a very mild, half-hearted glare and returns to his symbols. He's copying them out of various books spread out in front of him. Quite a few are ones they looked at earlier, and some are even ones Sealand went through with America. It's not as if he can actually help down here. He can't read them, just as he doesn't really know how to use magic. Just as with his supposed abilities, he wonders privately if England might show him what these symbols mean.
'What are you and Norway gonna do next?' he asks once he feels the silence has dragged on too long.
Without looking up, England says, 'We're looking into all known observations of other d-dimensions. We have to make sure it isn't the Otherworld, and then figure out what exactly it is.'
'You said the Otherworld's still part of this, though,' Sealand points out. 'You said that entity thing must have been summoned it, right? 'Cause the Otherworld's the only place that you can summon all those monsters and stuff from. So even in the bad place you were in, they still had to use the Otherworld.'
'Yeah,' England says. 'Pretty much.'
Sealand leans over and grabs his own piece of paper, before holding his hand out to ask for the pen.
'I need to work on this,' England says.
God, for someone who's supposed to be quite smart, England can be pretty dense. Maybe he just doesn't remember how helpful this sort of thing can be. Or he still doesn't want it to be helpful.
'Just give it. It's like the list we made.'
England gives him a bemused look. 'You want to take notes?'
'Yep.'
'Do I look like a teacher to you?'
Sealand grins, thinking of all the things he wondered if England might teach him. 'Do I look like I'm in school? Just tell me stuff. I'm way better at this sort of thing than you, so I'll write.'
England hands him the pen, rolling his eyes. He shifts back to his original spot to do so, and Sealand is somewhat relieved when he doesn't seem to find the need to move away again.
'There's another thing I heard,' he says as he takes the pen and begins drawing a circle in the top left corner. 'Ireland told me about this one, but he was pretty rubbish at it so Wales had to explain it properly.'
'Do you think everyone is an idiot?' England asks.
'You're one to talk,' Sealand teases him. 'You always used to act all high and mighty, like you knew better than everyone else. But no. Not idiots. Most people are just too dumb to listen sometimes. Doesn't mean they're idiots. Just means they're a bit useless.'
In the circle, he draws two dots and a curvy line beneath them, so the shape becomes a smiley face.
'Obviously I'm way better at that sort of thing,' he brags, disliking keeping such a serious tone for too long. All the adults talk like that, and they seem pretty miserable. He has his way of explaining things, anyway. 'I hear stuff.'
'No denying that,' England says quietly, and Sealand thinks back to those awful nightmares he used to have. He clears his throat.
'I hear stuff, and I listen,' he says, moving onto the next circle in the top right. ''Cause if you listen to everything, it means you can be smarter than everyone else. And I reckon I'm gonna be the smartest nation in the world some day! Maybe I already am, and no one knows it.' He gives a sneaky smile. 'And it's great, 'cause I always get to hear stuff others don't, 'cause they think I'm too young to get what they're saying or I sneak into meetings and people ignore me 'cause again, they think I'm too young. And that's on them for being dummies.'
England huffs in amusement. 'Alright. You'd make q-quite the philosopher with your ideas.' He's joking around, obviously, but he isn't mocking Sealand. The child finds he quite likes that.
He makes two dots in this new circle too, but the line he draws beneath them curves upwards instead of down. 'This sort of thing seems dumb,' he says. 'But you don't realise how smart it is. I know what I'm doing.'
'Do you now?' England says, humouring him. He seems far less uncomfortable than he did when Sealand came in.
'Yeah, like way more than you,' Sealand says with a smirk. 'Someone should put me in charge of all of this. America would back me up, probably, 'cause he's my sidekick.'
'I imagine he would,' England says, smiling. He peers curiously at Sealand's piece of paper as the micronation begins drawing the final circle low down in the middle section. Just like with the last two, he dots out the eyes of the face and another upwards curved mouth, before adding diagonal lines over the eyes to make the face look angry.
'I don't… understand exactly what you're doing here,' England says hesitantly. At least he doesn't sound fed up. Sealand would hate it if he was simply told he was wasting England's time and was made to leave.
'It's simple,' he says, pointing at the first face. 'The happy one is our world. I mean, I know it's rubbish a lot, but it's happier than the one you were in, right?'
'Yes…'
'Okay, and that one-' He points next at the sad face opposite it. 'That's the parallel world that you were in. And the last one…' His finger slides down to the lower down one in between the first two. 'That's the Otherworld.'
