England hesitated outside the house in front of him. He was standing on America's porch, half wanting to enter and see how the young country was doing. But the other half wanted to turn away and forget about what is happening. But he couldn't. He couldn't just ignore all the pain and suffering his former colony is going through. England knew what it was like, to hate yourself and be torn in two, to have a Civil War going on inside of you. It isn't fun.
He knocked on the door, still fighting with himself in his head over wheather he should even be here. What if America still hates him? England had barely spoken a word to him since he gained independence and broke away. And Civil Wars can be incredibly personal events for some. England wasn't exactly sure himself what was going on. Would America want his help through this?
When America never answered the door, England opened it hemself and stepped in quietly. He took off his shoes and jacket, setting them aside and he entered. America had to be home. No one had seen him for a long time.
England looked around the house. It was dark and dusty, the lights off and everything looking untouched for a long time. He stepped into the hallway, and called out, "America?" He looked at the pictures as he passed. They where of America, of presidents, of Canada. They all had a layer of dust.
Again, getting no response, he continued on his search. He moved for the stairs, making his way up to the next floor. Maybe America was in his room. He paused outside the closed door, before knocking softly on the wood. "America? Are you in there?" He asked quietly.
There was silence for a long moment, then a voice he could just barely hear asked, "E-England?"
England opened the door and stepped into the room. There, on the bed, was America. He was curled up on his side, facing the wall with the covers thrown over him. England made his way over to the bed and awkwardly sat on the edge of it, setting a hand on the country's shoulder.
America slowly sat up and leaned his back against the wall, hugging his knees close to his chest and staring down instead of meeting England's eyes. America's hair was a mess and his eyes where red and puffy as if he had been crying.
"How are you feeling?" England asked. He knew how rough this could be, and wished that someone had visited him during his hard time.
"It hurts." America answered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "I just want the pain to go away."
"I know you do." England murmured in a supporting way. "But you have to stay strong, this will be all over soon." He wasn't sure what else to say. He knew very little of what is happening in the new country, but it made his heart break thinking of the pain his younger brother had to be going though. He felt guilty, he couldn't help but think that if he had been there for him, treated America better, this whole thing wouldn't have ever happened.
America looked up at him, tears in his eyes. "You don't know that." He said, voice cracking and making England wince. "It hurts so much England! I just want it to go away. I want everyone to stop fighting and hurting each other, but I can't do anything about it! I can't pick a side, because either way I will hurt myself. But how can I fix this from watching from the side lines. I'm being torn in two and I can't take this anymore." America's voice rose in volume and he reached for his sleeves, pulling them up.
England gasped. America's arms where covered in cuts and bruises. He wondered if he even knew the extent of the pain that the boy in front of him was going through.
"It hurts, England. It hurts so much." America whimpered now, not caring how he looked or who saw him. "I just want it to stop. I just want to-to die." He whispered the end quietly, numbly. It was as if he truely had given up. "I just want to be dead, so I can't feel the pain any more. Can't you do that for me England? Can you just end all this suffering for me? Make it go away!"
England moved forward and hugged him. He wasn't sure what else to do. Hearing America speak like that and ask that of him shocked him, scared him. No way could he ever do that to him, no matter how much they had fought in the past.
"I can't do that." He answered, holding him tight in his embrace.
"Please!" America gasped out, tears coming freely now. "Please make it stop England. Do something!"
"This is something you must go through alone." England told him. "I know it hurts. But you have to be strong... You have to be the hero."
"The hero." America said simply, as if he hadn't had the slightest idea of what the word meant. But now he turned and put his head on England's shoulder, returning the hug and grabbing tightly to the back of his shirt. "Just don't leave me." He whispered, tears making England's shirt wet. "Not again."
"I won't." England promised. "I'll stay right here. For even heros need a little help sometimes."