The Exhibition

Canada watched America bang on the door with a closed fist. It was eleven in the morning, surely the man was awake already. Was he not home? He had to be. He couldn't possibly have had anything to do today outside the house in absence of the conference. The two had grown worried of England's absence the night before, it wasn't like him to refuse a night out like that. It wasn't like him in the slightest, if anything he hadn't been himself the entire week. America knocked once more, footsteps coming from within the house causing Canada to feel more than a little relief. The locks on the door shrieked as they were opened, England standing before them. He looked tired, dressed in casual clothing, his hands also stained with ink presumably from a fountain pen.

"What do you want? I said I was busy." He didn't seem at all happy to see them, quite irritated actually. America opened his mouth, but Canada quickly nudged him to shut it.

"We were worried, also Al's sorry." England sighed and looked the two over. Behind him, Canada could see furniture stacked up in the hall. Perhaps they were right to be worried. "Um, Arthur why is your living room in your hallway?"

"I'm doing some housework today, what of it?" He crossed his arms. They were getting nowhere, let alone into England's house. "You know, something grown men do sometimes when they have the time? Is this all you came here to do?"

"Arthur look, you're kinda scaring everyone. What's wrong?" A little blunt, wasn't it? Canada sighed and looked at the concerned American. "You can tell us, c'mon!" England rolled his eyes and attempted to shut the door, America putting his hand on the edge and holding it open. The shorter nation tried to push it a little harder, but it was obvious who was physically stronger.

"I really don't have time for this, you two. Half of my furniture is in my hallway for God's sake. I think it's obvious I'm in the middle of something." America didn't seem to be willing to take no for an answer, pushing past England into the house. "Hey now! You can't just-" It was too late for protest, America was already taking off his shoes. England grumbled something before holding the door open for Canada, apparently having come to the realization that this was not in fact a battle he could win at the moment. "You stay for lunch, but that is all. Both you got that?" He grouched off down the hall and around the corner into the kitchen. Canada and America followed behind him, walking in to see a mess of papers covering the counter, diagrams and lists surrounding an old book on the surface. England shut the leather bound bible of a book and began swiftly cleaning off the counter. He gave America a look as he picked up a piece of paper.

"Cor quad? Quode? Percatto, et ossa a mulier-" England snatched the paper from his hands and filed it away. "Aw man, is this more of that witchcraft stuff? Did I just curse someone? Oh man, was it France? Are you-"

"No, you twit. It's none of your business. I'm just translating some old works I found downstairs." Wasn't he supposed to be cleaning his house? Canada took a peek at whatever the papers were as England scolded America. It was definitely occult, anyone could tell it by looking at it.

"We could help you translate it Arthur."

"No, no you can't. Neither of you speak Latin, nor do I feel like teaching you right now." He scooped up the last of the papers and rushed out with them, presumably to put them away. America looked to Canada as the man left.

"Dude maybe this wasn't the best idea. If he's upset enough to do magic stuff then he's pretty upset. We should go."

"You barged in here and got us into this."

"It was your idea to come here in the first place!" England returned a few moments later, opening his fridge and scouring through it. The man frowned a little, from the looks of it he hadn't been grocery shopping in awhile. "So, Arthur? What's for lunch?"

"You're lucky you're getting anything at all. Eat what you want. I need to go rearrange the furniture. Having it there a second longer is going to drive me mad." He left the fridge open, letting America have at it before disappearing through the door. Canada silently followed, peaking around the frame to see England staring at the pile of furniture before clenching and stretching fingertips, taking a quiet breath as he did so, and picking up a coffee table to put back into the room. Pretty intense stuff for rearranging furniture.

"You need any help?" England jumped a little but quickly regained his composure.

"Well I suppose if you're here you might as well make yourself useful. Grab whatever and move it in, I'll help you with the loveseat." He took the table into the living room. The two of them made short work if the furniture, organizing it in a new, yet homely way in the room. Canada couldn't help but notice those green eyes flick back to the door every so often, as if waiting for something to come from within. Canada decided not to push it though, at least not yet. Back in the kitchen, America had managed to find some hot dogs and condiments, all he needed were buns.

