Learning To Care All Over Again

Your heart hurts, my friend. It is turning cold and you are now only keeping love in those who's times have long since disappeared.

Do you hate him, or do you love him?

"Arthur, you love me still, right?"

It was America's job as a hero to help someone in need.

That was what he would tell anyone who asked, though it was mostly kept to themselves. The real reason though, was a bit different. The reason he was helping England was because England had once been his big brother just to be his big brother. Helped him for the sake of helping him. Certainly all of that became tainted, turned spoiled, but America had already had his revenge for that. He had already taken his freedom.

This was returning the favour for the days when England was actually there.

Still, none of this changed the fact that after a straight week of dealing with each other America really wanted to kick England's pansy ass back to his little island and wash his hands of the entire mess. There were two reasons why he had not done this yet.

One: the fact that if England was asleep, England did not know he was not there. America would leave the room and have time to himself. Was it worth it when England woke up and started screaming and running around the house? No. No it was not. But America needed this time or else he would be unable to deal with the rest of the day. Twenty four hours a day and seven days equaled too much time spent straight with one person. He had to take a break. England was being so much more irritating than he had ever been before.

Two: it was England. He could not get rid of him and forget about it because it was England. Let alone it was not a nice or heroic thing to do. It was England. He could never just abandon him.

Not that he would ever say that out loud.

Nevertheless, America was already exhausted within a week. He drummed his fingers against the top of England's sleeping head, staring at his laptop which was propped on top of his knee.

-You there?

Of course he was. Canada never bothered to put his messenger to say he was invisible. He said no one other than America bothered him when he was online. America asked why he went online if he did not want America bothering him. Canada never really gave him a good response. And so on they went.

America?-

-No, it's your other brother.

...what do you want?-

-Can I ask a favour of you?

You what?-

Really, why did Canada have to make it sound like he was surprised or something?

-Listen, I need you to house sit for me tomorrow. I have a meeting.

And your house can't sit empty why?-

America bit his lip, thought about it, and decided that telling Canada was as good as telling no one so it really did not matter if he said it or not.

-England's here.

England? Right now?-

-Yep. For the last week.

What the--

America stared at the incomplete message before Canada put in another response.

Sorry about that, someone was just looking over my shoulder. And typing on my keyboard.-

-Aren't you at home?

Yes.-
-Then who is it?

France.-

-What's France doing there?

I asked him to come over. Which he did, when I rubbed Quebec in his face.-

-Still says that isn't his fault?

Yeah.-

-Ouch.

You were saying England's been at your house?-

America was a little less inclined to say anything, now that he knew France could easily look over. Telling Canada was like telling no one, but telling France was easily telling any and all of England's current enemies.

-Can you come?

What's going on? ...you said tomorrow. I can't come tomorrow. I have a meeting.-

-What?

I don't know. YOU CALLED IT.-

Oh yeah. America let out a sigh.

What's going on America?-

-See you tomorrow.

He closed his laptop and looked over at England's tired face. What was he going to do? Take England with him? England would not be allowed to come in and he would be by himself again. America tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as he set his laptop aside.

I just know he can't be left alone. I don't know why. He's been alone before. So what's different? What the hell England? Why can't I help?

"Goddammit," he grumbled, settling in beside the other and tried to go to sleep.

Llyr...

I will open my eyes. They will be here. It has been a joke. Or they were busy, it's not like I'm the centre of their world! Something happened, but they are back to see me. I will open my eyes and everything will be fine.

England opened his eyes. The only one there was America. England groaned, dropping his head into America's arm, which just barely muffled the curse he let loose.

Unlike the last few days, this morning did not seem as tense as usual. England was not thick, he knew it was his fault. He could barely stand being around America's stupidity on occasion, let alone all of the time. He could barely stand being reminded of everything that had gone wrong between them over the years without it being shoved in his face day after day. But what was he to do? He also could not stand being alone.

Physically alone. Not emotionally. Because emotionally, he did feel alone. He could not tell America what was wrong with him and England finally knew what was wrong with him.

He had never been alone before, because They had always been there for him. Now they were gone. Why? Where had they gone? Why had they gone? Without even telling him? He was so worried for them, almost worried enough he could forget that he still selfishly wanted them back for his own benefit. The benefit of being able to go where he liked, of not being alone. Of not having to be in a constant conversation with goddamn America!

It was not America's fault. He had to remember that. America was not the crux of the problem that England was having, he was just unfortunately involved in it, for whatever reason America had for being involved in it. Why?

England was just as lost in that as he was with his other problems. He had considered each of them as he waited for America to wake up, as they once more struggled with the morning routine and then America made him sit down once more and made him eat his wretched cereal.

"Can't I just make oatmeal?"

"No! Just eat it, it's part of a delicious balanced breakfast!"

