Chapter 2. Guess Who?

"Get off."

"Non."

"Get off."

"Non."

"I will pay you good money to get off."

"We are in a global recession, mon ami, you don't have good money."

Britain had made the mistake of taking a nap on the sofa in the living room, stretched out on his belly, with the tv playing to itself. He awoke rather abruptly when France planted himself on the small of his back, feet on the coffee table, laptop perched on his legs. While he could certainly handle himself in a fistfight against the willowy European, he found himself at a disadvantage now, and wasn't able to lift France off. An annoying enough situation, made all the more horrid by the bottom-of-the-barrel scum screaming contest that was The Jeremy Kyle Show starting with abandon on the tv, making his skin crawl the second he heard the hosts voice. The remote was right on the coffee table, but he just couldn't reach it.

"Oh God, it's the American version!" Britain shrieked "France, if you've got any mercy in your lacy, lily scented frog heart, you'll change the fucking channel!"

"Hm. I will think about it."

"I hate you so much!"

England grabbed the pillow from under his head and used it to cover his ears as best he could, but it just couldn't drown out the awful. France seemed to get annoyed by it quickly enough as well, flicking it over to Bargain Hunt on the BBC.

"Thank you, merciful god!"

"You are welcome."

"I wasn't addressing you! And while we're on the subject, GET THE HELL OFF ME."

"Hold still." France ordered as he tapped away at the keyboard "I am using the wifi."

"And why do I have to keep still for that?"

"Because your bubble butt is my making my screen bounce."

"Your bubble head is making your screen bounce!"

France adjusted his weight, pinning England further.

"What are you doing anyway? I thought you were taking some time off work?"

"I am doing research." France told him "They've discovered that low levels of serotonin and melatonin in the brain contribute heavily to the depressive state. I'm finding out how to increase them."

England fell silent. He figured out that the doctor had told France what was wrong with him, even before his little melt-down in the supermarket. He didn't want France knowing. He didn't want anyone knowing. He wanted to ignore it until it went away. Instead, that silky-haired frog bastard had all but moved in with him, filling his 'castle' with the stench of cologne and fru-fru cooking. It was like the Middle Ages all over again.

"Sunlight and exercise." He muttered into the pillow.

"Hm?"

"Sunlight and exercise." England repeated a little louder "Are known to increase serotonin and melatonin in the brain."

France audibly groaned.

"Fucking exercise." He spat, as if he had said a filthy word "Doctors are obsessed with fucking exercise. It's like the fucking leeches all over again. You remember leeches, Britain?"

"Yes."

"Exercise is this millenniums leeches." France declared "There is nothing exercise can do that good food, good friends and l'amore cannot."

"I'll remind you of that 300 years from now when you're as fat as America."

"I will never grow fat, mon ami."

"You think so?"

"There is one type of exercise I do enjoy." France admitted with a coy laugh "And it can involve both good food, good friend and l-"

"Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup!"

France laughed maniacally, wiggling around on the small of Britain's back and continuing his research.

"Oh! Did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

The bustle and white noise of the shopping centre ebbed away naturally around them, the obnoxious pop music in the trendy fashion shop making the grumpy Brit feel most out-of-place. France flipped happily through the tailored shirts on the rack, occasionally holding one up to the waiting Arthur to see if it would suit him. The victim of his efforts was trying to be patient, but his feet were starting to hurt, and he was aching for a hot cup to tea and a scone.

"I had a phone call last night: guess who's getting married!" France sang.

"Uh… Sweden and Finland?" Britain postured.

France pouted, less than impressed.

"They've been married for years, Britain, pay attention!"

"Really?"

"You were at the wedding!"

"Was I drunk?"

"Everyone was, mon cher."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"Guess again."

Britain sighed and wracked his brain.

"Austria and Hungary."

"Are you conscious?!" France shrieked "Do you sleep through life?! They married centuries ago! How do you not know this?!"

"I don't care! I don't know what you lot are constantly doing over there on the continent! And you're making a scene!"

"I am not the one who doesn't know things that are obvious!" France scorned "And try this one on! Green looks good on you!"

Britain snatched the shirt and huffed off to the changing room, his irritant right behind him. Stood behind the curtain, France continued their conversation through the fabric.

"Just so you know, it is Germany who's getting married."

"Germany?" England was honestly surprised "Who's the lucky... girl?"

"Italy."

"Ha?"

Britain stuck his head around the curtain.

"When did that become legal?"

"The law comes into effect November 5th." France knew "And the two are getting married November 7th!"

"Huh…" England said as pulled his head back in "Well, that's not entirely a surprise. Germany is a good fit for Italy."

"You think so?"

"Well, yes." He thought aloud "Germany is sensible, financially stable, emotionally sturdy. I'm not surprised that Italy sunk his claws into him at the first opportunity."

"Mon Dieu, you are so unromantic! They've been in love for a very long time, and finally their love is being recognised by the law, for all to see! Is that not tres magnifique?"

"Yes, yes, that too." Britain agreed as he pulled the curtain back "How's this?"

