So this is just me writing angst, and is really an excuse for me to write about my headcanon for adrenaline junkie England. This headcanon breaks my heart, it really does, but I suppose all the best ones do. It's like this coupled with emotionally constipated England is a recipe for disaster, and I think that's why I write so much fluff... I gotta compensate for the shit these guys do in my head...

Why do my babies do this to themselves? Why do I do this to my babies?

Enjoy! ;)

Scotland was livid.

Absolutely FUCKING furious!

"How dare you!" He yelled, as loud as his booming voice could go, forcing Wales to rush over to him, and hold him firmly in his place near the now closed door.

England flinched but didn't reply, and Scotland didn't try to fight himself from Wales' grip, so they just stood there in absolute silence. The room was awful, Scotland decided as he waited through the silence, white and clinical, and exactly what a hospital should look like, but Scotland hated it nonetheless. He probably would have hated it less if it was temporarily belonging to someone other than England, but as it stood, he couldn't find anything to like about it.

After a while, he pushed himself back and out of Wales' hold, to lean against the wall with a low growl.

"We've been searching for you for almost an entire fucking week, and now you show up, washed up on the side of the Thames! I can't believe you would-"

"I always liked drowning the least."

England's interruption made all three of the room's other inhabitants snap their heads up toward him, their eyes wide at hearing him speak for the first time since he'd woken up.

"I died when I hit the water, but then I kept reviving and drowning."

Nobody spoke, too intent on hearing what he had to say.

"I drowned thirteen times. I stopped struggling after the sixth."

England sucked in a hard breath through his nose, staring blankly at the ground beside his bed, and seeming to pointedly avoid eye contact with any of his siblings.

"I envy the poor sods who only have to do it once."

Scotland grit his teeth, angry tears coming to his eyes. "If you hate drowning so much why did you throw yourself into a river?" he said, trying his best to sound calm, but sounding just about the opposite.

England sighed, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the sheets that had bunched up around his middle, curling further up into a foetal position, "It's poetic, isn't it?" he laughed darkly, "I died fourteen times in the lifeblood of my capital, all because I couldn't remember what dying felt like."

"I don't care if it's bloody poetic!" Northern Ireland as good as roared, standing up from the chair she'd been occupying, her freckled face going cherry red in anger, "I don't care about any of the fucking stupid shite you can come up with to explain yourself! I, and I'm sure I can speak for all of us here, don't want you going bloody thrill-seeking again! Every time it happens you take to too far! You kill or get killed, and I don't want you to go back down that spiral again!" She had tears in her eyes, but she seemed determined to keep them from falling, "It wouldn't be so bad if it were just you getting hurt, but every time you do this it affects us too, and-" she choked, rubbing at her eyes and hiccupping out a sob, it seemed her tirade was over.

Wales stood up to take her place, "You're a selfish bastard, you know that?" he said calmly, his lip curling in disgust, "You do all this to yourself, kill yourself a thousand times over and you don't even spare a thought that there's someone else in the world who might be affected, be it emotionally or otherwise." He shook his head, "England, you're our brother, to one of us, you're even more than that. I know that you get it in your head that you're alone, that nobody will miss you if you throw yourself in the Thames and float there for a week, but the three of us have been worried sick! Scotland hasn't slept in almost two days! We almost thought you weren't going to wake up at all!" he swallowed, taking a deep breath, "England, look at me."

England let out a shuddering breath, but his eyes remained fixed on the floor.

"I said look at me!"

His eyes flicked up to look at Wales'. Green meeting blue, blank meeting angry.

"Don't you dare do this again," he began, his lip curling again, "You come to any one of us and you tell us what's wrong so we don't have to do all this another time around."

England didn't make any indication that he'd understood or not, he just continued to stare blankly at his brother.

Scotland stood up and strode over to him, his back straight, his shoulders tense, and knelt down beside the bed, taking England's face in his hands, and forcing the blank eyes to focus on him, "England, don't you ever scare us like this again," he growled, "You can't do this to yourself again, it's been less than a century since you did it last time! More importantly," he took a deep breath, touching their foreheads together, "I'm not pretending to hate you anymore, so I'm allowed to really hate you this time, and that's the last thing I want."

England's eyes were still unfocused, but one of his hands travelled up and gripped onto Scotland's, twisting their fingers together haphazardly and awkwardly leaning into Scotland's touch.

Scotland brushed their entwined fingers over England's cheek, "I hate seeing you die."

His voice was so low that only England would have been able to hear it, and hear it he did, because a short sob passed through his lips, "I'm so sorry," he choked, squeezing his eyes shut and Scotland's hand until his fingertips went blue, "Oh god I'm so sorry."

Scotland wrapped him in his arms, tucking his head into England's neck as England did the same, and smelling the deep and pungent smell of the Thames on his skin, "Shh," he soothed, as he felt England gasp out a sob into his hair, "Shh, You're okay now, that's all that matters."

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." England muttered repeatedly, gripping a little tighter with every repetition.

"You bloody better be," Scotland said, a soft, relieved smile turning up his lips. He planted a soft kiss against England's temple, stroking the filthy hair from his forehead, "I don't know if my old heart could take another round of this."

England let out a choked laugh, "How much trouble am I in?"

"From me or your boss?"

"Both."

"Me, I'm a softy, your boss, not so much."

"I- shit. Fuck I'm an idiot," England groaned.

Scotland nodded with a short laugh of his own, "Completely. It's good to see you're coming back to your senses."

England pulled himself out of the hug, wiping his eyes and pressing his and Scotland's foreheads together again, "I'm so sorry," he swallowed, sniffing, "I- I don't know-"

"You like the thrill," Wales interrupted, making the two of them look toward him, "You were always at your happiest when you were an inch from some kind of violent death."

"And then when you can't get an adrenaline high you go for something else," Northern Ireland grumbled, "Remember the sixties? You overdosed twice a week."

"You're a junkie," Wales added with a firm, stiff smile, "What for, it doesn't matter. A life of politics was never going to be right for you, but that doesn't mean throwing yourself off of bridges is the best way to do things."

Scotland squeezed England's hand gently, "Why don't you go and work with the military for a while?" he suggested, "Take a break from politics. The three of us can handle it."

England slumped back down onto the bed, nodding solemnly and closing his eyes, "Okay."

Scotland kissed his forehead one more time before standing, "Are you hungry? You've had nothing but river water for a week."

England shook his head, "I'm just tired."

Scotland's mouth formed a thin line, a frown creasing his features, "Alright, go to sleep, just promise you'll wake up."

England's mouth twitched into a smile, "I promise."

Scotland turned to the other two, "He looks like he's going to be out for a while, do you want to eat, there's a restaurant downstairs."

The two nodded with matching sighs and followed him from the room. Behind them, England frowned and curled up tighter.