"Do you have any? I could run to the store prob'ly."

"That won't be necessary, I should have some in the cellar…" His thought seemed to draw on behind those clouded eyes.

"I could go get them if you want-."

"No!" He was quick to interject and was already halfway to the door before America could finish his sentence. "I'll get them. It's fine. Completely fine."

"You don't seem fine, but whatever." America muttered under his breath as England left to retrieve the bread.

Son of a bitch. He held the handle of the basement door before slowly opening it. Why did they have to show up? Why? He said he was going to busy, and yet they still came. Now he had taken down his barrier and cleaned up his work just to seem even a semblance of sane to these two, and for what? To be asked to walk into the lion's den? Surely Oliver would be smarter than to try and kill him while there were still people in the house, right? Then again, considering his nature and appearance, it could very well be the best possible time to bring a swift end to his life. Suddenly, he didn't feel so confident in his prowess over the man. He was powerless, unarmed, and just barely over being stabbed in the leg. His steps were timid as he walked down the stairs, unsure what he'd find at the bottom. The lights were off. Of course they were, but he wasn't going to make that mistake again. He flicked them on as soon as he got to the bottom, Oliver sitting on his cot perhaps five meters away, a pleasant smile on his face. He said nothing, aware of the guests upstairs. England watched him for every step he took towards the room where he kept the deep freeze. Oliver watched back, apparently quite relaxed. He had to turn his back to walk any further into the room, the freezer on the other side humming softly. He opened the top, his guts and legs nearly giving out immediately upon the sight. His cry of shock drowned quickly by his gag reflex as he heaved onto the floor. Frozen, almost perfectly intact were the heart and small intestines of whatever poor soul had run in with whatever had done this, whoever had done this. The coagulant blood matted against them like mucus in the packed ice, the putrid scent of death reaping the clean air around him. His heaves turned quickly into bile which splattered at floor beneath his weak knees. A shadow filled the room as Oliver lingered against the doorway, His grin illuminated by the light behind him, cold eyes drilling holes into England's skull. He would have screamed, but Oliver just pointed to the floor above. This would look horrific on England's part. After all, who would believe him? He slowly stood upright, his eyes meeting that insufferable stare. The basement door opened, America calling down.

"You good down there? You die or something?" Oliver's eyes remained locked on him as he spoke.

"Not at all, just had to move some things around to get to them. I'll be up in a minute." Never did England think he'd learn to hate his own voice, but something about it had begun to make his skin crawl. The door closed and the footsteps receded back into the house. Oliver motioned to the freezer, as if to say that they were in there. He just had to look for them. He didn't trust Oliver enough to turn his back, he just stood, frozen like the flesh packed into his freezer. Oliver pulled the contact case from his pant pockets and toyed with it as he looked at England. "Clock's ticking, love." He slowly reached his hand back into the freezer. Oh God. He touched it. His hand immediately recoiled from the frozen meat, like veiny peeled grapes on his fingertips. He would have to turn his back and look at the butchery if he didn't want to feel it. He did so, those eyes still goring through his body as he slowly pushed the crushed ice to the side, another layer below it. Kidneys, large intestine, and a uterus laid neatly in the snow. He bit back vomit and dug past the pint of blood, pulling the buns from the bottom of the freezer. He shakily closed it, body numb yet so cold. He turned, jumping when his eyes met Oliver's who had moved a foot behind him. England quickly slipped out from under him and sprinted for the door, Oliver simply watching as he fled, making no effort to chase him down. He closed the basement door behind him. Not that it would be of much protection without the barricade. He recomposed himself as best as he could and walked into the kitchen, skin still crawling at the image plastered behind his eyelids.

"Longest bun run ever." America laughed and fiddled with the gas stove. Now normally England would feel quite at home, almost at peace during a time like this. A lack of argument between the three of them and the bright cheer they would so often bring him, almost a guarantee to brighten his usually drab days. Today however, that laugh had never made him felt so alone.

[Hey there! Been a little while, busy with work. However I have a fair bit of free time coming up so hopefully I can work more consistently. Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter (even if it is a little shorter than the one's before it) I expect to have a longer one out before Tuesday. Have a good weekend my doots!]