XX

Here I am 10

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England was not sure how these odd switches came about. If he knew, he would have surely been able to emulate them and make the permanent switch back to where he belonged. However, he had been sleeping quite pleasantly when, suddenly, he had been dunked into cold river water and his clothes were weighed down with water. Someone grabbed his wrist and hauled him up but then, the moment he blinked, he was back in the bedroom, completely drenched, holding Alfred's hand.

He thought that he would die of embarrassment.

Therefore, when morning finally arrived, England had decided to make a point of not looking at Alfred. Even though they had important matters to discuss, he would not yield and look him in the face except when he need to glare at him.

"You mentioned that when he was in high school Arthur was into the occult," he said, keeping his head bowed.

"Huh? Oh yeah, I think so. Want some breakfast?" Alfred was already preparing food while England sat watching from the kitchen table. The fact that Alfred did not seem to share his embarrassment annoyed him slightly.

"Does he still have the books?" England asked, ignoring Alfred's other, pointless, question.

Alfred shook his head. "I imagine that he threw them away. Guess he couldn't stand me teasing him about it," he laughed, but that mirth instantly drained away as he noticed the look on England's face.

"You made fun of him?" England glared at him angrily. He had had enough of America teasing him in his world, but to find that it was a shared trait between all Alfreds annoyed him even more for some reason.

"Not you too," Alfred rolled his eyes. "Besides, Arthur doesn't believe in that junk anymore."

"Then I don't know what to do," he shrugged, loudly sighing. It seemed, no matter what the world, he was doomed to be thwarted be Alfred's idiocy.

Alfred's brows knitted with concern. "Don't be like that England. Can't you do something?" he pleaded.

England glared at him. Now he wanted him to leave. Just when he found out that he was not really the Arthur that he knew. England was annoyed and, though he had no idea why, somewhat stung as well. His pride was hurt. He was sure that was the only reason for the unpleasant sensation in his chest.

"You weren't this eager to have me leave a few nights ago," he muttered bitterly.

"Leaving?" Alfred's eyes widened. England could not believe what he was seeing was really surprise. Surely Alfred was not so much of an idiot to not realise that, in order for Arthur to return, he would have to leave.

"Yes. To get Arthur back we'll have to switch places again."

"You can't stay?"

Yes, Alfred was indeed that much of an idiot.

"Oh yes, I'm sure Arthur would be thrilled to see another version of himself," England marched to the door in a temper. Who would want to share Alfred with anyone else? Worse of all, he could not believe that Alfred was actually suggesting that. For some reason, he felt annoyed on the behalf of his counterpart.

Alfred shook his head, trying to explain. "I want Arthur back, but not because I want you to leave. I want Arthur back because I - "

"Love him, I know," England sighed with forced exasperation.

Alfred winced. It was a wonder how England always took his love and turned it into a weapon, into something he should feel guilty about. "I like you, England. I really do, and it would be awesome if you could stay," he began.

"Save it. You don't have to try and comfort me," he snorted, turning away from him.

"England!" Alfred stopped him. "You said that there's another me in that world. America, right? Why do you hate him so much? I'm sure that he doesn't really hate you. It's just that I – and he too, probably – can be a bit of an idiot sometimes."

"Sometimes?" England raised an eyebrow.

Alfred shrugged and shifted around on his feet like an embarrassed child. "…Don't you want to see him again?"

England shrugged. "Even if I did, that wouldn't matter. He doesn't want to see me," he muttered under his breath.

Alfred frowned. Striding forward, he grabbed England by the arm. "What makes you so sure about that?" he demanded.

"We used to be together…a long time ago. But he left me. It's obvious, isn't it?" England smiled when he saw Alfred's surprised silence. "See? Even you can't say anything to that," he laughed bitterly, shaking Alfred's grip loose.

"I put gum in Arthur's hair once."

"What?"

"I – I know," Alfred stuttered, blushing deep red as England's gaze burned into him, "I was in love."

"So you put gum in his hair?" England stared at him incredulously.