England says nothing. Sealand worries momentarily that he really is going to get berated for this simple, childish drawing, but England only nods encouragingly, acknowledging that Sealand isn't finished with his point.
'Okay, so the bad guys in this world are using magic,' the child continues says, tapping his finger on the sad face, 'to summon evil stuff from the Otherworld.' He begins drawing an arrow, leading from the sad face to the angry one, and then decorates the edges with stars to indicate the mystical element to it. 'And then that evil stuff, AKA the entity, was pulled out by the bad guys and pushed into our world.' He draws another arrow from the angry face to the happy one, accompanies by a little cloud monster he quickly shades in.
'Pretty straightforward,' England observes, sounding quite surprised.
'Yeah, you'd be amazed at how easy it can actually be,' Sealand murmurs, allowing himself to be serious for a moment. He likes messing around and joking with England, far more than he ever expected he would- probably because he never thought it would be possible- but there is a point to all this, and England does need to understand it.
Sealand then draws a line between the happy face and the sad one, with arrow points on either end. He draws another little face above it, with short, spiky hair, a frown and thick eyebrows.
'What's that?' England asks, although he sounds oddly suspicious and it doesn't exactly sound like an actual question.
'You.'
'Yeah, I th… thought so. My eyebrows aren't that bad.'
Sealand giggles. 'Whatever. The point is, this is meant to show how you went there and back. So if I can explain it this easily with just stupid drawings, I think telling the other countries can't be all that difficult, right?'
England sighs deeply, and pulls away once more. Sealand tries not let the disappointment show on his face.
'It's complicated,' he says tiredly. 'Sometimes… sometimes things aren't always as easy f… for some people as they are for others. It's like what you said before about p… people being stupid, and not listening. But stupidity has n-nothing to do with it. At least…' He laughs nervously. 'I hope it doesn't. But, while some people can't always listen… other p-people can't always talk. For lots of different reasons.'
'Yeah, I know,' Sealand admits, even if some of it is a little new to him. Maybe the way he phrased it earlier was… a little too mean. And snobbish. He hates it when grownups talk like that, and the thought of him being just as bad is rather uncomfortable. 'I didn't… I didn't mean everyone was stupid. I just meant…'
'I know what you meant,' England says softly. His voice is possibly the gentlest Sealand has ever heard it- soothing and reassuring.
'I never said what the thing Ireland told me was,' Sealand continues, a little flustered. 'He… he told me basically the same thing. Except he's even worse at this sort of thing. He told me some people have trouble with stuff that others find easy and that's okay. And he said sometimes people go through bad stuff, and then because of it they can't do things the same way they used to, or they struggle with stuff that used to be effortless. He said it's not their fault, and they can't help it sometimes, even if they try really hard.'
'Right,' England says faintly. He offers nothing else.
'He also said,' Sealand says, his voice trailing off slightly as he seriously debates whether he should mention this part- and if he does, how he should say it. '... He also, um… said that some people who are hurt want to stay that way. That's how they think they're meant to be, 'cause they don't like themselves very much, and they don't understand how wrong they are to think like that. Or they just don't know how to stop. Or they don't like themselves so much that they don't want to. And 'cause of that, they keep letting all the bad stuff happen to them, 'cause they think that's what should happen, and they find it really hard to let other people help, 'cause no matter how horrible they feel, they think they're meant to be that way. And the rest of us are meant to keep trying, so eventually all that might stop.'
England is staring at him now. His hands, resting on his lap beside all of his papers, are shaking violently. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and closes his eyes. '... I…'
'That's why you don't tell people stuff, right?' Sealand says. 'It's not just 'cause you're worried they won't believe you, 'cause pretty much everyone's on the same page now and the G8 aren't being as stupid as everyone else about it and are actually taking us seriously. Now that lot,' he says, praying this will lighten the mood, 'all the other countries- they really are being dumb. I know they have their reasons and stuff, and I know they find it hard for lots of reasons, but maybe… maybe if they hear it from you… maybe if they see that you're… that you're not okay... really not okay… they'll stop being such massive jerks about it all. And they'll listen.'
He won't pretend he doesn't notice the tear that falls down England's right cheek, because another thing Ireland had told him when they'd all arrived back in the UK was that they weren't supposed to turn a blind eye about England being hurt, even if it felt kinder for his pride. That they had to do what was better for his sake, and tell him he shouldn't be ashamed about it all.
Instead, he gets to his feet and finds a nearby box of tissues that England had used that morning as makeshift dusters for some of the older books. He hands one to England and sits back down again, waiting until his brother has finished with it.
