To Walk Away

You do not suffer the world. That has always been what you have told Us, but it is not true. You belong in this world, never forget this.

You are not alone.

He did not suffer the world. England had promised himself that he would not believe otherwise. He did not suffer the rest of the world. The People were not the only ones he lived for. Styles had reminded him. Styles was always right. England tried to remind himself, tried to calm himself down with the thought. England had other responsibilities, other people to think about. Wherever the People had gone was not his only concern. He had to continue on.

Still, he would wait for them.

Despite the fact he told himself all of these things, it did not change what he was going through. It did not change the fact he was still at America's house, did not change that either France or America had to be in the room with him.

England was certain he was going to go insane, if he was not already. America was America and France was France. Which meant England could only really deal with one of them at a time.

"Breakfast, mon Angleterre. Get up or there'll be none for you."

England found reality swimming around his senses once more and hated it. "You made breakfast again?" He managed to sound disgusted, which he was. Stuck in a house with either France or America's cuisine to eat? England was likely going to gag to death. It was sounding like a pleasant way to go by this point.

"Think of it as the lesser of two evils." The smile in his voice was saying 'the lesser of three' but had decided England knew exactly where he stood on that matter. England almost wanted to make France choke on it all.

Still, the other was leaving the room. France was not like America. America would wait for England to get up. France did not deal with his shit, he simply made England get a move on. And England did, wrapping a robe around him and rushing off to the kitchen after the other.

Was he thankful for this? Probably not as much as he should have been. England was quite aware that neither of them had to deal with this, deal with him. So why? Why was it that they bothered? France made more sense. France had been doing strange things since before they both could understand each other. He would soon as stab England in the back as he would help him around, or maybe it was the other way around.

America just wanted to be a hero, England was certain. There was no other reason that he was being so nice.

Still, England wanted to scream. Eating this food, unable to even go to get dressed without company, unable to do anything without the ability to look over and see someone.

You do not suffer the world.

England would break down at moments when he most wanted to be composed and the reactions differed.

"England, it's gonna be all right! 'Kay? Things are going to get better!"

America, ever the optimist.

"All right? All right?" England kept himself from screaming. America and that monstrous strength of his would keep him still until he had calmed down again, until he did not want to have to see someone because he knew he needed to be alone, but could not.

France, for once, did not pretty up the situation with flowery words. He would reach out to pin his arms to his sides.

"Arthur."

England would struggle.

"Look at me."

And England would. And England would remember to breathe. Then France would let go.

The fact France knew exactly how to deal with him made him want that Nation gone. America he could deal with. He could deal with a false sense of caring, he could deal with the fact America probably just wanted another heroic achievement to his name. What he could not handle was that he felt like he was falling into the position of a Nation who could not stand on his own with France the only one who could accurately deal with him.

He did not want to be cared for by France. Not the one Nation he knew he had always been on such an equal basis with. No, he would not be less than France.

"I don't want to sound selfish."

The words were so quiet, he was not certain if they could be heard. But the other blond looked over at him and England continued.

"But I can't stand him here. I know this is easier on you with someone else around, but... please. There has to be someone else."

America stayed quiet for a few moments. England was acutely aware of how tired he looked.

"France left a few hours ago. He didn't say where he was going. But hey, if you didn't want him around...!" America gave him a grin. "Wanna watch a movie?"

Oh god, a movie. It was going to be a monster movie, England could just feel it in the atmosphere. Still... this would be better than nothing, would it not?

England spent the entire movie, America clinging to him, wondering where France had gone.

Out of all of the Nations, this was the one France really did not want to go talk to. Ce que je ne ferais pas pour toi, Angleterre! Still, out of all of the Nations, this was the one who dealt with England on a more personal level. After all, he had no choice. Scotland only made up a part of the United Kingdom, all of which England would represent.

Knowing that when all of this was done and over with he would be vying for all sorts of payment from England, France took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Wales! Ai tol' ye ta jist..." Scotland had opened the door and noticed his yelling was for naught, but France was pretty sure that he was simply changing the insults in his head. It ran in the family.

"Not Wales," he gave a short wave, wiggling his fingers at the Scot, who simply rolled his eyes. "May I speak with you?"

"Coul' Ai stop ye?" Scotland retorted, folding his arms across his chest. Ah, apparently they were not going to go inside. Well, typical. Not that France really wanted to go inside Scotland's house. "Wha' do ye wan'?"

"I," France clarified, "do not want anything. I am here on behalf of England."

