England was deep in the forest throwing stones so that they skipped in the water. He felt betrayed and alone. His friends the woodland creatures tried to help; but in the end they were only animals. He was human. Actually, more than that: he was a nation. His mother was a nation. Nations weren't supposed to die. 'So where did you go?' England thought bitterly. He threw a stone as hard as he could then sat down by the lakeside. Flying mint bunny came over and nuzzled up to him. Everyone that England got close to kept going away. Britannia… America… Canada… Australia… France… Scotland… the Irelands… even Wales… He was alone. For someone who had the entire world in his hands, it was a sad conclusion to come to.

Suddenly, England heard sounds coming from the forest. He jumped up and aimed his bow and arrow. After a bit, Wales came through the clearing, holding a spell book open and his eyes glowing bright.

"You're very good at hiding," Wales said, closing the book and his eyes dimming, "It took me forever to find you."

"What are you doing here?' England said, lowering his weapon but not yet putting it away.

"I came to check up on you."

"I'm fine. I want to be left alone." England pouted and looked out at the lake. What good was it to have people if all they were ever going to do was hurt you in the end? Better to be isolated. Better to be alone.

"You've been like this for a year now," Wales sighed, "I thought that meeting France would have done you some good, but this… You can't be alone forever. It won't do you any good."

"At least alone no one can hurt me."

"…this is about Mum still, isn't it?"

The feelings of frustration melted into sadness, making England drop his weapon. Memories poured into his head: the sad smile of Britannia as her body faded away, the angry face of America behind a loaded musket pointed at England's face, Australia running away without looking back, countless colonies coming with armies ready to drive England out, Canada with a sorry look on his face asking to be let go, Scotland shouting at him accusing him of setting up the ballot against him, and the last remaining members of the United Kingdom, once known as the Great British Empire, circling a table with Wales handing him a pen to sign for its dissolution.

"Why can't you just leave me alone!" England shouted in an attempt to make the pain go away. To make the memories disappear. But they wouldn't. They ran around and around his head, making him not be able to see clearly. The greens of the grass mixed with the greens of the tree leaves; the sky mixing with the water. England closed his eyes tightly in an attempt to stop himself from getting sick, though this only made the feeling worse.

Wales knelt down and held England in a tight hug. Immediately, England relaxed, and the nauseous feeling went away. "Because," Wales said, but his voice was joined in by many others, "I can't watch my brother waste away into nothing."

England tightened his hug in an attempt to not cry. Slowly, the spinning and the mixing of colors stopped. After a time, Wales pulled away. He noticed England's tears and handed him a handkerchief. "Here. Come with me. There's something I want to give you."

England followed Wales out of the forest. Upon exiting it, the scene changed to something more modern. They were in a small room, with a giant window overlooking a bustling city. Cars were zooming by down below, and people walked with a brisk pace. Wales took out a small box from a drawer. "I found this abandoned when I was walking around Allistor's place… care to explain?" Wales' face was unreadable, but England was used to that.

"I didn't mean to leave it. You know that."

"No, actually, I don't. Not with you. Not anymore." Wales tossed the box to England.

"Not that it would do me any good in my possession anyway. I lost the key. I can't open it."

Wales gave England a look of incredulousness. "Arthur, you can use magic! Who needs a key when you can simply use a spell to unlock it?" Wales facepalmed his face, then started laughing hard which caught England off guard. "My God, I hope that whatever is in there isn't something you spent half a century looking for."

England opened his mouth to object.

88888

"That's it!" England exclaimed, forcing himself out of his vivid daydream. He stood up so quick, Spain's chair fell to the ground.

"What is?" Spain asked, looking away from the window. The sky was steadily growing unnaturally dark.

"The box. The one you saved from my ship. I remember how to open it." Without waiting for a reply, England ran over to his box and picked it up. There was no more tension against the box; he needed to know what was in it. And he was ready to accept whatever lay in there.

"Alohomora," England said. A green light shined from the lock and the box popped open. Inside was only an empty bottle with the label reading "Ambrosia".

"That's what did it," Spain said, picking up the bottle and examining it.

