A House Filled With Straw

"England?"

He would tell anyone that it was his job, he was the hero after all and it sounded like someone was in distress! In fact, it was the only reason he could react so quickly. Otherwise he might have spent too long outside wondering how on earth it could be England screaming like that when he had just left him and England was fine and dandy, just like he always was...

America turned and went back in.

England grabbed him by the front of his jacket and America prepared for the tirade of insults and lectures that usually followed such a gesture. What he was not expecting was to see England crying.

England did not cry! Not unless he was drunk anyway. Maybe he had lied and he had been drunk all along. Then it would be strange that he had not burst into tears before now.

But even when crying England would still be angry at him. Even more angry at him than usual. Not clinging to him., not...

It was weird. America pulled England up by grabbing him under his arms to pull him back up straight. "Er... you okay?"

England shoved himself away, which America let him do. Albeit with confusion.

"I'm fine," England wiped his face with his sleeve. "I just... just..."

"Maybe you should sit down?" America suggested. "I think you were just over exposed with my awesomeness!"

England sat down on the floor. No shouting, no insults, no nothing.

It was right then America decided something was seriously wrong with him. He had not even known it was Thursday! As much as America had been willing to think England was lying about being drunk... this was not England being drunk. England might do some of these things while drunk, but not while having interludes being his normal irritated self.

"England..." America knelt down in front of him and put a hand on his forehead. "You're all sweaty. And hot. Um, in a sweaty way, I mean. Not in the other way."

England swatted America's hand away. "Go... go..." His breathing quickened and his hands came up to grip his hair.

"England, what's wrong?" America squatted down. England got back up to his feet.

"I'm fine!" England announced to the room.

"You're fooling a total of zero people," America informed him as England headed back towards the kitchen. He was about to walk through the door when he just stopped. The older whipped his head around until he spotted America before looking away.

Something was really wrong.

"Look..." America began, rising back to his feet. "Uh... really England, what's going on?"

England's head fell into his hands as he pushed them both back through his hair. "I don't know." It was the steadiest England had sounded all day. America had no idea what to make of it.

"Right. Let's think about this logically."

England snorted. "Rationally? You?"

"Hey! The only reason nothing gets accomplished is when I try and do something logically, everyone just makes fun of me!"

England had opened his mouth for a retort, but nothing came out. America stared at him for a little bit before stepping back outside the door. He watched as England's eyes widened, the door shutting. He watched as England starting running to the door.

Then he let it hang open. And England stopped, panting and shaking although he had barely run at all.

"...seriously, England... what's wrong?"

"I don't know," England repeated, right before he passed out.

America managed to run and catch him before his head hit the ground.

England knew something was terribly wrong when he opened his eyes to see that horrible red, white, and blue ensemble above his head. Not that red, white, and blue was not a common colour choice between all the Nations, but the fact that there were stripes and stars ended any dreams of him being somewhere else.

He was at America's house. What the hell.

But America was not there.

England shot up off the couch, head wheeling about both in his mind and physically, trying to catch sight of anyone, anything. He tried to stay on his feet, but he was stumbling and in doing so he simply continued moving forward until he caught himself on the wall.

Stay calm. I don't even want to be here. You want to leave, right? Yes, me, I want to leave. There isn't nothing not going on wrong, I am just fine, what is going on I can't think why is my mind stopping right about here where is everyone oh my god I'm alone I'll be alone I'll always be alone no one cares anymore I am going to loose–

England was aware that his mouth was dry, his throat hurt, his face was wet, and his head was currently buried into a brown leather jacket with his arms wrapped around the person who was wearing it.

"...come on. Let's sit down, 'kay? Everything's okay. Why don't I get you somethin' to... er, come to the kitchen with me! You can sit down in there and I'll make us something to eat!"

Which is how he found himself sitting in America's kitchen, having to smell cooking hamburgers, with more than an occasional glance over toward the other to make certain he was still there. He kept looking, even though he could hear America well enough to know that he was there.

"I could take you to the doctor, if you want. They'd be able to figure out what's wrong with you." England gripped at his hair, trying to keep himself from pulling it out at America's words. If that were the case, America would have to be taking him to a psychologist, because England knew for certain that whatever was going on with him was only manifesting itself this way. Because he was here, because America was here, England could think. He could finally think.

He had missed six days. England remembered it being Friday and now it was Thursday. What happened to those last six days? More importantly... what had happened on Friday? He went to see Styles.

He went to see Styles.

"This is not funny. Play hard to get, but I need to speak with you. Play hard to... Play... Play hard to get, but–"

He had been unable to find him. England could not even remember where he had went to find him. England could not even remember what Styles looked like, even though he remembered his touch, his voice, his words, so much...

"England?"

"I'm not going to a doctor," England retorted, fingers pressed against his temples. "I am..." America was staring at him, waiting for his answer. England might almost have thought it was making him self conscious, but he was too busy trying to comprehend the fact hat America was listening to him. "Trying to think."