Scotland nearly shut the door, France tried to stop him and simply got his hand crushed. Unable to stop the long whine which escaped him, he retreated slightly, holding his hand up to his mouth and blowing on his hurt fingers.

"First o' all," Scotland opened the door again, "Ye ne'er come 'on be'alf' o' my bro'er. Second, why woul' Ai feel incline' ta do anythin' fer 'im? 'e's the one who–"

"He cannot see those creatures you conditioned him to think he is seeing anymore," France blurted out angrily. Scotland stopped his words right there.

"The creatures Ai conditioned 'im ta ken?" Scotland scoffed. "The creatures ye use' ta see?" It almost seemed like he was going to laugh, but France could tell the moment the rest of it sunk in. "Cannae see them?"

"Did you know he is autophobic?"

Scotland slowly nodded. "Is 'ow Ai found 'im..."

France could see it right now, in his mind's eye. England back then... running to nowhere, unable to keep his mind straight, unable to cope being himself without anyone else around... He grabbed Scotland by his front and pushed him up against the door frame. "Where are they then? You were mad at him and told them to stay away, is that it?"

Scotland pushed back at him, a swipe at his jaw. France reeled back before the strike would collide and Scotland readied himself.

"As if! Ai didn' do anythin'! It's jist like ye, France! Jist like ye, jist like America... Ye ken this!"

The sad thing is, that had been France's first thought. It had been his first thought about those creatures England's family made up. England had joined the world in sanity.

Scotland slammed the door in his face. France kicked at the door. "Tu es betes comme tes pieds! He's your brother! Aren't you going to do something?"

He waited, but Scotland did not respond. Quickly the despair rose within him.

"But what do I do? What do I do?"

He is my friend. I have to do something.

"When did you stop taking responsibility, Scotland?"

France could only hope that struck any sort of chord. At the same time, he knew exactly what Scotland would say to him, so he fled before any sort of retort could be given in retaliation.

"I don't like being on my own either."

England cracked an eye open and looked over toward the table. He tried to do it as if he had not been occasionally doing so every few minutes for the past hour, he tried to do it as if he did not know that America was right over there. Turning his eyes back on to the book he had in hand (a copy of War and Peace that did not look like it had ever been cracked open) England tried to pretend he had been reading the same page he had been trying to get through for the last half hour. "What?"

"It's... depressing," America went on as if it were a normal conversation. "Everyone needs their alone time, but most of the time it does not seem worth it. What does anything you do seem worth when you're the only person who knows about it?"

Is he... trying to... what?

Was America trying to open up to him? It was so anti-America that England knew he must have lost his mind. America was above and beyond everyone else. So much so England was certain America did not know he had put himself on a pedestal that could not understand anyone else's place. "You can't always depend on other people, America. What you do is the most important to you."

"But what's important to anyone is... other people. Maybe not their opinions, but how they are affected. Everyone affects everyone... sooner or later. What I do here will somehow bother Laos in someway or another. What you do will have Madagascar thinking about somethin'."

"Not everything affects everybody."

"Yeah it does."

"America, I don't want to talk about this." England did not need a reminder of being with others or being by himself. That was already shoved in his face all of the time now. He did not need America talking about it as if his subconscious knew better, as if what England was doing made any sort of sense.

"Why no–"

"I just don't!" England snapped. America frowned, but returned his attention to his laptop. Settling back, England tried very hard to read his book.

Still on page one. Why could he not concentrate? He loved to read, but... he only did so at home. Maybe he had to return home to be able to read. The very thought of returning to London set dread upon him. As did the thought of remaining here.

Stay calm. Please, stay calm. What will loosing your calm accomplish? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just stay calm so I don't have to have him look back, just don't let him look over here right now...

The doorbell sounded. England and America simply stared at each other for a few long moments before either moved.

This time, England answered the door. He was not certain how he was able to get to the door before America, or even why he would want to be the first person whoever this was saw. It was either him or America, and England wanted to have the first say as to why he was here. Would he tell the truth? Probably not. Or maybe it would be France and England would be able to keep him from coming in. Maybe...

England opened the door and felt his heart plummet. "Scotland."

"England."

"Oh, hey!" America must have missed the atmosphere, like usual.

"Would you mind?" England tried to sound as calm as possible, but knew he was failing. He wanted to shut the door, but knew that would not work. That would just be avoiding his problem. Again.

"Mind what?" America asked. Scotland chuckled.

"Won't take long, jist wanna talk wit' England 'ere."

