The Plane Of Reality
"Can ve finally start?" came the exasperated voice of Germany. Of which he had every right to – it was thirty minutes into their allotted meeting time and people were not even seated down at their chairs yet.
"Oh," Russia said sadly, staring down at the unconscious Latvia he had in his arms and then at the Estonian who was trying desperately to pull the smaller boy out. "Do ve?"
"We can't start yet!" America shouted down the table, where he had been trying to talk to China.
"Vhy ever not?" Germany seemed to be trying not to bash his head onto the table in front of him. Italy was helping by keeping his brother quiet with trying some new recipes he had brought with him.
"England is late," France filled his neighbor in. "Any idea, Ireland?"
The red headed nation shrugged. "Want me ta call Scotland? Not that they're talkin' right now."
France rolled his eyes and smoothed his hair back. "His own fault. We can start without him. He'll just have to be extra nice to get someone to tell him what happened while he was busy tarting himself up, or whatever is going to be his excuse."
"We can't start without him!" America protested, walking back over to his chair.
"I don't see what's stopping us," Austria responded, scooting his chair towards the table.
"If we do, I'm not going first!"
That quietened down most of the other countries.
"I'm sorry... could you repeat that, America?" Japan asked quietly.
"I'm not going until England gets here!" America repeated. "How am I supposed to convince him my emissions are down so he'll stop ranting at me if he's not here to hear it?"
And things returned to normal.
"Well then, I believe Estonia was next on the list?" Lithuania said. "Russia, please, put Latvia down."
"But he's unconscious!" Russia exclaimed. "Zat vould be rude, dropping him like zat..."
"You, like, do what Liet says!" Poland started. Germany hit his hand down on the table.
"If ve coult please get started!" he shouted.
A bit more scuffling ended with most people in their respective chairs and Estonia beginning his elaborate presentation on the production of ice.
America pouted in his seat. Stupid England, being late. Of course, it simply gave America the chance to get back at all of the times England berated him for being late. England was probably trying to put out a fire in his kitchen or forgot the time while knitting or something lame like that. Remembering halfway to a meeting he forgot to feed the whale was a completely valid reason for being late! England starting to cook when everyone knew that took forever and was always a complete disaster was no reason at all! And America would be sure to tell England so.
When he got here.
America took to twanging paper clips at Russia, who seemed to believe that they were coming from China. Which was all well and good for America. Watching China's outraged face as Russia came to get his retribution under the table was almost a good enough distraction to keep him from staring at his watch.
Damn, he's late. Maybe he burned down his entire house, America frowned, finding himself looking at the clock again. An entire hour late. Even America was only ten minutes late. England really did have a lot to answer for. America propped his feet up on the empty chair next to him. The movement prompted a small exclamation of surprise.
"America, would you mind getting your feet off of me, eh?"
"Canada! Didn't see you there!" America responded, moving his feet back towards the floor. Canada glared at him.
"Would you mind?" France's voice rang out. America looked up to see France now at the front, looking at him.
"Yes, I would," America nodded, standing up. He looked around at all of the nations and finally declared: "I'm going to get England."
A few groans, a couple pair of rolling eyes, and a dazzling smile and thumbs up later, America was out.
England woke up.
It was a nightmare. The only explanation for it. A completely horrid nightmare. And he could enjoy the overwhelming feeling of relief that it was over. His back hurt from the position he had been lying on the couch. England could not think of any possible reason he would have fallen asleep on the couch instead of just going to bed. Ridiculous.
"Morning!" he said brightly as he sat up.
There was no one there.
England frowned at the sight of the inanimate objects in his house. The only reason none of his friends would be here... someone else was in his house. Biting back a swear he rose to his feet and checked his condition. Ruffled, but fit enough to out whoever broke into his house. Certainly it was not early in the morning, but it was the weekend (Saturday, right?) and people should just have the plain decency to not come in when someone was not ready to receive them.
Which threw out the idea it was France. The only time France would not bother him if he saw him asleep was if he was cooking something and England could not smell any signs of the Frenchman using his kitchen without permission.
And it was not Scotland. His brother had been giving him the cold shoulder lately and staying in his own house up north. England had not pressed the issue – not having to hear bagpipes at the wee hours of the morning was a welcome change. Anyway, the People did not leave when his brothers were around. Not the ones that actually believed in them anyway.
Culprit three: America. Certainly England could usually hear the other if he was trespassing in his home, but there had been enough times when America managed to stay quiet that England was not going to trust the fact that just because it was quiet America was not here.
"I wasn't joking when I said I'd set your shoes on fire, you git!" England shouted as he began to wander his house, searching for the younger nation. Leaving no door unopened, England began to prepare himself for the sight of a gigantic mess of which the ability to create followed America everywhere.
"Damn it America, stop messing around!" England threw open his bedroom door, dreading that America would be messing with his even more personal things than the objects amongst the rest of his household.