"Did what?"

"The explosion… it was this stuff that was in it. I think it was because it was overheated or mixed with something else and the reaction of it caused it to explode… and put me into this coma."

"Maybe that's why we're in this same dream on this ship. Both of us were effected by ambrosia. Not much is known about the substance, so anything is possible."

"And I just thought it was because we were bonded by our rivalry friendship," Spain said, in a sarcastic tone of voice.

England scowled, but he was interrupted before he could say anything else. Hurried knocks came to the door of Spain's room. It was Captain García, Spain's first mate, and Captain Henderson. They both saluted when the door was opened.

"Seniors," Captain García said, "There's another ship, and it is coming fast."

"Another ship?" England asked, walking out onto the deck. Besides Spain's ship, there hadn't been anything else in the open waters. Even when they were close to shore, all the boats were docked and the town he visited was devoid of locals.

"There's another thing," Captain Henderson said, handing England a spyglass, "The flag… it's American."

England looked through the spyglass and sure enough, the flag whipping around in the wind was the stars and stripes of America's flag, the first one that nation ever waved. "This encounter isn't going to be pretty…" England said. He was imagining being captured by a small group of young rebels in common clothing. That happened a lot during America's revolution; America's states were a spunky crew.

"But remember, you are on my ship, with my flag," Spain reassured England, "They will only pass us. Go into my cabin. I'll get you when the coast is clear."

"No, I'm not in my uniform. They shouldn't know I am British…" England felt the word in his mouth with the sting of bitter sadness. He was no longer Britain… he was just England now. He didn't know how he knew that, but it made him feel empty.

"As long as you don't speak," Spain clarified with a smirk.

The two of them watched the ship as it came closer and closer. England felt nervous, but stood his ground. He wasn't going to run. He wasn't going to show fear. He will face what he needed to face. The ship stopped right next to Spain's, and England could see who the occupants were. There were two individuals on deck: one was Italy in a cabin boy's attire, a red bandanna tied around his head. The other was Canada in a maroon pirate captain's cloak, complete with a matching, three tonged feathered hat.

Spain froze as Italy boarded calmly, Canada right behind him. "What are you doing here, Veneziano?"

Italy looked nervous. "As a warning. Romano is coming soon, and he's really pissed… more pissed than usual, like he actually wants to kill you pissed." He turned to England, "And you should probably hide."

"Why?" England had no intention of doing so without a good reason. And even then, he wasn't in the mood to move.

"You are to be captured and taken to America's land to stand trial," Canada said, apologetically more than officially, "I don't agree with it, but America is keen on your capture."

"How does he even know I'm on this ship?" England asked, confused.

"That would be my fault," Canada said slowly, "I tried not to tell him, but he has a sharp eye." If England had any lingering doubt that this was a dream, this statement solidified it. America was as dense as they come.

However, the Englishman was more interested as to how Canada got the knowledge of him being on board this ship, at least the dream explanation. "What did you do?"

Canada's eyes glowed violet for a moment. "I saw you were here," Canada explained.

"You can use magic?" England asked, more impressed than anything.

"Canadia, get it over with already!" a voice yelled. England looked behind Canada to see America, all grown up and in a Patriot uniform, a rifle strapped around his shoulder. He looked angry, angrier than England had ever seen him… no, he had seen him this angry before. Several times, in fact, especially during the revolution.

Canada's hands were shaking. England held them, unsure of what else to do.

"If you aren't going to do it, get out of the way." Canada was shoved to the side. In America's hands were a pair of handcuffs. England drew out his sword. "Don't be difficult, England," America said harshly, his eyes on the sword, "You have crimes you have to atone."

"Believe it or not, America, I have things I need to do. More important things than a pathetic quarrel about taxes."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about your disregard towards other people's feelings."

"What?" England noticed a blackness that was soaking in the world around him.

"You heard me. Did you actually believe that no one cared about what you do? That no one would notice if you were gone? Thing again. This is what you need to answer to." America made to put the handcuffs on, but England dodged the attempt.