"Okay."

"Without you," England managed to not spit out. Finally the atmosphere, after dropping on top of them and forcing its way into ever orifice, affected America. Blinking a few times, he nodded with one of his big grins.

"I'll go make some coffee! You want some coffee, Scotland?"

"No."

"Great! I'll make us all some coffee!" With that said, America was out. England could have thrown something at him, except he was still not certain what in this house constituted as valuable. America freaked out over some odd things. But Scotland had now stepped inside and England closed the door, hoping that this would be settled quickly.

"What do you want?"

"Ai didn' think ye'd fall like the rest o' them, Arthur."

"'Like the rest of them'?" England gaped. "Where do you get off on talking to me like this? What are you..."

He knew. France had told him. It was the only explanation. If America had said something, England would have been able to tell. No one else knew except for the three of them... now four of them. Scotland was the last person England wanted to know. Last? Really? Well, he was on the top of the list for this as well, even past France, even past...

Funny. England did not mind as much that America knew. At least he would stay quiet about it, his heroic honor practically forcing him to. England had that much to calm himself with.

"What do you mean?" he managed to finish his sentence. England still did not understand what it was that Scotland meant by that. Scotland scoffed, folding his arms across his chest.

"It's sudden though, Ai'll give ye tha'. Wha' did ye do?"

"What did I do?" England nearly screamed, though he just managed to keep his voice down. "You make it sound like I did this!"

"Didn't ye?" Scotland grumbled, sounding as if it were mostly to himself. England seethed.

"It's temporary. I'm just tired. That's it." He had never heard anyone give a lamer excuse. Not America, France, Spain, Romano, Germany, Wales, Denmark... There were so many holes in his words, his heart, England was surprised that he was not sinking right now.

"If tha's the case, why are ye not in London?"

I am not in London... I am not home because... I could see them at home... maybe. I am still here because...

"Because he's with me. Got a problem with that?"

England blinked a few times before turning around to look at America. He had not brought any coffee, not even for himself. "What is that supposed to mean?"

The younger Nation did not seem to expect England to retort like that and it took him a moment or two to respond. "That you're here. With me. Uh... what doesn't make sense about it?"

"You are not the reason why I'm here."

As soon as he said it, England regretted it. It might have been true, for the most part, but he should not have said it, not like that. America stared at him with those eyes, those eyes which belied... hurt? In their depths. Or was his tired and strained mine simply making this up to scare himself?

It did not make complete sense. England knew he was out of his mind, right on the fringe. America's blank look was not helping.

"Then why are you here?"

England swallowed. "Because... I needed to be somewhere. With someone. You just happened to show up." And I am grateful, I think. I am. I am grateful, but I am loosing it. Alfred, don't take what I'm saying to heart, please don't do it.

"That's me, Mr. Convenience!" America sounded like he was past it and did not care. Though he should have been grateful for that, all it did was irritate him.

"Convenient my foot! I need to get past this and I can't do that here!"

He hardly knew what he was saying. The door shut and England was only slightly aware that Scotland had left. That bastard, he was going home. England wanted... needed to go home. He needed to get over this, he needed to find the People. So he said so.

"I'm going home."

England felt stupid right after the three words left his lips. He also felt sick. America's arms made their way around his waist and he put his face into England's shoulder.

"What are you–"

"You make no sense!" America suddenly pulled away, glaring at him. "You always wanted to own me, but you never wanted to be around – what's your problem?"

"Says the Nation who wants everything to be about him!" England exclaimed, trying to regain some ground. After all, there was nothing on that subject of which he could say that would prove himself innocent of America's accusation.

"Because you brought me into the rest of this world and then you were never there! You were supposed to be my big brother!"

He remembered the fear of becoming like Scotland.

England pushed him away from him. America turned and left. England was not going to follow him. England was going to leave. England was not going to follow him. England did not want to see his face, that truthful face, who right now spoke only what was true, and saw him so much at fault.... England was not going to follow.

He sobbed.

He was not going to follow.

He gripped at his head.

He was not going to...

England did not remember what he had said, what he had done, what had happened to suddenly have America back in the room. He could not tell what America was saying or where America was taking him.

England was simply aware that the only thing he could feel, hear... was his heart, frantically trying to escape his chest.

"Ce que je ne ferais pas pour toi!" = "The things I do for you!"

"Tu es betes comme tes pieds!" – "You are as smart as the bottom of your feet!" French insult of which I think is rather clever.