Jesus Christ, I'm pretty sure it's not still the fifth of November anywhere in the world now. Anyway, happy fifth anyway! I actually did go to a bonfire. Well, several very small ones. On a beach. The fireworks were pretty good too.

Anyway, I'm sure I'll edit this A/N later with more stuff but I am fucking knackered. And maybe just a bit drunk.

Sorry for the wait as always.

Also, look! Ash Song has a cover now! Only took four years.

Warnings: mentions of animal harm and moderate ableism from an asshole character. Basically a very insensitive way to talk about mental illness and outing it on top of that. Oh, and there is so much anger from about two thirds of the way through, and a wankstain of a Prime Minister. I'd go into a speech about how he's a fictional dude here and this isn't representing real life events but then I'd be breaking this story's continuity (definitely mentioned David Cameron in an earlier chapter, oops) and to be honest, I'm in a tipsy post V For Vendetta fuck the government viva la revolución mood so uh, nah lol. Anyway, there's also some references to some earlier, very dark shit I wrote. The first half is a happy chapter. Ish. The second is decidedly not so.

Allons-y!


Thirty-One

Liar's Game

England is in a good mood.

Norway hasn't had much time to get to know the new version of his old friend since their reunion only a few days before, but he believes it's safe to say he already understands the new England better than the vast majority of the nations, excluding of course his family and fellow G8 members. He's certainly spent the most amount of time together, spent working after devising their plan. Besides this, he has access to more than just his interactions with England; he's been inside the other nation's head, so to speak. Norway has always had certain abilities when it comes to understanding the inner workings of the mind, and before even properly connecting with England during their sessions, he could sense just how chaotic a case he would be dealing with.

Despite spending so little time together, he believes he holds a great insight into England, both in reference to his mental state and the way he now behaves and presents himself. So he notices when England's frown fades after their latest session ends and the stuttering becomes less frequent. He takes note of the somewhat cheerful tone to England's voice when he offers to Wales to lay out the plates and cutlery on the table, and doesn't fail to miss the smile on England's face when he passes by the living room and spots America and Sealand playing video games.

Norway knows he should be relieved that England is clearly feeling better and currently quite happy, but curiosity and concern gnaw at him nonetheless. England's latest return of memories is a mystery to him, as the other nation hasn't gone about explaining what happened. He had simply sat up, given Norway a satisfied nod and, staring ahead said, 'I've seen enough for now. We're done here.'

Was it a good memory? Or just not an overly bad one? Good or bad, it's clear as day that it must have been insightful.

Whatever it was, it's not as if they'll be at liberty to discuss it any time soon, anyway. Scotland, Ireland, Wales and all the others still think Norway is simply helping to soothe England- which he is, in a way, he has to remind himself. England asked for this, after all. He went out of his way to obtain his memories in the best way he could think of, collecting books on magical studies of the mind among all the others he gathered with his brothers being none the wiser.

England wants this, and he's in a sound enough state to be responsible for his wellbeing in a way he deems fit- or at least, Norway hopes he is. Because he has seen the chaos in England's head and remembers all too clearly the state his friend had been in when he had first asked for his help, and no matter how willing he is to assist the other nation, he can't shake the feeling that he is not helping at all.

England has the right to decide what he wants for himself. He has the right to know what happened to him, and the information he learns will certainly be beneficial to all the nations. But the secrecy, the damage Norway might be causing overall...

He can't sit peacefully with it. Not truly. He wants to help, he really does. But this feels wrong.

He breaks away from his conflicted thoughts when the guests arrive. Two of England's former colonies, Australia and New Zealand, and both are beaming just as they were when they first reunited with England. Everyone seems happy and content, and it's easy to forget for a moment just how bleak their world has become as of late. It must be stranger for those who have been in the know longer, Norway muses. England, his brothers, America- they've all been dealing with the stress of the situation longer. Even as somewhat of an outsider, he can tell how strange this must be for them all, to sit down, relax and enjoy each other's company.

Ireland brings forth a couple of bottles of wine about halfway through dinner. 'Not too much,' he says, sliding back into his chair and uncapping one of the bottles. 'Gotta stay sharp for tonight, alright?'

'Then maybe we shouldn't be drinking at all,' Wales chastises, sending his brother an exasperated look.

Ireland rolls his eyes as he pours himself a glass. 'How are we even related?'

Most around the table laugh, but it is England's that really stands out. From the surprised yet pleased looks his family send him, Norway deduces this has become far more of a rarity than it already was.

