Disclaimer:
Yeah, don't own.

War is not the answer. The question is war. The answer is yes.

.

Just when the nations got back into the rhythm of peace, yet another war broke out. And this one was beyond all wars.

"World War Two…" England said, clutching the paper. "And just when I thought we had learned something…"

Shaking his head and chuckling dryly, he threw the newspaper in the fireplace, watching the headline blacken and burn to ash.

"Germany Declares War!"

0o0o0o

0o0o0o

America felt like screaming. Again? Another war? There was no way he was going to part of it this time! No matter how many cries for help came, he just couldn't force himself to kill again. To be killed.

Or, at least, that's what he had thought. And then Japan bombed Hawaii. Why? He didn't know. All he knew is that he did, and America was not going to take it.

He'll fight back, full force.

0o0o0o

0o0o0o

And so, England and America found themselves, once again, allies.

Secretly terrified, but outwardly strong, they marched into battle. You'd think by now their relationship would be better, would you not? But alas, the two stubborn nations refused to give in. Telling themselves that the past is nothing but the past, the now is war. And war is fighting, killing, dying.

0o0o0o

0o0o0o

America watched England from across the tent. He was clearly asleep. His breaths were long and even and he was softly whispering nonsense.

It had been a while, since America had seen England with any expression other than one of blood-lust or scowling. Although he would much rather see England smile, peace was just as fulfilling. He would never tell the island nation this, of course. But he could watch, in ever silence.

Always silence.

The war was cold and bloody. It seemed ever lasting. Both nations impressed each other. America used bombs and brute, whereas England used cunning and forethought. Either way, they won the war, and respect. Though neither knew about the latter.

Parties were held, once again. The two nations struggled for conversation, falling to small talk instead.

"Nice weather lately."

"Hm? Oh, yes. Indeed."

0o0o0o

0o0o0o

America was starving, and scared, and alone. He was out of money, he was depressed. Seeing all exits blocked, he decided to turn around and go back. Back on the forbidden road, one of struggle and dangers.

With extreme caution, America traced his steps back to the very beginning. England.

When he reached the somewhat familiar house, he almost chickened out. But he steeled his nerves and continued on, ringing the door bell with what could only be described as desperation. He expected to be turned away, or maybe thrown away. What he didn't expect was a polite voice ringing out. "I'm in the back!"

Fear and fatigue made America's feet feel like led as he traveled around the house, through a black gate and into a beautiful rose garden. England stood in the middle of the bushes, wearing some old jeans and a white t-shirt. His hands were smeared with dirt, as if he had just been tending to the plants.

But America's weary eyes traveled upwards, to his old caretaker's face. A face that held complete surprise. There was no hostility, just…shock.

America wandered closer, very slowly. He felt like crying and laughing all at once. He fell at the feet of England, possibly accomplishing the previously mentioned act.

"A-a-america?" England asked, leaning away from the broken man at his feet.

"England…" America chocked out, looking up at the man. "I'm so sorry…"

Kneeling down, England brought himself face-to-face with his old colony. "America, what brought this on?"

"I'm tired! I'm tired of it all! I'm starving, I'm broken, and I just can't take this loneliness anymore!"

England didn't really know what to say. He had been in this position many times before, though he had never had the courage to do anything about it.

America suddenly looked up, blue eyes locked with green, and all the words either nation had ever wanted to say were said. Through one look.

America grasped the Briton's cheeks, and pressing his face into the man's chest, he sobbed.

Relief

re·lief [ri l f]

(plural re·liefs)

n

1. freeing of somebody from anxiety: a release from anxiety or tension, or the feeling of release, lightness, and cheerfulness that accompanies this

2. factor that ends anxiety: a factor that ends a painful or stressful experience such as pain, hunger, or boredom

Whooo! I wrote this in thirty minutes! So, obviously, it probably has mistakes. I wanted to challenge myself to do this; I wrote two chapters in an hour.

PLEASE tell me if they're terrible, I really just wanted to push my limits, you know?

Thanks all of you who review! You inspire me to try these crazy things!

-Mallory