Flash.

Lightning came from outside the window, lighting up the room to reveal a terrified America, hiding in his blankets and clinging tightly to his teddy bear.

Boom.

Thunder shook the world. America whimpered.

The curtains began to dance, and eerie, ghostly movement.

America screamed.

Something began to rattle.

America let out a weak sob.

"No way," He whispered, trying to calm himself. "I'm the hero, I shouldn't get scared-"

Another bolt of lightning lit up the world, revealing a grotesque mass near the edge of his bed.

America let out another scream, this one louder than the first. He leapt off his bed and ran towards the door, charging straight through it. Pain stung him, splinters of wood embedded into his skin, but he ignored it. He was so scared, he hadn't been this scared since he was at the human age of five, and all because of a dumb video game…

He wished life was as easy and simple as it was back then. No politics, only soothing voices telling him it was going to be okay. No hatred, only running in open fields, learning the languages of the many immigrants that came into him.

But he was grown up now, a mighty nation. Some things hadn't changed, like how he was the land of opportunity, but others had. He couldn't go running back to England with every problem. He loved the ability to make his own decisions, but sometimes he wished he hadn't cut all of his ties to England. After all, they were still humans, and couldn't they have stayed brothers in a human sense?

Somehow, his thoughts must have guided his feet, because he found himself in front of England's door. He almost instantly turned back (England would be super pissed if he was woken up at 3:00 AM), but something stopped him. Something from the olden days, when he used to get scared during thunderstorms…

Tentatively, America knocked.

"Bloody hell!" An angry voice came from inside, "Who is it at this ungodly hour?"

"Drat," America thought, panicking. "This was a sucksy idea."

He moved to leave, but the door opened, revealing a disgruntled England whose expression immediately turn to concern at the sight of America.

"What happened to you?" England demanded, his emerald eyes flashing.

America smiled sheepishly. "I, uh, kinda ran right through my door-"

"You idiot!" England growled.

"But shouldn't they have closed up-"

"No! The splinters of wood are keeping it from healing! Hurry up, come in, I need to get it fixed!"

England moved to let America in.

As expected, England's room was weirdly neat, with alphabeticalized bookshelves and a elegant table and chair, probably for tea time or whatever.

"Sit down on the bed," England snapped.

America hurriedly rushed to the bed, tripping over England's sleeping cat in the process. Sir Patches let out a loud yowl of protest, and scratched America's bare ankle angrily. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. America yelped, nearly bursting into tears and swatting at the cat feebly.

"My Lord," England muttered, "You haven't changed one bit."

"Huh?" America stared at him blankly, plopping down on the bed.

England scowled. "Nothing."

Grabbing a first-aid kit from his closet, he sat down next to America and began to tend to his splinters.

"Ow!" America whimpered as England pulled out the first splinter. "It hurts!"

"Of course it hurts," England snapped, "If you hadn't been an idiot and ran straight through a door, this wouldn't have happened. Now be quiet so I can fix you up properly."

America nodded meekly. He remained quiet for a while, as England plucked splinters out. His mind was brewing all the while, wondering why the heck England wasn't super pissed, just his normal grumpy, and maybe a little… motherly?

"You don't mind?" America asked randomly, breaking the silence.

England shot him a confused and exasperated look.

"Uh, that I bothered you at 3:00 AM and stuff," America hurriedly added.

England sighed, his emerald eyes stormy, about to answer, when another bolt of lightning flashed. Shortly afterwards, thunder boomed. America screamed, immediately leaping into England's lap and clinging onto him.

America almost immediately regained his senses, and was about to leap away. Then, he felt a warm hand patting his hair. It was warm and gentle, calming him.

"You really haven't changed, have you? Well, I suppose I haven't changed much either. Still a tad too prideful." England let out a bitter chuckle. "You asked me why I don't mind. Well, no matter what happens, you will always be my little brother, and I will always be here if you need me. That will never change, no matter what happens in this world."