He begins to wonder what his fellow Nordics are doing right now. None of them are part of the group meeting up tonight, save for him, but thankfully they seem a little more open to the whole situation than the majority of the world nations. They've never been too scolding of his 'hobby', as they'd call it, yet he's certain it must be difficult for them to take all of this in, despite their relative openness towards his magical abilities. Denmark hasn't seemed too phased at all, so far, but Norway knows there's often far more going on in his mind than he lets on. It's the truth with most people, and somewhat of a blessing and curse for him to see into it in ways others can't. It's not exactly something he can turn off- being able to sense these sorts of things is a constant for him, as natural as breathing.

'Can I try some?' Sealand pipes up, staring at Ireland's glass, and Norway is privately grateful the other Nordics aren't here in this moment, because he knows Finland would have a fit.

'Absolutely not,' Wales says immediately, horrified.

'I'm legally old enough! I'm over fifty!'

'Yeah, maybe when yer voice has broken and yeh're taller than four feet,' Ireland snorts.

'I'm four foot-three, you jerk!'

'Enough, Sea.'

'You don't want to, anyway, little dude. It tastes gross,' America laughs.

'I take it you won't be wanting any, then,' Australia teases, swiping the second bottle out of America's reach before the other nation can take it.

With such a pleasant atmosphere, Norway is almost completely submerged in the sheer euphoric energy radiating from all around him. It's like a glow, a beaming aura, that practically engulfs his mind. It is at moments like these that Norway truly relishes his abilities. He's never been the most sociable of people, but Christmas and other times he gathers with his fellow Nordics for celebrations are always a treasure to him. With the usual average and often dreary moods all around him on a day to day basis, moments such as these have always been a reprieve.

It would be all consuming were it not for the darker pleasure in the room, a vindictive, victorious rage.

England is in a good mood. But it is a different kind of joy from the rest.

It's unsettling.


'Absolute bastard. Who the hell does he think he is?'

Scotland's angry voice is low, barely audible. He's trying to keep whatever it is he's complaining about between him and Wales, England can tell, but he still picks it up as he enters the hallway to grab his coat. Two of his brothers are at the foot of the staircase, already dressed warmly for their night venture, peering down at a phone incredulously. Even Wales looks pissed off.

'We can't tell him,' he says immediately. 'He'll go kicking down his door in the middle of the night.'

'I'll help him!' Scotland says furiously. 'This could screw everything up!'

'What happened?' England asks, causing them both the jump. 'What are you n… not telling me? I'm assuming it's me.'

Wales winces. 'It's… it's nothing. I mean, it's not nothing, but it's not something we can deal with now. We'll address it tomorrow.'

'What happened?' England repeats. He's tired of things being kept from him for the benefit of not setting him off into panic attacks. Or fury. Or both. And yes, of course he's concerned about it too, but it is infuriating being kept in the dark. 'No more secrets.'

'Bit rich, coming from yeh,' Scotland scoffs.

'Fair point. But seriously, what's g… what's going on?'

Wales sighs. 'It's, uh… it's just… just someone. Who may have been, um-'

'Talking shit behind yer back,' Scotland finishes. 'To a bunch of other people. Important people.'

'But it's not something we should be concerning ourselves with at the present time,' Wales says hurriedly. 'The group coming tonight should be here any minute now, and as long as we have them on our side after all this, I'm sure we'll be able to sway the other nations. If not, we'll just try it again tomorrow with another group. We're going to convince them, alright? This is a good plan. It will work.'

England ignores his brother's attempts to distract him. Already he can feel the already lit fire inside him being stoked, prodded and fed. He lets it happen. His anger is unpredictable, but it definitely feels righteous at this moment- and has done really, ever since he and Norway finished their latest session and he'd left the basement for a moment of privacy before dinner.

Where he could inspect the knife- his knife, his, his his- and finally see it for what it really is to him. He claimed it. He owned it. He took it for himself, took control, and beat them. And whatever the hell it is he spent the next four years in the other dimension doing, he knows this knife will always be his now. Forever.

He hasn't felt this strong in a long time. He half hopes something does go wrong tonight- and to him, it doesn't even seem wrong anymore. It hasn't for a long time, but there's still been a lingering fear until now. The only thing that keeps him thinking logically is their safety- his friends, his family, everyone coming with him tonight. Oh, if only there were a chance for him to confront the other nations alone- if only those he cared for hadn't been dragged into all of this. If only his fear and pain hadn't been the first things to return to him when he came back to this world. If only he hadn't desperately wanted comfort from those around him. If only he hadn't tried to convince the others pf the truth after all.

Perhaps he'd been right all along to keep his secrets to himself.

No. No, he isn't supposed to think this way. Tonight is important. Showing the others, making them believe him, is important. He isn't the only one who got hurt. Scotland almost died. America was framed. Sealand was threatened. Everyone around him has been consumed by this these past few weeks. They all need this. It's their right too.