No one.
England frowned. Maybe America was not here. As it was still quiet and he had yet to find anything broken or messed up, that seemed to be the most probable explanation.
But he was alone. They only ever left him when someone else came. When another person, nation, anyone who was not party of the People... they only left when a nonbeliever was present.
"Cenweard? Elva? Llyr?"
He sat down at his back door, waiting for Bean-nighe to come. She would stop by after having to wash someone's clothing, after another death. People were always dying. She would come for tea. It was about time for one of their get-togethers anyway.
It was a long time later when England decided maybe she would not be coming today for tea and he decided to head down to the lake.
It usually did not take that much of his breath to walk to the lake and as England sat there at the water's edge he did not find it any easier to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to relax. The Morgans usually surfaced when he came. He absently rubbed at his chest, wondering why it hurt so much and why his heart was still pounding. They would come, he knew they would.
Or maybe they were at the other end today. Maybe they were busy.
He went back home, knowing at least where the fairies would always be. The ley line, within the fairy ring right in the middle of his yard. Standing in front of it, he knew they would come. They loved dancing so much after all.
He stepped closer, right up to the edge of the circle. Not in, of course. He would never impose himself so much upon them as to step into their circle. They never minded him coming close though.
"H-hello?"
It was early fall, so it should not be so cold, should it? England wiped away more sweat to keep it from falling into his eyes. His missed his forehead twice before finally being able to touch it, trembling hands keeping him from doing as thorough of a job as he wished.
"Where... are y-you?"
He waited. England knew he could be patient. Just because he had long since been unable to deal with America and France and all of the other Nations did not mean he could not be patient to his friends of all people! He could wait.
"Llyr?"
His hands clutched at his mouth, keeping it shut, trying to keep from throwing up, trying to stay standing, trying to keep from screaming and crying and laughing hysterically...
"Hey, England!"
And the feelings were gone. England was left with a sense of fatigue, a sick stomache, and eyes which still hurt. But he could wheel about with the same amount of agitation he always reserved for America.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded. America stopped in front of him with the strangest look on his face. England did not care much, he just did not want America here!
Don't leave me don't leave me don't leave me–
"The meeting?" America asked him.
"What about it?" England asked, hoping that America was not going to ask him to prepare something. Not that was usually something to worry about, but when America did it usually turned out to be a ridiculous object or file or the like. Like a statue made of cheese or something.
"You're late," America said, as if it were obvious. England rolled his eyes.
"What in heavens' name are you speaking about?" he demanded.
"I came to get you because you didn't show up to the meeting! Duh!" America tapped his fist against his own head. Probably to sound out some hollow noise, England had no idea.
"You prat. The meeting is on Thursday," England turned to walk towards his house, unfortunately hearing the sound of America following him.
"Yeah, I know! And since it's Thursday, you're late to the meeting!" England stopped, looking back at the other.
"It is not Thursday," England said plainly. It could not be. It was just Friday. He had an entire week to get things together for the World Conference. Not that he had not already gotten started, but he had a week to put it together...
America laughed. "Are you drunk or something, eyebrows?" He waved a hand in front of England's face. England grabbed it and pushed it aside with a scowl.
"Does it look like I'm drunk?" he exclaimed. He knew he was only going to get angrier with whatever America responded with. It was sort of a loaded question. Especially as it took America a few moments to appraise him and come up with his answer. Like it was not obvious!
"Hangover?" America went on to suggest. England groaned and rubbed his forehead as he tried to abate his fast approaching headache.
"No!"
"Oh." They stood there in silence for a few moments. England proceeded to try and think about this morning. "Well, it's still Thursday."
"I got it!" England snapped at him. Not that it affected America much. England really should have kept him from playing with so many vicious wild animals when he was small. If he had sat in Bubsy's chair and turned out like this, then maybe England would have had a little sympathy for him...
And if America just showed up, where was everyone else? If someone else had not come up and scared them away... then he should have seen someone. Anyone. England could not think of anything he might have done to offend – as they always let him know if he did anything wrong. It was infuriating to not have a clue as to why they were not around.
But there was the meeting to get to. Damn it. How was it Thursday?
"Let's go then," England sighed, pushing his hand back through his hair. His eyes narrowed as America simply stared at him. "What?"
"You goin' looking like that?" America asked, sounding very confused. England looked down at his wrinkled outfit. Letting loose a loud groan he headed towards his house once more, once more hearing America trailing after him. "You sure you're not drunk? You're not coming down with something are you?" And with that America stopped in the grass as England opened the door.
England almost decided not to answer, go inside and lock the door behind him, get dressed in appropriate clothing and go in his own car. Almost.
His shaking hand froze on the door knob, sweaty palms almost making it difficult to turn. He turned to look back at America and felt his breathing steady.
"I'm fine you prat," he retorted. "And just don't stand there – you're ruining my lawn."