"I can't America." 'This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real,' England repeated in his head over and over again in an attempt to wake up. Why hadn't he gotten out of this dream yet. There have been so many places where he should have woken up, where the illusion of the dream broke for England. Why was he stuck there?

"It's not a matter of can or can't. You are coming with me and that's final."

"You still haven't told me what I've done!" England shouted, "Is ignorance a crime?"

America's angry face fell to a sad one as he said, with several other voices along with him, "I thought you'd put the pieces together by now… I may not be a part of your great empire anymore, but I still admire you. Why would you throw everything you are away? Don't you know how hard it is to see your role model being torn apart?"

The world around England by this point was entirely black. All he could see was America, whose uniform had changed into a bomber jacket. He sighed angrily. "Enough stalling, let's go."

England swatted his sword around trying to knock the handcuffs out of America's hands as he ran backwards. Dude, where are you going? "I keep telling you, there's something I have to do first," England said.

"No, there isn't. You have to pay for your crimes, here and now." America swung the handcuffs around menacingly.

England tripped. America came closer, still twirling the handcuffs. "Leave me alone!" Something was holding England in his helpless position; he couldn't even use his sword.

Chill. I'm just taking you back to bed.

America handcuffed England and held onto his wrists. "Let go of me!" England shouted, trying to pull his hands away, "You can't do this to me!"

America's eyes glowed blue. England. It's me. America.

England blinked, and he found himself in a small, plain hallway that had a cot to one side. England was kneeling on the ground, the same position he was in the dream. America was in a sweatshirt marked with a flag made of stars and stripes. America's own flag. He was holding England by his wrists and wore a concerned expression. He too was kneeling on the ground. "Don't you recognize me?" America asked worriedly.

England was still struggling, but it was more out of the fact that his mind was still in escape mode. After a bit, he calmed down. America scooped him up easily and moved him to the next room, which was a proper bedroom. America put England down on the bed.

"Ok, now, England?"

England didn't do anything to suggest he heard. He was in shock; the fog had lessened and England knew for certain that this was reality. Certain memories of the events of the American Revolution came back to conscious thought, and it made England feel as if he was on a roller coaster of emotions. America protesting at England's demands. Battles, both on land and on sea. Being captured by a rebel group of Americans, made up the of personified colonies now flying under America's flag instead of his own. America being captured by his men, and seeing the aftermath of that interrogation. Continuous negotiations leading nowhere. The written declaration of America's cut ties with Britain. England still had no idea why he was at the house, nor why America of all people was there either. After all, they were at war with each other, though America's attire suggested otherwise.

"Hey." America snapped his fingers in front of England's face. England immediately looked up. He could tell that America was just holding it together. Probably anger… they were at war…

'But then, why would he be helping me?' England thought as he said, "Tired, I guess."

"Get some sleep then," America said, making to leave.

"America…" England said, and he couldn't believe himself for even thinking this, let alone asking it outright, "Will you stay? Here? In the room?"

"Really?" America looked confused.

England nodded. If they were at war, he would rather keep an eye on the American first hand. If not… England really didn't want to be alone.

America slowly sat down on the end of the bed. "Whatever dude. So long as you don't want to kill me."

"We're at war… that's to be expected."

America's face was blank. "Um… we haven't fought in a war against each other for ages…"

They sat there silence for a while. The rain outside was light, and rather soothing. England was trying to get himself to believe that what America was saying was true. His heart believed it. His mind however was not as easily convinced.

"So…" America asked awkwardly, "Do you want me to sing to you?"

England gave him a look. A memory popped up in his mind; some karaoke thing with America doing whale calls in a microphone that somehow translated into singing, so said the American. "You can't sing." England remembered it annoyed him, because he had taught America to sing better than that.

"I can at least try," America said, rolling his eyes.

"Fine." He just needed to get through the night. He didn't want to go to sleep again. He wanted to stay awake and keep his memories. And since America was bad at singing now, England couldn't imagine falling asleep to it.

"Oh Shenandoah,

I long to see you,

Away you rolling river.