As if what they went through was anything compared to what you did, says a nasty voice in England's head, and he hates himself for it.

The doorbell interrupts his scrambled thoughts and Scotland and Wales's continued bickering, which he had completely tuned out. The eldest of the three walks over to the door to greet the first arrivals- Germany and Switzerland- looking somewhat dejected. Whoever is stirring up trouble, it's certainly bothering him a great deal.

'Yeh know yeh didn't actually have to come,' Scotland says to Germany, standing aside to let the newcomers in.

'I want to oversee this as much as I can,' Germany says.

England manages a smile. Of course Germany would want to. Ever the responsible one.

'Who else is here?' Switzerland asks. A frown is dead set on his face. He doesn't really want to be here, that much is clear, but he promised to give them all the benefit of the doubt, thankfully.

'America, Australia, New Zealand and Norway. The others should be here soon, if they're still willing to come.'

'They made a commitment, no matter how… reluctant they might be,' Switzerland grunts.

Sure enough, not five minutes pass before the rest show up. Hungary and Lithuania seem far less displeased than Switzerland, greeting everyone good naturedly as if this is any old gathering. Austria, meanwhile, remains as sour as he was in the meeting, and England doesn't miss the glare sent his way. China doesn't say much, only nodding at everyone when he steps into the house.

'Are we all here, then?' Austria says stiffly, and England bites his lip, beginning to wonder exactly who has gotten Scotland and Wales so riled up by talking behind all their backs. It has to be another nation, surely; and with the look of disdain on Austria's face, it's hard to doubt the idea that he may have found the culprit.

But Scotland and Wales seem perfectly amicable, and the former isn't a good enough actor to hide his anger. Whoever is responsible, it's clearly no one in this room, and England decides that perhaps he should listen to Wales. This is a matter for tomorrow, after all, and they have far more pressing things to attend to tonight.

Ireland takes a spot beside him as the group head out into the night, trudging along in a line of twos and threes. 'Yeh still sure about this?'

'It's not going to be like when you found me in th… the park,' England says. 'I know that's what you're thinking. Cut it out.'

'Can yeh blame me for worrying? It's too similar, alright? I don't want a repeat of that. I don't ever wanna see anything like that again.'

England almost stops in his tracks. He knows Ireland is worried, but it really hits him now how frightening it must have been for him- to find his younger brother in that state of mind, in that state of danger-

'It'll be fine. And I have my knife,' he says, almost proudly. The blade in his pocket feels far more than a safety net now. It's as if his very strength is coming from it. The knife is empowering.

'We won't be p-performing anything drastic, okay?' he continues. 'We'll just ask them what they know, and show them to the others. It was a good plan. You sh… shouldn't regret thinking of it.'

'I know,' Ireland murmurs. 'Just feels like a lot could go wrong. Things tend to, these days.'

'Don't I know it,' England says dryly.


As predicted, they encounter only one dogwalker and no one else on their trip across Hampstead Heath. Instead of taking one of the more used paths, the group head into the undergrowth, seeking out a more secluded spot. The cold December wind still bite them aggressively even under the cover of trees, and England begins to wish he'd brought a scarf. Nearby, Sealand is all wrapped up in about four layers, scarf, hat, gloves and all, courtesy of Wales. Even with all the clothing, England can hear his younger brother complaining to America about the cold.

'This shouldn't take too long,' Wales reassures the group. He has taken the lead with a torch, pointing out low hanging branches and tree roots that the others might trip over in the dark. Scotland, who has been permitted to leave his wheelchair behind, struggles along on crutches. Even with so many people around him and the source of light, England is still on edge. Each mysterious noise in the woods around them unsettles him, and he does his best to convince himself his unease is simply his instincts hard at work. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's only natural, after everything he has learnt from his time away. His fingers remain curled around the hilt of his knife throughout it all, and that alone is enough to contain any fear he might be feeling.

His knife. His. He's still in somewhat of a daze about the whole thing. It feels like a blessing, a light in the darkness of everything else he endured, everything that felt like a Goddamn curse. He thinks about how he might even begin to explain this to his fellow nations. They probably wouldn't understand, even if he did tell them the whole story.

'This will do,' Wales announces eventually as the group emerges into a small clearing, turning back to face them all. 'We can try it here. I doubt we'll be disturbed.'

'Try what, exactly?' Austria asks, clearly impatient. 'You haven't even told us what we're going to be doing here, and I for one-'

'Will yeh just shut yer trap and listen?' Ireland snaps. 'Yeh think we're all off our rockers already, and yeh wouldn't have agreed to come if we told yeh the plan.'