'And America thinks he could be a better hero than me,' Sealand says with a grin. 'Like sure, he's a good one. I bet you think so too, huh? Especially after last night.' He giggles again when he spots a small blush appearing on England's wet cheeks. 'He's actually pretty good at saying the right things when you really need it. He helped me when no one else listened. It wasn't easy or perfect when it started, but he helped.' He makes a tsk noise. 'But still, I reckon I'd make a better hero. I'm basically saving the day.'
'Yeah,' England says quietly. He gives a small, genuine huff of a laugh. 'I suppose y… you are.'
Sealand blinks. 'For real? Will you tell him that? I'll definitely win if you're backing me up.'
England chuckles. A full, throaty laugh, slightly hoarse with all the tears he just spilt. 'Why does it have to be a c-competition?'
'More fun that way,' Sealand snickers.
For just a small moment, the two laugh together. It is short lived and there's still sadness and fear underneath, Sealand can tell. The dream is still there at the back of his mind, and he knows it will return properly to haunt his thoughts, but this moment right here, this real moment, is sweeter than he could ever dream.
Up the stairs, the basement door clanks open, making the two of them jump in surprise.
'Off to bed, the pair of you,' Wales's drowsy voice comes down the stairs. 'It's far too late for whatever this is.'
Sealand bursts out into louder laughter, and England smiles widely. 'I was p-preparing some notes. Norway and I are studying together. Sea was just helping me out.'
The creeks of the wooden steps ring out as Wales comes down the stairs to pear blearily at them. 'That's great,' he croaks, 'but could you maybe pick a more reasonable hour to do so?'
England pushes himself to his feet and holds up his hands. 'F… Fair enough. I suppose we have a busy d-day ahead of us tomorrow.'
Wales hesitates. 'W- We? You, uh… you want to come along tomorrow? I thought…'
'That I m… might call it quits after two breakdowns in two days?' England says lightly. 'Third time's the charm, brawd.'
Wales looks stunned, and it's hard to tell if it's because of England's optimistic tone or the fact that he called him brawd. 'Er… right. Okay. Well, that's… that's good news.'
'It is,' England admits. 'I think I should talk tomorrow, come hell or high w-water.' He turns to Sealand. 'Don't you agree?'
Sealand nods fervently, bouncing up onto his own feet. 'Yep. Just remember whose brilliant idea it was.'
'I'm sure you won't let m… me forget.' England smiles warmly, and together they head off for the stairs after their elder brother.
Later on in bed, once the fear has started to come creeping back and Sealand is reluctant to close his eyes for fear of what sleep may bring, he remembers with sudden clarity what he failed to notice in the moment. That he had been so engulfed in how right that moment had felt, and how right England was, that he hadn't even spotted the moment England had started calling him Sea.
My personal blog, for queries and for ranting at me about whatever dick move I've pulled this time: rezeren . tumblr . com
My Hetalia blog: infinitalia . tumblr . com
The Ash Song page on my blog: infinitalia . tumblr . com [slash] ash - song
My god it's hard writing a young kid who's also pretty damn smart and insightful. I'm turning Sealand into Bran Stark apparently. But with more emotions. Also, parallels, anyone? Between England now calling Sealand Sea, and back when Sealand stopped calling England jerk? Can't blame y'all if you don't know wtf I'm talking about, cuz that chapter came out well over a year ago and you've probably forgotten the shit that happened like only two chapters ago.
Okay, so I've been thinking of this idea recently, about stuff that like a bunch of people have done before me. Cuz we're all keenly aware of how small the fandom is these days, and how we all joke about it having died etc. And that's not entirely a bad thing, because idk about you guys, but I never really see any purely toxic content anymore, and some of us are all too aware of how much of a shitty hellhole it's been in the past. I like to believe what's left behind now is... at least healthier. And I think we should keep that going as long as we can- basically as long as we all love this weird ass personified landmasses concept.
So like... anybody wanna like... form a group on Discord? I'm starting to use it more and more, and I thought it would be nice if we could like... help boost the works of people who work really hard on their stories and fanart and whatnot. I mean I can't do video calls or anything like that cuz anxiety's a bitch and for a lot of us that might just be a bit too much against remaining anonymous online, but it would be cool if a few of us could send messages and share works and stuff. A little community would be nice. Idk. I'm probably talking out of my ass. But yeah.
Anywho, I'm off to bed. My first lecture isn't until 1PM tomorrow but it's literally already 5AM and I'm just a human fucking disaster at all hours of the day, regardless of how much sleep I got.
Thanks for reading, and remember to review!