"Ugh, no, that collar is far too high! You looked like you stepped out of the 1700's. Try the blue one."

With a grimace, Britain pulled the curtain back closed.

"Anyway, I am glad you are happy for them, because we're going to the wedding." France informed him.

"We?" Britain clarified.

"Oui, we. Even if I have to drag you."

"Don't be so melodramatic. If I'm invited, I'll go."

"You are invited." France confirmed "Prussia is inviting everyone in the entire world." He laughed "And I don't just mean nations."

"Oh? That's actually a little surprising. Wasn't Prussia formed by the Teutonic Knights? Doesn't two men getting married go against his faith?"

"Oui, but times have changed, mon ami, Prussia is just happy his stuffy little brother has found love."

The curtain withdrew again.

"Good lord! You look like a little American. Take that off immédiatement!"

Britain grumbled and pulled it back.

"Try the white one." France ordered.

"What happened to 'all your shirts are white, get some colour in your closet!'?"

"I over estimated your ability to wear clothes."

"Says the KING of getting naked!"

"I'm sorry, was that an insult?" France laughed.

Britain threw the curtain open, cheeks ablaze - he knew that laugh.

"Don't you dare get naked in the middle of the Westfield Centre!"

"Why not? It would brighten up the otherwise dreary day of you morose English moles to gaze upon such beauty!"

Before France even had half the buttons on his shirt undone, they were kicked out of the shop. Properly escorted, by security, to the exit. France had forgotten how prudish the English were.

"Stop fucking laughing!" Britain snapped at him "It's not funny!"

"I cannot help it, mon ami." France managed to choke between laughs "Come, let us go to Oxford Street instead."

"Let's not!"

Britain fell asleep early. France noticed that he slept a lot. Britain's head lay in France's lap, late night tv playing quietly in the background as France continued his research from earlier. The internet was a mine of contrasting and completely useless information, much of which just served to make him mad ('get over it'? Oh, is that all he needs to do? Imbecile!), but he continued anyway, at a loss of any other source of information. What disturbed him most, without question, were the pro-suicide sites he came across, urging the depressed and vulnerable to end their lives in terrible ways. It made him sad – the lives of the people were short enough… He was glad Britain was so old fashioned, nose stuck in musty books about fairies and magic swords coming out of lakes, rather than this vitriol.

He tried to avoid the statistics of how many people with depression committed suicide, partly because they were wildly unreliable, partly because he just didn't want to think about it – whenever he saw those green eyes and mussy blond thatch, he could still see the boy Britain had been, centuries ago, cape clad and covered in dirt, chasing after France with bare feet... He couldn't help, though, but check Britain's forearms for the tell-tale marks. After everything he had read online, the thought wouldn't leave him alone. To his great, great relief, there were no marks on his pale skin, just the usual freckles and faded scars from wars long ago. France wanted to believe that Britain's condition wasn't that bad, despite what the doctor had said. There was nothing big about his friend that suggested he was sick. Just a lot of little things. A lot of little things…

The Skype started to ring, startling France, who hurried to silence it, turning the volume right down.

"Francy-pants!" Prussia screamed in his usual fervour "It is I, the awesome PRUSSIA! Don't tell me you are still hanging out in England with that stick-in-the-mud!"

"Keep your voice down, it is nearly midnight here!" France scolded his friend, quietly but firmly "And yes I am, and he is sleeping, so kindly hush!"

"Whaaa? Why are you still there? Isn't that loser over his cold yet?" Prussia continued, albeit more quietly.

"Mon ami, it is not that simple…"

Seeing France's sombre reaction, Prussia sobered up a little.

"So West was right." He reasoned "There is something seriously wrong with him."

"Oui." France admitted "It is…"

He checked to make sure Britain was still sleeping, lowering his voice a little anyway.

"It is depression, Prussia." He revealed.

"Is that it?" he asked, looking almost disappointed.

"What do you mean, 'is that it?' Isn't that enough?"

"Lots of people have a depression, Francey, we're in a global recession! Besides, his economy is coming out of this pretty well. If anyone has reason to be depressed, it's-"

"The United Kingdom is not depressed, Britain has depression!" France clarified, a little angrily "It is not the same thing!"

"What, like… just him?"

"Oui, Prussia, just him." France sighed, tired after a long day, and stroked England's thatch hair gently "I am staying with him for a while, until he feels better. The doctor was pretty clear that he shouldn't be alone for a while - it's hard enough trying to get him to take his medication."

Prussia's expression was hard to read – he was serious, and clearly thinking, perhaps a tad uncomfortable. It seemed to take him forever to speak.

"You are – you both – coming to the wedding, right?"

"Oui. I am booking the flight tomorrow."

"Make sure you do!" he ordered "I, the AWSOME Prussia, have things to do! I'll talk to you soon, Francy-pants!"

The Skype disconnected, leaving him feeling a little shafted at its suddenness. France noted then how cold it had become, and gently woke Britain to put him to bed properly.

A short chapter where not much happened. For those who made it this far, I'll give you a sneak peak of the next chapter - the revelation of what Prussia was really thinking - and it may not be what you think!