'There's some friends of ours we wanna introduce yeh to,' Scotland puts in. 'That's all this is, alright?'

'Friends?' Switzerland says sceptically.

'The fae,' England says.

Austria scoffs loudly. 'Oh, of course. I should have known.'

America spins around and stares at England in excitement. 'The fae? We can meet them?'

'That's the idea,' England replies, amused. There was no real reason why he hadn't felt the need to let America in on the plan, other than the fact that he knew how delighted the latter would be at the surprise. Seeing the younger nation's smile in the faint glow of Wales's torch sends a

'But… how exactly?' Lithuania begins uneasily. He is evidently as sceptical as some of the others, but isn't keen on being rude about it. Hungary, too, seems to have lost whatever faith she had put in the group originally. She folds her arms and frowns deeply, looking uncomfortable.

'Look,' she says. 'We're giving you the benefit of the doubt here, alright? But I don't really see how this is going to work. I mean… I can't see anything here. I've never been able to see the, uh- the fae, so I don't know how that might work now-'

'That's because we haven't summoned them yet,' Wales says with a smile. 'Or cast the right spell. It will all make sense in a minute, I promise.' He turns to his brothers and Norway in turn. 'You guys ready?'

'Yeah,' Ireland says, still glaring at Austria. He simply can't wait to prove the sceptics wrong, England knows. He smirks and looks at Norway, knowing it's best for the two of them to begin. While he knows his brothers' abilities shouldn't be underestimated, they still pale in comparison to his own.

He closes his eyes and begins to lift his arms, knowing Norway is doing the same and ignoring the derisive snort from Austria, and focuses on a tingling energy in his head, growing and shifting with each passing second. His eyelids flutter open again, and he spots his elder brothers joining in with their own ritual as he feels the cool, bristling energy begin flowing from his head into his chest, and then on into his arms, reaching out towards the tips of his fingers. As he feels the buzz reach the end, he hears Sealand say, 'I can do it too. I can help.'

Scotland breaks concentration slightly, opening his mouth to argue, but England sends him a purposeful look and shakes his head. He doesn't want to get distracted himself, and he knows better than to stop his little brother. Sealand is right, after all. He summoned the fae before, back when England was still trapped in the other dimension. The child has magic, and although he hasn't learnt to use it much, it still has more potential than Scotland, Ireland and Wales's. He gives Sealand an encouraging nod and the boy grins, immediately closing his eyes and lifting his arms to mimic his brothers.

England begins to feel the others now and their respective energies. He and Norway are bringing forth the fae, requesting their presence, and Scotland, Ireland and Wales are helping to bend the boundaries between their realm and the faes', helping to materialise them properly for those who don't possess the Sight. His brothers' magic is faint and unpractised, almost sluggish, and alone they might not have much luck, but together it is enough. Beside him, Norway's is colder, sharper, precise and bright. Sealand's, meanwhile, is all too familiar. England has been theorising his younger brother's power has derived from his own, and now it is confirmed when he is faced with an echo of the energy he can feel coursing through himself, though weaker and wilder, with little control and no real practice. I'll have to show him how to use it properly some day, he thinks, and the idea is a pleasant one.

The micronation's magic twists around through the air uncertainly, before joining that of England and Norway's. England is struck with a memory of a time weeks before when he had examined the remnants of magic on the shattered mirror shards and recognised a dark shadow of his own, belonging to Oliver. But Sealand's is far from sinister, merely a reflection of his own.

The air is thick with energy now, a hazy glow of colours and shapes that he knows their companions can't see. Through it all he can begin to make out the small, bright lights of the fae, reaching out to them in return. The summoning is a request, not a command, but the fae are happy to oblige. They sprint across the sky above the nations, darting in through the veil Scotland, Ireland and Wales are opening up with ease and showering the group with the warm buzz of their presence.

'Whoa,' America breathes, and a few others let out gasps.

'Are- are those fireflies?' China whispers, shocked.

'No,' England says, smiling. 'These are our friends.'

The energy settles and dims now that the task is complete, and England breathes a sigh of relief as he feels a brief spell of dizziness wash over him. This is far from the most complicated magic he can perform, and he was hardly alone, but it is still somewhat draining. He looks to the others who took part to see how they're fairing. Norway blinks a few times and shakes his head slightly as if fighting away tiredness, but looks otherwise alright. Scotland, Ireland and Wales are slightly worse; he can't make out their faces that well in the light but knows them and their abilities well enough to know they must be feeling a little sick from the effort. Beside him, he can just make out Sealand looking paler than usual and the boy sways slightly, before tripping backwards. He quickly reaches out to steady the child.

