EnglandXAmerica

A young America stood up from the table and slammed his hands down on it. His eyebrows creased and he eyes glaring at England, "What do you mean you're gonna raise the taxes, my people can barely pay what you raised last time!" he was extremely upset, first the mail tax, the tea tax and he continued to raise he taxes. He said, "I'm sick and tired of your bullshit, I'm going to become independent and I'll have my own nation with my own taxes!"
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America woke up in cold sweat and was panting until he realized it was just a dream. He grabbed his glasses from the drawer that was next to him and put them on and looked at the time, "5:30 oh man are you serious?" these dreams were becoming more and more frequent and he had no idea why, but they were all about England and the revolution. Some had scenes from when he first claimed independence, others were at some of the battles and the Boston Tea party, and the ones that he dreaded the most were of the last battle and he had his gun raised at England and England came chagrining and was disarmed. He hated the moment when England fell to the floor and cried, it broke his heart but he can honestly say he doesn't regret becoming independent but he regrets making England cry so much. He scratched his head and pulled the covers off of himself, "No point going back to bed, I have a meeting at 9." these dreams, he wished they would just stop reminding him. He showered and watched T.V until it was time to go; he would pick up breakfast on the way.

Once at the World meeting conference room, he was about half an hour early, "I'm totally the first one here." he grinned and said to himself. He opened the door and expected to see room empty but fate had a different plan.

A very put off Arthur Kirkland had been awoken that morning to nightmares. He'd been plagued with them few weeks on end now. He sat upwards, jolting from his sleep and remembering nothing but darkness and blood--so much blood. There were things he didn't understand; dark things were lurking around the corner in his country and he had no idea what was coming. It was the same chill he'd felt when his pirate days ended and the same throbbing pain he'd noticed before the Revolutionary war had begun. Glancing at the clock and noticing it was around four in the morning he groaned. He knew there was no point in trying to sleep. He'd only have more nightmares.

He felt a desperate wave of fear, frustration and depression overwhelm him. He was terrified of closing his eyes, terrified of letting anyone know of his weakness and above all, terrified of what all this might mean. He groggily raised himself from his bed and got ready for the meeting. It didn't start until nine, but he figured there was no harm in arriving early. England was the one hosting this conference after all. After getting ready he began on his way to the meeting hall and sat down in his chair at the head of the table. He glanced around. The room was still dark and gloomy from lack of sunlight and he quickly got up to flip on a light.

The dark only brought him memories of the nightmares he'd spent so much time trying to forget. He could feel himself slipping; though he wasn't sure in what way. Or perhaps he was falling? A wave of helplessness washed over him and he decided it best to stop thinking about such things. He moved to the refreshment area he'd had set up for the others when they arrived--he was nothing if not a gentleman-- and grabbed a plate, loading it with food. After finishing eating he stood to place the plate to the side in a 'dirty' pile. All of the sudden, it slipped through his fingers and shattered at his feet. Though he should have ignored it, it seemed like some sort of ominous symbol to the Englishman. He bent over to pick up the shards, lest anyone step on them during the meeting.

He hissed and yanked his hand back as a shard of the plate sliced his finger and he cradled his injured hand. He bit his lip and an odd thought crossed his mind. The only thing Arthur knew in that very second was that he sharp pain of that shard had erased his worries for just a moment, making him focus on the stinging pain in his hand. He picked up the shard carefully and held it to his wrist. Slowly, tentatively, he made a clean, straight slice down his white wrist. He watched in fascination as a brilliant red blossomed and dripped down, contrasting beautifully with his pale skin. He sucked in a breath and made another. And another. And another until he began to lose count.

America held the Mc Donald's bag to his side and pushed the door to the meeting room open. He couldn't help but continue to reply the past memories that had appeared in his dreams in his head, over and over. He saw that there was no one there and a wave of relief washed over him, he wanted to be alone in his thoughts. He heard some shuffling on the floor somewhere and stopped in his tracks, there was someone here. He looked around and couldn't see anyone but he heard then, "Hello?" he called out.