"Well don't try too hard," America blew Nantucket out of his face and went back to his hamburgers. England tried to set America on fire with his mind, but failed. "You'll pass out again or something."

"I never 'pass out'!" England retorted. America rose an eyebrow as he looked back at him.

"Uh... yeah... sure."

"What's that supposed to mean?" England demanded as America began to pull things out of the refrigerator.

"Not much. What do you want on your hamburger?"

"Nothing! You answer my question!"

"Answer mine first!"

"I asked you first!"

"But I told you to answer mine first!" America crowed his response. England glowered at him.

"I don't want a hamburger. I'm not hungry." It was true enough. Even if America was not the one cooking, or even if America was cooking something that England could bare to tolerate, he just was not hungry.

America set a plate down in front of him, with the hamburger, bun, assorted vegetables and condiments on the side. "Well–"

They were saved from further argument by the doorbell. America frowned at him and then turned to answer the door. In a matter of moments England found himself on his feet, following him as he felt his heart pound in his throat. It settled down when they had both stopped in the same room. It was even better when the door opened and there was another person.

England was beginning to understand what was happening to him.

Just not why.

"Japan! What's up?" America asked bluntly. England winced, wishing suddenly he was out of sight. That required leaving though and his feet were suddenly rooted to the ground. Let alone it was too late, Japan had already seen him.

"You never returned to the meeting," Japan mentioned slowly, looking between the two of them. England could not read the expression on his face. What was he thinking? England found his face burning. He could not tell Japan what was happening, he could not tell anyone! He had yet to understand it enough to explain it to America, who for some reason had brought him here!

Was I just unconscious those six days? How did I loose six days?

"We... uh, just decided not to go!" America said cheerfully. England nearly choked. Japan would not believe that, England knew. Still... England almost found himself wanting to forgive America for everything, just for the attempt.

Japan was not the type to pry however, and although England had to look away from Japan's gaze, the smaller Nation nodded. "If you say so, America-san." He rifled through his briefcase and brought out two USB drives. "I made thorough notes... I thought you might want to peruse them, so I made you both copies.

"Thank you." England took it, not certain what to say. "You didn't have to–"

"Thanks Japan!" America exclaimed, looking at the one he had snatched up. "You really are a lifesaver!"

The next look on Japan's face England could decipher. He was certain it meant something like 'then you shouldn't be messing around in the water without bringing your own life raft!' Whether it was because Japan was simply annoyed at them for doing this, or another reason, England was not certain. Japan did not have to go through the trouble he did, so there had to be something else.

He wondered about the friends he had made when visiting Japan's country. It had been so long since he had seen them. Would they remember him? Would he be able to find them where they had gone into the mountains?

Would he still be able to see them?

No no no no no no this can't be happening not after everything what have I done wrong–

"What is happening?"

"Ah– see you later Japan!"

England was slightly aware that America had kicked the door shut and was now placing him on the couch. His breathing was erratic and was the first thing he tried to fix. Which was when he realized what kind of a fool he was making out of himself, the bother he was being, and the fact that America was not complaining.

"I'll go get you some– er... never mind..." America sat there next to him, staring at the wall and occasionally looking over at him.

America was awkward, but not complaining. England did not understand it.

Which was when he realized he was crying too.

"Fuck!" England barked, causing America to jump. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know?" America commented as England wiped his face off with his sleeve, only pausing so as to glare at him. "Well? It's true!"

"Please... just don't rub it in," England grumbled back.

They sat in relative quiet for a while. England almost found himself mentioning the fact that America's hamburger was probably cold in the kitchen by now, but at the thought that America might rush out to get it and leave him here made his stomache feel cold and made his jaw clench shut.

America turned on the television to distract himself. England tried to watch it as well (despite the fact it was that wretched sport America called football), but even in trying he could not force himself to at least pretend to be interested.

He had gone to see Styles. When he had not found Styles, England had gone home.

England could not quite remember what had happened then. Had something happened once he had gone home?

For an hour or so, they did not move. America was falling asleep, England could tell because the taller Nation kept leaning into him and England, though at first wanting to protest, just let America rest his head on his shoulder.

America had a good idea. He was so tired...

"I missed this," America said quietly into England's shoulder.

England did not respond, letting his mind drift off.

"England? England!"

"Whu..." England opened his eyes and glared at the flustered look of the American. It never took America long to change his entire mood. Now who was the Nation who seemed like he was on PMS? Goddamn France... "What is it?"

"Don't fall asleep on me," America whined.

"How do you live by yourself." England shook his head, not really asking it because he did not want to know the answer. America mumbled something, but England did not quite catch it, nor did he care to. Everything just seemed so strange.

Yet, it was comforting enough that he could fall asleep and dream about a world that was normal.

You readers luck out, for I always tend to want to update whatever has the most reviews in the latest chapter.