'You alright?'

Sealand stares up at him blearily, eyelids a little droopy. 'I'm f-fine…'

'Just sit down for a little bit, okay?' England advises him, feeling a combination of concern and perhaps even pride swell inside him. 'You did well.'

The child nods mutely and crouches down, leaning against a tree for support. America snaps his attention away from the fae to glance worriedly at the micronation. His eyes meet with England's and the elder gives a reassuring smile. Sealand is still very new to magic and has barely any experience actually using it. This is perfectly normal.

The other nations remain ignorant to their combined exhaustion, staring in fascination at the fae. 'Are you seeing this?' Hungary keeps whispering frantically to Austria, as if afraid she has gone mad.

'I- I- yes, I can…' Austria splutters.

'Holy shit,' Australia murmurs to New Zealand, whose eyes are as wide as saucers.

Ireland's smirk is victorious when he regains his composure. He clasps his hands together in triumph, shooting their guests a grin. 'Believe us now?' he says smugly.


Once everyone has calmed down and recovered a little, England is more than happy to get started.

'Thank you for coming. We needed to show you to them, so th… they'd understand,' he explains. 'It's the only way they'll truly listen and b-believe us.'

'We know,' the fae assure him. 'We have seen your struggles and grief. These have been trying times. And there are no doubt more ahead.'

'I've learnt a l… a lot more since we last spoke,' England continues. 'About the other dimension, and the Otherworld. I th-thought they were one and the same for a while, but I know now that c-can't be right. What do you know about it all?'

The fae flutter around uneasily. 'It is hard for us to see into this world you found yourself in, or else we would have found you sooner. There is so much beyond this realm. So many worlds. Infinite variations. Most of them escape our understanding. There is more than we can explain, or comprehend for ourselves.'

'The hell does that mean?' Ireland says incredulously, lacking any tact.

'We cannot prise this world apart from the many others,' the fae explain patiently. 'When we look for it, we are blinded by each and every one.'

'So, what they're basically saying is the multiverse theory is true?' America suggests, and England resists the urge to laugh.

'With everything else we know, that's far from surprising,' Norway adds.

'So, there's like, infinite versions of me?' America carries on, clearly trying to process all of this.

'And I bet yeh still think yeh're the best of them all,' Ireland says lightly.

'Well, I'm definitely better than the other America we're dealing with!'

'No arguments here,' England puts in.

'In any case,' the fae say, 'our only true way of linking ourselves to this world individually are through you, England.'

'Because I'm tied to it,' he says, ignoring the looks the other nations send him.

'Because you're tied to it,' the fae agree. 'Even after returning, you are still a part of their world more so than you are of this one.'

'Wait, what do you mean by that?' Wales asks anxiously, but England quietens him with a look. He has long since come to terms with this, even if his friends and family don't know this part yet.

'We only know of this other world's darkness through you, England,' the fae tell him gravely. 'It is a sick world. It is broken. Something terribly wrong happened there.'

'I know,' England says. 'And I think I'm starting to understand why.' He strokes the hilt of the knife absent-mindedly as he talks, thinking back to what Oliver said about the humans that were once his people. About how they needed to be punished, and how that was why they were no longer connected to him.

'Yet still, there is life there,' the fae said. 'It is not all lost. There is still some semblance of what is right there. You have seen it, have you not?'

England grows uncomfortable. It is hard to think of that world in any positive light, hard to claim it to be right in any way, and yet…

He knows what he saw in the basement. He knows who he saw, and what it meant.

'They're not all broken,' he says. 'Not all of them.'

'Forgive me but… are we supposed to be doing an interrogation?' Lithuania asks timidly. 'I thought you, um, just wanted to show them to us.'

'It's not an interrogation,' Wales says. 'It just makes sense for us to learn anymore we can.'

'But they said they don't know anything about this other dimension we're dealing with,' China protests. 'They said they can't find it.'

'Doesn't mean we're not learning stuff,' Scotland says, giving England a suspicious look.

'What do they mean about something good still being in the other dimension?' New Zealand asks. 'If it's supposed to be so sick and broken, then how can there be anything good about it?'

'I… have a feeling,' England says uncertainly. He isn't sure how much he should reveal, because he isn't certain of what he really knows. He was wrong about the dimension he was trapped in being the Otherworld, and he lost trust with the world nations for going back on what he initially told them.

He thinks of the person he saw in Oliver's basement, the one Other Italy had brought with him. What does it mean?

He knows what it means. But he cannot say. Not just yet.

'I saw something,' he says eventually. He has to at least be truthful to some degree. 'I remembered some m…. more- some more nations from their world too- and there was… something I don't understand. I mean, I might. B-but I can't be sure yet.'

