Welcome to the Neighborhood

ENGLAND and AMERICA

"What the bloody hell is that thing?!" England managed to whisper to America before the faceless man noticed him; he wasn't too hard to spot, what with his bright blonde hair obvious against the dark shadows of the forest. The faceless man waved to him, hoping that this blonde man would be his friend, but England had another idea. "We need to leave. Like, now." He violently shook America's shoulder, who was still urinating on the base of a tree. "Dude, can't a dude piss in private?" he said, glaring at England, who was now staring at the faceless man with a horrified expression on his pale face. "Y-you might want to take a look at this…" he whispered; America sighed. "What is it?" he said, zipping up his pants and turning around to look at what England was now trembling at. As soon as his blue eyes caught sight of the faceless man now heading towards him slowly. "Wh-what is that?!" America whispered frantically, grabbing England's hand in a scared attempt to make sure that he wasn't the only one seeing the monster. "That's what I just said, you bloody twat!" England whispered back, taking a step back and squeezing America's hand tightly to the point the circulation cut off. America didn't notice, however, and began to run. "W-wait!" England shouted, being dragged by the arm through the forest and stumbling over fallen logs and nearly falling into a tree. "This is no time to be an idiot, England!" America yelled, his heart racing in his chest and his hands shaking horribly.

Where are you going?

"Don't look back!" England screamed as he watched America slow down. "No, wait, dude, hold on…" The faceless man, who hadn't moved since the twin countries started running, had dropped his hand and merely stood there with his head tilted to the side like a broken doll.

Maybe I should follow them…

Neither England nor America turned around; they just kept running, and running, and running till eventually America's legs gave out. He skidded to a harsh stop face-first into a tree and broke his nose; when he stood up, blood flowed down his face in rapid streams; blood entered his mouth, and he spat a hefty mouthful of it onto the ground. England's heart thudded in his chest, his body ached all over and he wanted to run, but he knew he couldn't leave the younger nation by himself – he would make the mistake of trying to take the faceless monster on. "A-are you alright?!" England asked, grabbing America's hand and pulling it away from his bleeding nose. "Dude, I-I'm alright…" he shakily said, and when he stood up, England could hear his leg snap. America let out a scream of pain, collapsed to his knees and cried. England felt his heart burn at the sight of his little brother in so much agony; he knew the faceless man was gaining on them, so he gently picked America up and decided to make a break for it. He slung the American boy over his shaking shoulders, took one last look behind him – the faceless man was behind a tree, his long fingers wrapping around the bark like a child to a lollipop – and ran for it.

Did I do that? Did I hurt that poor boy?

When he finally opened his eyes, America noticed that they weren't in the same spot anymore. He was, however, painfully aware of the warm blood gushing out of his nose, the agony his broken legs and broken nose were causing him and definitely of the face that his legs were wrapped around England's waist. "D-dude…what are you doing?!" he asked quietly, detangling his hands from the fabric of England's cardigan. "Just shut up!" England snapped in reply. He wasn't about to let America see that his older brother was scared out of his mind. Behind them, the faceless man watched.

They're just like the other blonde man…

From behind his tree, the faceless man reached in his pocket and pulled out the shiny silver pistol the other blonde man had. The barrel was empty, but the handle still felt warm despite the incident having occurred at least two years ago. He didn't know where the other blonde man had gone – he was planning on returning his gun even though he had shot him with it – but he hoped he'd be back soon.

Maybe they went to get the other man? I really don't want to hold onto this anymore…

The faceless man dropped the pistol into the leaves beneath his feet, watching it bounce off the ground like a ball. He tilted his head to the other side, confused.

Why won't anyone listen to me?

BONUS: When they finally reached camp, America and England were panting like dogs, sweating profusely despite the cold night air and were still attached to each other: America's legs were wound around England's hips, his feet positioned just so that he wouldn't accidentally kick England in the crotch when he ran. His nose had stopped bleeding and it still hurt, but not as much as the following incident did.

"Eh…England?" China was the first to speak; France, on the other hand, was laughing too hard to speak. "Ah, Angleterre, do you not realize what you are doing?!" he cackled, clutching at the ruffles on his shirt. England glared. "And what am I doing?" he snapped at the Frenchman. China raised a sleeve to his mouth to prevent laughter from escaping, Russia bit his lip and France continued to laugh. "Well? What's so funny?!" he yelled, his chest heaving from what it endured previously.

"What did you and America do in there?" Russia asked, tilting his head to the side. England felt his heart swell with a second wind. "You'll never believe this! There was this faceless -"

"Oh, we don't believe you."

"Eh…I haven't even said anything yet…" England sighed. China crossed his legs. "Faceless thing? Like a dragon?" he asked, brushing his ponytail off his shoulder. Russia giggled. "A faceless man!" England's eyes grew wide. "How did you know?"

"There have been rumors, da?"

"Rumors?"

"Da!" Russia then broke out in hysterical laughter. "Oh, you and America look so funny!" he laughed, pointing at America's bloody face and England's tattered clothes. China laughed as well. England, on the other hand, was determined on finding out what exactly the rumors were.

"Tell me!"

"Mm…nyet. I like watching you run." England felt his brain go numb. Had everybody else heard that?! Or was he the only one?!

"Wh-what do you mean, run?"

"Huh?" Russia's laughter stopped suddenly and he adjusted his scarf. "I never said anything about running…" He smiled. "I like airplanes better…but…my back disagrees." For added affect, he rubbed his back. England ignored the laughter, ignored the talking and only heard static for the rest of the night.