"I stole his notebooks and I used to pelt him with paper," he said, ticking off his fingers, "I did all sorts of horrible things to him but I was in love with him the whole time."

"Putting gum and throwing paper at someone isn't the same as pointing muskets at each other!"

"My point is that people can be in love and still do horrible things to the one they love. I'm sure you're not entirely blameless either, right?"

England turned his gaze away from Alfred. "H – How could you suggest that - "

"C'mon, England," Alfred nudged him, "I know Arthur isn't the person to take things lying down and neither are you, probably. Regardless of who started it, when you got hit you hit back, didn't you? And over time it probably just escalated…"

"Who are you? My psychologist?" he snapped.

Alfred, taking it all in his stride – he was more than used to England's foul temper by now – puffed up his chest proudly. "I'd be an awesome shrink, wouldn't I?"

England clicked his tongue irritably. It was annoying when Alfred never seemed fazed by anything he said. "Well, if you're done psycho-analysing my relationship with America perhaps you could tell me where the nearest garden centre is."

Despite England professed love of gardening, his planned trip to the garden centre was not meant to be a pleasure cruise. He fully intended to make use of the trip to get some supplies and try his hand at magic one last time, despite how stifling this world was when it came to using magic. No wonder he had not seen any fairies. He doubted that they could have lasted very long in such an inhospitable environment.

However, as he moved along the stacks of potted plants, he made a mental note to never go shopping with Alfred ever again.

"England," he tugged at his sleeve, constantly pestering him like an excitable child in a candy store. How could he find the right plants like this?

"England," Alfred tugged at his sleeve harder this time. "You like roses too, don't you?"

"Stop messing around. This is serious," he growled, snatching his arm away.

Alfred smiled, completely oblivious to England's foul mood. "One day, I'm going to buy a place with a garden so that Arthur can grow roses. He really loves flowers, you know?"

England sighed. Of course he knew that. He and Arthur were the same, weren't they? Moving away from Alfred, he skimmed the long shelves hosting various plants, grabbing the ones he needed at once. After years of studying magic he could identify the ones he needed with just a glance.

"Holly, mistletoe, thyme…"

"England, do you really want to go back?" Alfred, catching up with him, whispered close to his ear. His voice was soft and sounded too concerned for England to believe that he was only mocking him.

England glanced over his shoulder as he walked. "What I want is not the issue. This is something that has to be done. I don't expect someone irresponsible like you to understand."

"Will you be happy going back?" Alfred pursued him through the rows of plants.

"Why should you care?"

"Of course I'll care!"he cried, offended that he would think otherwise. "England is England and I know enough about you to know that you deserve to be happy!"

"You don't have to patronise me," England muttered. "Anyway, what do you know? What the hell do you know about anything?"

Alfred caught his wrist, spinning him around where he stood. He grabbed his shoulders, fising him squarely in his gaze. Though England tried to look away there was something about Alfred's serious expression that made it hard to turn away.

"It's okay. It's okay, England. You're just lonely, right? It's okay. You might think you're the only one that's so pathetic but that's not true. Everyone always gets lonely sometimes. I bet it's the same with America too. I bet that he's really lonely."

"What do you know about anything?"

Alfred's expression softened. "It's funny. Because countries as so tough on the outside I would have expected them to be the same on the inside but, actually, you're just like us. It's sort of…reassuring. I guess that's why I like you so much!"

"Alfred…" England's mouth went dry. He honestly did not know what to say anymore. It was both frustrating and sad. No matter how many times he pushed away, Alfred simply came bouncing back with a smile. He wanted to know how he did it. How he managed to have such super human courage and kindness, how he always seemed to know the right thing to say.

"Ah, you said my name!" Alfred clapped his hands together happily. "Most of the time you're calling me a git or a wanker!"

He truly was at a loss… He could not win, not against Alfred.

"Shall we go home?" Alfred offered him his hand.

"To your home, you mean," England corrected him.

"Our home," he insisted, "at least, until you feel like there's somewhere else you belong, you're not going back."

England wondered how he intended to stop him.

Four chapters to go! Will I actually be able to complete this fic? Who knows.