'What?' Scotland says quickly. 'What did yeh see? What happened?'

'Not now,' England says. 'Not until I remember more.' He doesn't look at Norway deliberately, hoping the other nation will get the hint. They'll have to resume their sessions quickly. Perhaps not tonight, as he's sure Norway will consider the time unreasonable, but tomorrow, certainly.

'So there was something good there, then,' Ireland says. 'There was something about that world that wasn't complete hell.'

'Something greater than that, perhaps,' the fae reply mysteriously, and England feels a pressing burn of energy and knows they're focusing solely on him. 'Perhaps something that served as a salvation for you. Perhaps even hope.'


England raids the basement that night, collecting some of the books he and Norway have yet to work on. Filled with restless energy, he pours over everything to do with alternate worlds, the infinite variations as the fae called them. He reads everything he can about the Otherworld itself, despite having gone over it all several times over the last few days. When nothing proves fruitful, he plays carefully with the knife in his hands for several minutes, staring at the blade with hazed over eyes, before finally getting up off his bed and heading over to his chest of drawers. He isn't going to sleep, not any time soon, and he might as well do something. Before he can even think, before any rationality returns to his brain, he is pulling out a mirror from behind the chest of drawers. It used to simply stand in his room until recently, when he had naturally felt the need to hide it away. Now, however, the act seems cowardly.

It could be the overwhelming amount of confidence surging through him after having convinced several other nations that his story is real. It might be the victorious high he has felt for hours now, ever since he regained his latest memories from the other dimension. Hell, it may even be the wine. But he places the mirror back in its original spot and stares at it.

'Come on, then,' he says quietly. His hands hang at his sides, the knife clenched in one. 'If you're going to. Come on.'

Nothing happens. Not for several minutes. He stands there for a while, just waiting for something. Anything.

'Scared?' he tries again. He thinks of the first time he spoke in almost a year, back then on that fiery fifth of November four years ago. Got you.

The mirror stands silent and still for the rest of the night.


Ireland has a hangover the next morning. As it turns out, England wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. The elder completed the night with some whiskey on top of the wine, and Wales finds him passed out in the dining room at seven o'clock.

'The hell did yeh go and do that for?' Scotland chastises him during breakfast.

Ireland is pale in the face and looks as if he's going to be sick. No one would really put it past him. 'Just a difficult night,' he mutters.

'As we all know,' Wales says haughtily. 'But you don't see any of us getting hammered, do you?'

'Plus, it went better than expected,' Scotland points out. 'I'd say it was a success.'

Scotland and Wales don't get it. But England does. Ireland's words to him from the night before echo in his head, and he takes no part in his brothers' teasing and scolding.

They are late to the meeting because of the situation- almost half an hour late, in fact. And this proves to almost spell disaster for them when they arrive and are confronted with the visitor in the meeting room.

'… I'm just concerned, as I'm sure you all understand. I imagine you've all been quite stressed out about being asked to come here, especially when you heard what they've been telling you. I'm just asking you to think rationally about all of this. Your leaders and I have been discussing-'

'Oh, yeh've gotta be shitting me!' Scotland snaps at the sound of a familiar voice, slamming the door open with his shoulder so fiercely that one of his crutches slides right off his arm. He leaves it lying on the ground and bursts into the room, hobbling over to the man at the podium, who breaks off his speech and stares at the nation in bewilderment.

'Scotland!' the Prime Minister begins. 'Should you even be walking yet-?'

'Oh, like yeh actually give a shit about us and our problems!' Scotland retorts furiously. 'What the hell do yeh think yeh're playing at?'

The Prime Minister straightens up, his face stoic. 'I could ask you the same thing,' he sniffs. 'It's one thing to be… entertaining these ludicrous delusions, but quite another to be wasting the time of the vast majority of the world nations with all of this. You had absolutely no right to scare everybody over this. Do you know how much trouble you and Wales have caused? I've been caught up in non-stop conference calls since this all began, and the leaders are furious with me for allowing this. And now I'm hearing about some proposed military plan?'

'Well, if yeh don't want anything to do with any of this, then just stay out of our damn way and quit meddling,' Scotland spits.

'As we were saying, Prime Minister,' Switzerland interrupts, looking deeply unaffected by all the shouting. 'You may believe this to all be some sort of practical joke or delusion, as most of us did too. But I personally feel that I have been offered sufficient proof. And I'm sure those who were with me last night will agree. The threat is real.'

The Prime Minister lets out an enraged, disbelieving laugh. 'I don't believe this. How on earth can beings such as yourselves fall for this? You are nations. You hold the most important positions in all of your respective countries. And I cannot fault you for coming here, given the emergency you thought you would be facing, but to remain? To play along with this fantastical game like children?'