England shut his eyes, willing himself not to retort anything back at him and stuck his spoon into the mess. Part of... part of a balanced breakfast. Therefore, not the entire breakfast and should not be entirely made out of sugar. And should be delicious, you twat.

He managed a few spoonfuls when he realized that America was not eating, simply watching his own cereal get soggy. That was almost as disgusting as eating it right now. He struggled swallowing and was about to ask what was wrong when America spoke up.

"I have a meeting today."

"Good for you," England sighed, staring down at his bowl. "Glad to hear you are still trying to accomplish things."

"You can't come with."

England quickly stared back up at him, eyes wide. Wait, he knew that America was not just going to abandon him, America was too into his 'heroics' for that, but England had been unable to stop his reaction. Slowly he returned his gaze back down at the table, hoping that he had not, but knowing America had seen it. "I see."

"What do you want to do?" America asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but England could hear the strain in his voice. Funny, that. Look what one man's madness did to another man's method. "I could take you somewhere, if you wanted. Anyone you want to talk with for a few hours or somethin'?"

England thought about that. He had half a mind just to tell America to drop him off in London or something, someplace where there were a lot of people. He could not worry if there were a lot of people around, right? Still, for some reason he did not want to do that. For some reason he felt as if he would rather be left in Manhattan, or Rome, or anywhere else than London.

No, that was not right. He wanted to be in Eden. He wanted to be with the People. America would never understand this, he thought he was insane for even mentioning that they existed. But this was the problem. England cleared his throat.

"America. I..." I cannot see them. I have lost them. It's driving me mad. They were a part of me. Please understand. Please, out of any time, please understand right now that they are real and now they are gone. I understand where you come from, you cannot see them... Is that what happened?

"England?" America questioned, leaning in further across the table. England blinked.

"It's just... I can no longer–"

The doorbell rang, interrupting their conversation once again. America frowned, but rose to his feet immediately.

And England had no choice but to tag along after him.

England was staying with America? He had known that England had not been home, he had gone over to bother the other Nation to find that the house was empty. Very empty, it felt. But to have been at America's house this entire time? No, no! England would not do that, England was too irritable and emotional to deal with a stress like that, even if it had been a few hundred years since America left him.

It was France's disbelief that brought him here. From what he had managed to read off of Canada's computer, it almost read as if America wanted someone to babysit England. Babysit England? Oh, that was priceless! France used to do that all the time, so if that was the case... well, he was up for the job! With a grin, he rang the doorbell.

When the door opened, the first thing he saw was America and the first thing he heard was England.

"No. No. America, close the door."

"Hey France, what d'ya need?"

The tension was so thick France could probably cut it with a knife. It intrigued him. "And hello to you as well, England," he smiled at the shorter Nation, who seemed to be trying to kill him with his eyes. Well, if the man tried his eyebrows, he could probably succeed! "I just came by to see how you were doing, America. Though I almost expected to have missed you to your meeting with Canada."

"Yeah... I was about to leave and get to that," America nodded, though he seemed slightly hesitant about the entire thing. France rose an eyebrow, watching how England was now gripping on to America's shoulder with enough strength that if it were anyone other than America, it would probably hurt. "Uh... maybe you could..."

"Don't. Don't you dare," England hissed into America's ear. France was not certain whether he imagined it, or whether America actually shivered at that.

"England! Stop being so tetchy," France reached over to pry his fingers off of America. "What was it you were asking, America?"

There really was something going on here, France could tell, just from the way America actually looked back to England as if trying to receive an okay. Since when did America last ask England for an allowance to do anything anymore?

"I needed England to watch something for me while I was out, why don't you keep him company?" America asked brightly. France almost laughed, except for the stricken look on England's face. Now that was not how he was supposed to react. England was supposed to get angry. Like he always did.

Still, he was not going to let this opportunity go to waste. "I would love to!"

Which is how he found himself, after America left a bit more quiet than he usually was, in America's house, alone with England.

"Come now, life has not been so cruel that we hate each other again right now!" France smiled from where he had displayed himself on the couch. England was standing, leaning back against the opposite wall, and seemed to not want to look at him.

"I just... know what America's planning."

"America?" France said in mock surprise. "Planning? I thought you were against that!"

"Shove it, France."

France frowned. He had been expecting a bit more argument then that... England was really falling down in the game! "Are you feeling all right, Angleterre? It's the only reason I can think that you would allow yourself to be here... because if America exaggerates it to himself, he probably won't let you go home."

England's shoulders sagged and he even looked a little grateful. Ah, France had nailed the answer immediately! He was good like that. "Yes... I mentioned I was a little under the weather and now I'm suck here until I'm... 'one hundred percent'."

"Well then!" France announced, rising to his feet, stepping to the side of the couch and gesturing to it. "Pour toi!"

