The Bane Of Existence

Do you hate him or do you love him?

But... who? Everyone? How can I love, care, for anyone when they hurt me so? Styles?

...Styles?

It was likely that he was intruding. They probably did not want to see him here. Canada shifted slightly as he considered knocking on the door. America said England had gone home and when he had went to see France about the matter he was not home. Not that Canada was exactly certain what the matter was, America would not tell him.

"Sorry Canada, it's not my place to say. I already told someone I shouldn't've. Sorry."

Canada knocked on the door.

America saying sorry was not a common occurrence. Even if Canada was the type to push it (which he was not) he would not have continued to ask.

Which was why he found himself at England's house, hoping that England would open the door, hoping that England would be comfortable with confiding in him what was wrong. It was not as if Canada had missed the strangeness going on with these three for the past month... at the least.

He knocked again.

"Canada?" France looked like he had just gotten out of the shower, towel still around his shoulders to keep his wet hair from soaking his shirt. Canada greeted him with a hesitant smile.

"Hey. I... um... is England in?" Not that he was as certain he wanted to see him now. France having been over did not foretell England in a good mood.

France continued to stare at him as if he were surprised he was still there. Canada did not know whether the to be worried or insulted, but was (as always) leaning toward the former. "He's sleeping," France finally said.

"Oh." At this time of day? Was he all right?

The silence was awkward and Canada was about to just say goodbye and leave when France finally spoke again. "Want to come in?"

"Eh, I don't want to get in the way..." Canada began to shake his head, but France gave him a wide smile, threw his arm around him and pulled him inside.

"You can help me make dinner!" France was saying, not giving Canada the opportunity to protest, as he led him into the kitchen. England's kitchen. Canada felt a slight trepidation about entering it, but found it slightly more amazing that France simply went in without hesitation. The only time he did that was if he had brought over all of his own cooking appliances, which did not seem to be the case. France went rambling on as if nothing was odd and there was only so much of it that Canada could bear to take.

"What is going on, eh?"

France stopped, turning around to look at him. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Is England all right?" France did not respond immediately, looking at him strangely, but Canada forged onward. "I know something is going on... America has been tearing himself up over something and I'm certain it has to be about England. What happened?"

Pushing his hair back, France reached absently back on the counter to grab one of his own hair ties and put it back in its ponytail. "Honestly? I have no idea. The end result is that England has finally decided that his imaginary friends no longer exist and has been suffering from withdrawal symptoms ever since."

France went back to cooking. It took Canada a few more moments to understand what exactly France meant by it all. "He... said that, eh?"

"...non." And Canada understood.

"What do you mean by withdrawal?"

A sigh and France finally stopped trying to distract himself with cooking. "He's autophobic, Canada. Up until now, he has never been alone. At least, been awake and alone."

The revelation was a surprise, but it also struck Canada with something else. Even if England was imagining those creatures... the autophobia would still have affected him, would it not? Or was that how the mind ever worked?

He did not know and it was unlikely he would ever understand.

"I'm going to go," he gestured toward the hall. The unspoken 'see him' was understood by his once-caretaker.

Canada still was not certain what was going on, it would take a lot more thought to comprehend this, but the one thing he already knew was that England should not wake up alone.

Beat.

England's eyes shot open.

Beat.

His heart was pounding in his ears and the lack of any other sounds told him why. There was no one here, he was alone, France had left him that was what all of this was about France had left him to deal with this on his own and there was no one else who would stay not for long and in the end England would be alone oh he would be alone so alone...

England scrambled out of the bed. Think, think straight. Please, just be able to think! Just be able to think! Think!

The only thing that came to mind was that he was alone.

England would not accept that.

"You do not see Them because your people do not see them!"

"No."

England would not accept that either. England still had one last thing he had not tried. There was still one more thing he could do, one thing that would open up the world of the People once more and make him laugh at the ridiculous decisions he had been taking over the past month.