'Oh. I get it now.'

England comes up to stand beside his brother, watching the Prime Minister closely. 'It was you,' he says, his voice lower than he was expecting it to be. With the brimming fire in his veins, he's surprised at himself for remaining this calm.

'You were the one 'talking shit',' he says. 'Scotland and Wales wouldn't tell me who it was.' He pauses for a moment. 'They were right. I would have kicked your door down if I knew.'

Scotland shoots him a look filled with pride, more so than England believes he's ever received from his eldest brother before, and the Prime Minister bristles with rage.

'These tales of yours have to stop, England,' he manages between gritted teeth. 'They are no more than lies. This charade is over.'

'Oh, but they're not lies,' England says, and he feels a very slight tremor in his voice. He has to keep his anger contained, no matter how satisfying it would be to smack the pretentious arsehole right in the face…

'I've been telling the truth,' he says instead. 'Right from the start. Even when I doubted myself.'

His voice holds steady. No stutters, no shaking. He keeps his gaze fierce and fixed on the man in front of him.

'And have you told them the whole truth?' the Prime Minister says snidely. 'About all your time in that psychiatric ward in the States and the hallucinations you've apparently been experiencing?'

England sees red. A bright, coursing crimson that could put Allen's eyes to shame. He's suddenly very much aware of all the people in the room, watching and listening to each word and it's as if it's the day he revealed himself again, listening to their mockery and derision before he entered the room. Like he's back in the spotlight again, back from the dead to practically all of them, like a specimen on display. He takes a step forwards before any thoughts can reach his head, but Scotland puts his arm out to stop him.

'That,' Scotland growls, and his voice is shaking far more than England's threatened to, 'does not have anything to do with the fact that this is the truth.'

'Look, I understand that England went through a terrible ordeal, whatever it truly was, and I respect that he is recovering from it, but-'

'You don't understand anything,' England says, seething.

The Prime Minister grinds his teeth. 'I'm trying to help you, England. It won't help your recovery at all for everyone to be indulging your illness like this and playing along with the things you think you're seeing-'

'What, so we all just imagined that giant ass monster that attacked us at the G8?' America's angry voice comes from behind the two British nations, and a few seconds later, he too is at their side. England's heart swells at the sight, and for a moment the heat is gentler and the red is softer.

The Prime Minister waves his hands frustratedly. 'I don't know what to believe anymore.'

'Oh, I don't know. Us, maybe?' Scotland snarls.

'Look, if you had any proof that something attacked you and if wasn't actually a gas leak like the report said, then-'

'Oh shit, our bad,' America bites back sarcastically. 'We woulda filmed it, but we were too busy trying not to Goddamn die.'

'I don't have time for this,' the Prime Minister says stonily. 'I have several angry leaders to answer to because of this mess you all started. Your president included, America. If you'll excuse me.'

He storms out of the room, pushing past Wales, Ireland and Sealand, with one final enraged huff. Scotland sends him off with a rude gesture the Prime Minister doesn't miss, and they hear him swearing to himself out in the corridor.

'Well,' Australia says after a long pause, giving a nervous chuckle. 'That could have gone better.'

The room is deathly quiet again. England glares at the floor as if it has been the one to offend him, refusing to look up at anyone. His brothers' plan for keeping his mental state quiet is in ruins, after all, and that's hardly going to work in his favour.

'We didn't tell you about… about England being ill,' Wales says finally, his voice small, 'because we were afraid something like this would happen.'

'And 'cause it's hardly everyone's business,' Ireland adds. And between Scotland's fury, Wales's care and Ireland's defensiveness, England suddenly realises he has never loved his older brothers more than he does in this moment.

'I mean… I mean I think we could all sort of tell,' Belgium says slowly, offering a weak smile. She looks around at a few of the others, who nod awkwardly in agreement. 'No offence,' she adds quickly when England finally looks up at her. 'I mean… these things you told us you went through… it makes sense. It's to be expected. And it's nothing to be ashamed of. But I can understand why you didn't want to tell us. That's fair. We hardly wanted to listen to start with.'

'You say you had some good proof, right?' Romano asks Switzerland in a much milder voice than usual. 'Like, there's evidence that this shit's definitely real?'

'It was conclusive,' Switzerland sighs. 'Nothing the British Prime Minister says can change that.'

'We saw things we never could have imagined to be real,' Austria adds unexpectedly. Gone is the scorn and disbelief. It's almost enough to make England laugh.

'This is serious,' China finishes for them. 'All of it. I wish it wasn't, but it is.'