Oh Shenandoah,

I long to see you

Away, I'm bound away,

Across the wide Missouri"

"So you can sing if you actually try," England muttered. America's voice was smooth and calming like the rain outside. England didn't mind admitting to being wrong for once. He was secretly glad that something he taught the young nation actually stuck.

"Tis seven years,

Since last I've seen you

Away, you rolling river.

'Tis seven years,

Since last I've seen you

Away, we're bound away,

Across the wide Missouri

Farewell, my dear,

I'm bound to leave you

Away, you rolling river

O Shenandoah,

I'll not deceive you

Away, I'm bound away

'Cross the wide Missouri

America continued singing, but his voice slowly faded in England's mind as he fell unwillingly back to sleep.

88888

England made his way through central park in New York, heavily dependent on the walking stick he picked up. Everyone around him was excited about the day's events and the fireworks that were going to be going on. It was certainly dark enough for them.

In one corner of the park, 13 individuals sat around, occasionally looking up at the sky and enjoying each other's company. The original American colonies, the ones who fought in the War of American Independence. One of them noticed England, made his way over, and let everyone else know.

"Dude!" New York exclaimed when England got close enough. He looked just like America, with the exception of his brown eyes and lack of glasses, "You look like a zombie. Are ya sick?"

"Don't you remember what he was like for the centennial?" Massachusetts asked, rolling her eyes as England drew closer, "He was even worse then. At least there's no blood this time."

They cleared a space for England to sit down. Rhode Island shoved a glass of beer in England's hands.

Politely, the Englishman put it down on the table. "There was earlier," he muttered.

"Why are you out then?" South Carolina asked, putting her shawl over England in a comforting gesture, "Blood can't be a good sign for anything."

"And yet you all remain independent," England pointed out bitterly.

Everyone at the table made a collective sigh. "I thought we were past this," New Hampshire said, "How many times do we have to kick and save your ass?"

England looked at each state. They all looked older, not too much in age since the War of Independence, but in character. Sure, the rebellious spirit was still a part of them in some way, but it had matured. England couldn't place a reason why.

"If it makes ya feel any better," New York said, putting a hand on England's shoulder, "None of this would have been here without you."

"What do you mean?"

"He has a point," Virginia said, "You raised America, and inspired him to be the best he could. You beat the shit out of all of us, and we in turn did the same to you because we didn't like it. Without you, this place would look a whole lot different."

"And that is supposed to make me feel better because?" England asked.

"Because you're still important," Georgia said, "Sure, no one is celebrating you here, but shouldn't you still feel proud for America's accomplishment for making it this far? He learned everything from you."

England looked out at central park. He found America talking with a few nations who had come to celebrate his birthday. America looked… good, for lack of a better word. He was strong and confident. Someone that people could look up to… if he wasn't still such a child.

The crowd around cheered and the fireworks show began in the sky up above. It was beautiful, the way the lights shown like stars of their own. It was the only way, in England's opinion, America could ever celebrate his birthday: as flashy and showy as humanly possible.

"Besides," Pennsylvania said, leaning towards England, "You still have you family on the other side of the ocean. You aren't alone."

"Not anymore," England said, and once again, reality hit him like a sack of bricks…

"What, they died?" Massachusetts asked, very confused.

"Well, no, but…"

"Then you still have them, regardless of if they're living with you or not. Even though America left you, he still checks up on you constantly. And he keeps coming in and saving the day in the wars you get yourself almost killed over. America may have moved out, but he never left you for long."

That thought alone kept England from spiraling further into his own mind.

Author's Note: I finally actually get to talk about some of the states. Not in this story, but in some future ones, we get to hear more from a few of them (especially Massachusetts, because that's my state). But here are a few musings for now: New York is a theater nerd and likes directing plays. Georgia's human name is the same as her state name. Virginia is the state that works the most with America due to the fact that the nation's capital is in his state. And Massachusetts will fight anyone about sports (she's very passionate about her local teams).
As another note: the voice layering is apart of Northern Ireland's healing thing. But, since this is in England's perspective, he has no clue. Plus, it didn't work quite the way Northern Ireland wanted it to, as we are to see very soon.