Struggling to keep that thought in mind he got out of his bed and went to the window. His backyard, still as green as ever. There it was. He remembered when he had been told about ley lines, when he had been shown where this one lay and had built his house near it. No matter how the world changed, he continued to stay here and the ley line... this small section of it, lay untouched by present machinery. It would stay like this for as long as England could manage it.

The fairy ring which had grown straight upon it, right in the centre of his yard.

It was his last idea, because whether it succeeded or not, that was it. He would not go on without them. He could not continue to live like this. At the very least he needed to know whether they were all right. They could leave him, they could, but only if they had wanted to. If they were all right with this, then England would let go. But only then.

Opening the window, England nearly dove out of it. Landing on his side, he scrambled to his feet and ran toward it.

Ran and stopped. His bare feet were centimeters away from the mushrooms which outline the space he was so used to watching the fairies dance in. And Llyr, his beautiful Llyr, would entice him to join of which he used to, then did not.

When had he stopped joining her when she asked?

Llyr was waiting for him. He stepped forward and into the ring. He felt himself being taken out of reality.

"I knew you existed!" he laughed, waiting for the fairies to appear. "I knew I would find you!"

Suddenly he remembered where he was.

"And I'm so sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so so sorry."

There was so much pain... there was

there was a light such a bright light there was a scream such a loud scream then he was aware of a hand grabbing him a hand pulling him

pulling him and he was back.

The first thing he was aware of was how cold he was. Sight and sound returned soon afterward.

"Arthur...! Canada! Va chercher une couverture! Ne poses pas de questions! Allez!"

For the life of him he could not translate that as soon as he wanted to. Or at all, in fact. Still shaking, he lowered his face into the shoulder of whoever it was currently holding him. A scruffy chin brushing against the side of his face said it was France. Remembering that it was French he had just heard said so as well and England wondered how it was he could have forgotten.

"Imbécile Angleterre!"

Nothing going through his empty mind could stop the weak chuckle which escaped his throat. What had he been thinking? He had not been thinking, that was the problem. Had France been talking to Canada? It was so very hard to concentrate.

Thankfully, English came back to his hearing and suddenly it became easier to do so. Well, his ability to concentrate was either greatly influenced by that or the blanket which was suddenly wrapped around him.

"Here you go, eh."

"Merci... thank you. Thank you. Help me take him insi–"

"No," England managed to say, struggling against the direction. "I don't want to go inside, I don't... please, I just need to sit down. I just need to sit..."

There was no argument against that. England found himself sitting on the grass, between France and Canada, slightly leaning against the latter as he remembered which way was up.

"What happened?"

"England was being moronic, that is what!" England took in the words, unable to defend himself. Not that he could have, even if he had had the ability. What he had done was probably the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life. The strange thing was... "You should know better! You're the one who kept reminding me about stepping into one of their circles!"

Blinking, England managed to fix his gaze on to France. "...you didn't believe me..."

"Why would I have dragged you from there if I didn't?" France spat. If England did not know any better, he would have said France was furious. But he did know better, France was scared.

For good reason. It struck England how close he came to no longer being here. "I'm so selfish," England whispered, clutching the blanket tighter to himself.

His anger seemed to ebb away quickly, the Frenchman's voice quietened. "We are countries. We really have no choice but to be so."

Only France could remind him of this. It was something America, Canada, or most anyone else could never have done. America... Canada... they were too young. They thought he had gone through harsh times – and they had – but it could not match up to the complete mass of things both he and France had experienced. England hoped Canada, hoped that America (I am so sorry), would never have to. It just was not worth it.

"Are you all right?" Canada's small voice rose into England's ear. He turned to look at the other Nation and nodded, wanting nothing more than to sink away into the folds of the cover which had been brought out to him.

France sighed. "You will just have to learn to live without them. Like everyone else, England, you have to move on."

England stared at him blankly.

"No."

No, he would not move on. Even if he could, he would not. They meant too much to him. Too much. Whether he could learn to be by himself or not was not the issue, had never been the issue.. England simply refused that he would no longer be able to see Them anymore.