England rolled his eyes, but he collapsed into the couch. France frowned, looking over the couch and then putting a hand up to England's head.

"I don't have a fever, git!"

"You're more irritable than usual and I have not even tried to do anything yet," France retorted, staring down at England's face. "You also look exhausted."

"America's made me stay at his house," England reminded him. France nodded. That would certainly do it. It was a surprise England was not in tatters now, though he seemed to be closer to that point than France really thought he should be.

"I'll make you something edible~" He pulled his hand back from England's head. England shut his eyes.

"Nothing you make is edible," the other Nation said, but France ignored it and went to the kitchen. As soon as France entered the doorway to the next room, everything happened at once.

There was a sound as if the table had been kicked across the floor.

A strangled scream.

Finally, England tackled him from behind. France fell forward, unable to keep his balance, and the both of them ended up on the floor.

France groaned and tried to turn over, but could not because of England. "Whu...? You could have just let me make food for myself! Honestly."

England's grip tightened. France pried him off, glaring at the island Nation with irritation. "Qu'est-ce que ça peut bien faire?"

England stared at him as if France had been the one to do something shocking, then looked away. "Wh-whatever," he cleared his throat, getting to his feet, legs shaking. It struck France quickly. England was not telling him something. Something that was worse than he was making him think. America had not been praising himself for taking care of England. England was not sick then... was he?

This is not how England should act.

"What is going on?" France asked, getting back up as well and gripping England's shoulders before the other man could move away. "England. Are you going to tell me?" England did not meet his gaze. "What are you doing?" England continued to stay silent. France loosened his grip on the other with a frown. "Well!"

"G-g-g... g..." England seemed to be stuck around a word, unable to bring it forward. France was not certain, but he was sick of already being trapped in the dark.

"As I'm not appreciated here, I'm leaving."

"No!" England exclaimed, grabbing him before he could move. "No! France, just... just! I'm sorry! Don't go! God, don't leave me here! Don't leave me alone, I can't, I can't, I can't... France, France!"

"Mon chéri! I'm right here!" France protested, unable to even think about saying anything else, too shocked to think. England sobbed into his chest and France found he could not smile.

This is not how my friend should act. He should not be degraded as such, should not be like this.

He stood there awkwardly for a minute before raising England's head up so as to look him in the eyes. "England, s'il te plaît, what is going on?"

England took a few deep breaths, head shaking slowly. "I've just... I don't know. I've been like this... I can't stop myself. Why I'm here... I just..." England swallowed, face down once more as he pulled away.

France pulled his head up once more. His heart ached for him, it did, but there was one thing he could tell immediately that needed to stop. "You know, mon ami," he spoke softly, soothingly. France was a master in this and even the stubborn, creepy, now scared England could not resist. "Don't lie to me. How did this happen?"

"They are gone!" England shrieked. "They've left! I don't know why, I don't know where, they never even hinted at it! But they're gone! I've never just been by myself, it's never just been me! France, I've never been alone!"

England's screams were punctuated with sobs and at the end of his outburst he fell forward. France found himself lacking for any insults as he held England up, arms wrapped around him and comforting his friend once again.

They?

Immediately France knew exactly what England was referring to.

"You stayed!"

"Yes. It would have been good to know what I was in for."

The guilt rolled over him instantly, but America stood his ground. "It... it was England's place to say. Not mine. But I had to go." He blinked, staring around. "Where is he?"

"Sleeping on the couch," France gestured over. America moved to look, but France stopped him by pushing him back against the wall. "What on earth?"

"I dunno!" America shook his head, narrowing his eyes slightly, an arm coming up between them to show his disapproval of France's push. "When I went to bring him to the meeting, he was like this. Freaking out as soon as I left, or if he thought I was going to leave."

"Then you have no idea what might have actually done this to him?" France asked with a sigh, backing away from him. America put his arm back down, shrugging.

"As I said. Hey, you said actually."

"Yes I did," France nodded, looking down at England. America made his way over to look at the Nation as well. France's voice lowered to a whisper. "He says he cannot see them anymore."

America thought about it, but it took a while to catch on to exactly what France meant, or at least what America thought he meant. "Them?" he nearly exclaimed, but he kept his voice down. "You mean those things he thinks exist? Fairies and unicorns? Fucking fantastical fairy tales?"

France chuckled lightly, but it did not last long. "Yes."

"Is it possible someone can be more sane when seeing things that don't exist?" America asked France. France shook his head.

"The question is, America, whether those who cannot see those things are sane in the first place."

As requested:

"Pour toi" = "For you."

"Qu'est-ce que ça peut bien faire" = "What the hell?"

"Mon chéri" = "My dear."

"S'il te plaît" = "Please."

"Mon ami" = "My friend."