Join the club, England thinks dejectedly, no matter how pleased he is inwardly at how utterly not a complete disaster this was. He doesn't even find himself too bothered about how apparently obvious his fragile state of mind was. The warm buzz in his chest is enough to think about instead.

There's another spot of silence, this one less awkward yet more sombre than before, before Spain says, 'So… what do we do now?'

'This will threaten our plan to get military assistance, won't it?' Estonia mumbles. 'Could you maybe convince your Prime Minister the same way you did with the people who visited you last night?'

'I mean, we could,' Scotland mutters darkly. 'But it's hardly gonna matter. The other world leaders still won't believe us, and I can't see them all coming to the UK so we can show them too, especially now they all seem to think this is all some big game we're playing. It's gonna just be us in this.'

'So we're screwed, then?' Romano groans.

'Nothing new there,' England says gravely.


There's a present waiting in his room when he arrives home later that day.

After a night of barely any sleep and a thoroughly exhausting day at the meeting explaining the existence of the fae and what they had to say about the whole thing, England is about ready to collapse onto his bed at only six o'clock. He's so tired, in fact, that he doesn't notice the small cage at first. It instead until he has taken his jacket and suit off and slipped into more comfortable clothing that he finally spots it.

At the foot of the mirror is a rabbit.

Its brown fur is scarred with missing tufts of fur and small clots of dried blackened blood that it hasn't managed to clean off itself, and it shrinks away from him as he comes over to inspect it, pressing itself to the very edge of its small, barred cage. It looks like a prisoner in a cell.

As England bends down, the animal squeals in fear and shakes violently, scrambling desperately in an attempt to get away. In its frenzy, it scrapes against a piece of paper taped to one of the bars, sending it falling to the carpet beside the cage.

Swallowing away a lump in his throat, England glances at the mirror, looking for signs that the ones who delivered the rabbit might still be present. The glass remains dusty and still, however, so he instead looks uneasily at the rabbit, trying not to focus too hard on an old part of his mind, the wordless, instinct driven ghost of another time in another body that recognises each frightened twitch of the animal before him and urges him to run away when he sees the scars littering the small creature's body.

'It- it's okay,' he says softly, even know both he and the rabbit know it isn't. Not even a little bit.

He reaches out for the folded square of paper and opens it up slowly, trying to keep his face neutral in case they are still watching.

We hope to see you again soon, and that you will always remember your times with the wolves.

He stifles a choke. All of a sudden, this bravado he's been wearing proudly is nothing more than a distant memory- more distant, in fact, than the flashes of amber eyes and gnashing teeth and crunching flesh-

Times. Times. He can't breathe. He stares at the rabbit. It's wounds are old, and the blood is try, but they haven't healed up. Not completely. A few weeks' worth of recovery, maybe a month or two.

Times. The other rabbit, the one from five years ago, died. This isn't it.

Another rabbit. Another time.

It happened again. It happened again.

He's going to be sick. He's going to cry. He's going to scream.

The rabbit squeaks pitifully in its cage. It sounds like whimpers.

England takes a deep, quivering breath, and tears the paper to shreds. It falls to the ground in pieces, much like the other rabbit must have done when the wolves were tearing into their meal- into him-

He gets to his feet in a frenzy, stumbling over to the door and wrenching it open. The world around him blurs and sways. The corridor outside his room looks a thousand miles long, and as dim as the open sky back in the other world. He barely registers a figure standing in the twisting fog in front of him until America's distorted voice says, 'Oh, dude, I was just looking for ya. Do you-'

'Something happened,' he gasps- or tries to- but he can't hear his own words. His ears are filled with war drums, pounding his head to what must surely be the ground if he can't keep standing. 'Something- something-'

And then he collapses against America, his world tumbling into black.


My Hetalia discord server: discord . gg / eJUCRbE (and for the person who asked, you don't have to be a creator to join! Everyone in the fandom is welcome, and I just like to encourage those who do create fanworks to share their stuff)

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 [slash] ash - song (tho I haven't updated this in over a year I think. Yep. A year and a half. I just checked. That sounds like me. Jesus Christ. I swear I'll do it)

The Tumblr for the Discord server: yeetalia . tumblr . com

Okay so I wanted to set up a lil USUK at the end there cuz this chapter was lacking. Sorry about that. I'm gonna have grey hair by the time I actually get those morons together. It's literally already been four entire years.

I hope you guys liked this chap. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I mean, I like it, but I'm worried I pushed stuff a lil too far with the Prime Minister and what he said to/about England.

Anywho, I have to sleep. Like I said, I'll probably update this A/N more after I've done so.

Thanks for reading, sorry for the wait, and remember to review!