And so England prepared himself for one more idea.

England was going to try and find Styles, one last time.

Why he had come instead of France was beyond him. Canada had offered and England had accepted. France had retreated back into the house after some more fussing over England. Which was strange, because between the two England was much more likely to fuss over France, over America, even even Canada... then any of them were likely to fuss over England. England was just the type, he guessed.

For a little while longer they sat out there before England was able to rise to his feet and the both of them started to walk. Canada did not know where they were going, but doubted England did either. They would just move on until England found who he was looking for. Or until England gave in.

He doubted England would ever give in.

"So, who is this Styles, eh?" Canada asked. England was obviously surprised at the question.

"I... this is difficult to explain. I have never had to describe..." England went quiet and thought about how to answer his question. "Styles is... Styles is." England looked back toward him. "I can't describe Styles. Styles has just always been. Always been the hills."

"Is that where we're going?"

"To the hills? Yes. I'm sorry I cannot think of anything more specific."

"No, no! It's okay! I mean," Canada cleared his throat. "It's not like I really understand. But I'd like to try."

What he said was not really that shocking (at least, not to himself) but the look on England's face said that again Canada had said something he was not expecting.

"Thank you, Canada."

"Eh... it's nothing. Whatever I can do."

Hours later, whatever he could do amounted to lingering behind as England climbed up the hill on his own, watching as the elder Nation continued to look around to make certain Canada was in sight.

So Canada made certain he was still in sight.

And waited.

Canada was still there and yet England kept going. They never showed up when someone else was around. It was the only reason he had convinced himself to suggest to Canada to wait for him. The feeling to turn and run was whelming up within him, but he pushed it away. He had to keep moving on. He had to be alone in order to see anyone.

Alone.

His chest hurt, he could not breathe, everything was too hot, too cold, he could not hold still, he was not real, he seemed to see the world through another lens.

You are not alone.

"If I am not alone... where are you?"

Realizing what he had said and how he had said it, England tried again.

"Styles? This is Arthur... where are you?"

Where We have always been, Arthur.

England turned. It was a faint shape, almost as if he were a wisp of air, coloured air, so see-through, so frailly held together by its molecules. Styles was right. Styles was right where Styles had always been. It was just England who was not all the way there.

He was falling out of Their reality.

You have to move on.

"But I don't want to."

We never waited for each other before, Styles rose and walked toward him. What makes you think either of us can now?

England sucked in a breath. Then he shook his head.

"You can't make me."

Styles smiled. What about your people?

"There enough who want to believe. There are enough, or else I would not be thinking like this, would I?"

Are you England, or Arthur speaking?

England lost his train of thought. Styles had never called him England before. None of Them had ever done so. Struggling for an answer, when it came to him it was surprisingly simple. "I... am the same person."

Then... We will be seeing you. Styles was smiling. England felt as if he had accomplished something, but was not certain what. And as reluctant as he was to leave Styles behind, he knew this conversation was over. Struggling for a reason to stay, England forced words from his throat.

"How do I learn to join the rest of them?" It was the first time in his life he could recall Styles looking even mildly surprised.

Join the rest? In what?

"I.." England swallowed. "I just want..."

To be with them? They wait for you, their arms are already open. Just walk toward.

Open arms? That did not seem right. England would have said so, but he found himself walking, walking toward home.

There was no one there and the panic rose within him. Just barely, England managed to suppress it. Though it hurt him so, England managed to keep himself quiet and able to think.

He would learn. To walk alone, to join them, to see Them.

He would learn.

Canada was there, waiting. When they laid eyes on each other, England ran into Canada's open arms.

For those who have not heard, entering a fairy ring is forbidden to mortals. Apparently they are just as forbidden to Nations.

"Va chercher une couverture! Ne poses pas de questions! Allez!" = "Go get a blanket! Don't ask questions! Go!"

The next, and last, chapter takes place many days later. The next chapter will probably be up many days later. Sometime next week.