"Ruining your lawn! Ha! That's funny!" America laughed and England found it easy to enter the house as America quickly joined him. "I don't get what you say half the time England, you should really update your English!"
England glared at America, hoping it would set the other on fire. Unfortunately it did not do that or anything other sort of debilitating action as the meaning of it was lost on America. "How dare you! You're the one who has slaughtered my language!"
"Hey," America put up his pointer finger, almost as if he took offense. "I perfected it," he said with a smile. England spluttered and America continued. "Anyways, we all came from Africa or something, so we all sort of started out with the same language. Why else is everything derived from Latin or whatever?"
England wanted to head for the stairs. Because America was right in a way (a small way (not with the perfecting, of course)), but (as always) had failed to communicate that correctly. Which he probably could have if he used the English language correctly (and if he could remember his history at all). If he went upstairs he could be ready and away from this and not be missing more of the meeting.
It sounded so simple. It should have been simple.
So why was it when America said he was hungry and headed towards the kitchen England found himself following him?
"...not that you ever have anything edible here," America pulled a face as he stared into the pantry. "But I'm sure I could save something before you get your hands on it!"
"You are going!" England snarled, grabbing America by the arm and pulling him back from grabbing anything. "My food is fantastic! And we don't have time for you to eat me out of house and home!"
"I have plenty of time," America frowned, folding his arms across his chest. "You still have to change. What else do I have to do?" His smile returned quickly. "Ah, come on England! I was only teasing you. Your food isn't that bad."
England tried to respond with some insult, but feeling the sudden tinge of warmth on his cheeks of which he actually knew the origin, he found himself just scowling and turning towards the pantry himself. Hopefully America would just get the hint and leave him alone.
Leave? No no no no no no no no no no god no–
"Not that I was telling you to start cooking for me," America swung him around by the shoulders and began to walk him out of the kitchen. "Look, I have an entire presentation set up ready to prove you wrong when we get the the World Meeting and the longer you take the more likely it might be pushed to next meeting! I spent a lot of time practicing my 'I told you so's... so... I told you so!"
With that he let go of England and pointed at him. England smacked his hand out of the way.
"I don't care what you prepared," England started up the stairs.
"But... I prepared!" America exclaimed after him. "You always say I don't! Not that it's true or anything."
"Preparing isn't usually your problem," England told him. "Your problem is preparing something intelligent."
"And your problem is preparing something tasty."
"You just said my food was good!" England shouted, but with a wave America was returning towards the kitchen.
"England, I said your food 'wasn't that bad'!" America disappeared from sight.
His knees buckled beneath him and England found himself sitting on the staircase. He felt lightheaded and his throat was tightened painfully. It hurt to swallow, he could barely breathe. England found himself practically throwing himself down the stairs and running into the kitchen, where he found America.
And England felt better. Tired, sick, weak... but better. England tried to think about what had overcome him, but his brain was not functioning.
"You kept the coffee maker I gave you!" America said in awe, holding the barely used appliance above his head as if in reverence.
"So you'd stop sending them to me," England lied, grabbing it out of America's hands. America looked at him strangely. Again. Like England was the one doing something weird.
"Why are you following me?" America questioned.
"I'm not following you!" England spluttered. "Where'd you get that idea?"
"Because you keep not going upstairs," America shrugged. England rolled his eyes and sat down at the kitchen table.
Why? Why... why am I following–
"I don't trust you in my house," England responded simply. "Last time you were here you broke one of my old pieces of china. Irreplaceable!"
"But I see you managed to replace it," America pointed towards the china cabinet.
"Buying another piece of china doesn't mean it's replaced!" he exclaimed. America began to snicker.
"Another piece of China!" he bust up laughing.
England groaned. Like no one had heard that one before... Especially China. For that reason alone England could understand why the Nation did not like the European equivalent for his name.
"Alright, alright!" America put up his hands in surrender, still snickering, but backing towards the door. "See you at the meeting, England!" he grinned. "Don't be too late. So don't bake a cake or anything..." A thumbs up.
Then he was gone.
England could not only feel his heart pounding in his chest, he could hear it pounding in his ears. He did his best, trying just to sit there through the cold sweat which broke from him. His eyes darted back and forth across the room. Looking for the spark.
Looking for anyone. Anything.
Looking.
God god god god gods gods gods gods–
"America?" he asked. He asked it, he did not shout it. His voice was not torn from him in a near scream. He was calm, he was not stumbling to reach the door.
"America?"
The world had slowed to a crawling silence. All except for the sound of his heart, beating ever faster.
He could not feel the air in his lungs. Funny, that. One never thinks about feeling the air, until it is suddenly gone. He could not breathe.
He was not crying.
"America!"
He was not screaming.
"Anyone!"
To tell the truth, I have had these two chapters done since before 'Discovering Ludwig', which is the only reason I have anything to put up. Hopefully the amount of time since then has allowed it to be refined to some extent.