The dreams came and left but they were always memories more than dream, the Vietnam War, the Korean War, the Cold War, you name it, it showed him how unliked he was. He continued to grin and bare through it hoping that people liked him more if he smiled and was care free. It just seemed that people were more annoyed than anything, he didn't know what other approach to take.

England was much too lost in his thoughts and his hand was moving mechanically, making the cuts on his arms. Gradually, they grew less organized. The clustered and crossed at different lengths. He found himself gasping in lightly, feeling some sort of pleasure--though not sexual--from this act of self mutilation. He was so immersed in his act that he didn't even hear the door the the World meeting hall open. He simply kept going, a routine motion. He let his eyes glaze over as he continued and found himself trapped in his head. As if he were inside himself looking outward. Or maybe he was standing outside himself looking in?

Arthur jolted when he heard that familiar, boisterous voice call out. He quickly froze and did his best not to make a sound; maybe the American who had entered the room would go away? He knew, logically speaking, this made no sense because if America was here, then he was here for the meeting and it was unlikely he's leave. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited, What the hell is he doing here so early?

America looked around the room, but again saw no one. He shrugged it off and considered the fact that it might be part of his imagination. He sat down and pulled out a hamburger out of he bag that he had brought with him, but his thoughts were fully engrossed in the painful memories he was forced to relive at night. He hadn't touched his food and heard more shifting noises and was snapped out of his thinking, hamburger in his hand without a single bite. He looked over to the area he thought he heard the sound come from and didn't see anyone, but he knew he heard something. He called out, "Anyone there?" sitting at the table, did people really dislike him enough for them to try and avoid him completely and hiding to avoid a conversation? Did people find him that annoying? He shrugged it off and let out a chuckled, "Come on man, I don't bite."

England sighed softly from where he was right behind the blonde American. Really, the man was blind to have not seen him right behind his own chair. He shifted again and gave a soft cough, not really caring because he knew that he'd be found out eventually. He said softly, "H-Here." He was still covered in blood, the shard still held in his hand. He hoped America would be his usual dense self and think that this was all an accident.

He looked up at the blonde man and realized he'd been crying. He didn't bother wiping the tears away. He hoped the American wrote it off as nothing more than tears from the pain of the wounds on his wrist. He started to feel a little dizzy and swayed where he sat. Arthur sighed again.

america shifted his view to where the voice came from, he recognized it anywhere and mentally curse in his head, of all people England. He said, "Hey du--holy shit! You okay?" seeing the blood and the shattered plate instantly going over and crouching down to his level , "You sure are turning into a klutz in your old age." he joked, 'There's a lot of blood' he noted and notice some tears stains outstretching a hand to help the Brit up he said, "I'm gonna go get the first aid don't move Iggy." he smiled and got up and went to search for it, each meeting hall had one the meetings could get quite aggressive. He knew the Englishman liked to get here early but he wondered how long he had been there.

England sighs in relief, glad the American didn't question how he got cut multiple times on the same arm by dropping one plate. He ran a hand through his hair and watched the other disappear from the room. He swallowed the rest of his tears and tried to reason, He's a total ditz; He won't notice a thing out of place. Arthur calmed himself with these which he held to be facts, not just hopes. He knew the blonde was too dense to figure anything like this out.

He was too blissfully unaware of the darkening pain surrounding his old emerald-eyed caretaker. He watched as America bustled back into the room and held his arm out so the blonde could patch him up. He couldn't seem to look into those beautiful blue orbs that he knew were watching him.

America shuffled around the cabinet that were around the room, which were usually filled with pointless things and grinned as he spotted the first aid kit, he didn't bother to look at England's wounds, just noticed that there a lot of blood and a broken plate. He set the kit on the table and began to pull bandages out, "Come over here so the hero can fix you up." he finally got a good view of the wounds and noticed that they were a bit too precise to have been an accident, but shook suspicions from his mind/

England allowed America to patch him up and did his utmost best to keep a good poker face. He avoided the other man's eyes all the same and found it unnerving that America kept examining his wounds. He shook it off though, because the blonde in front of him was clearly not going to put two and two together to get four. And if he tried, he'd probably come up with three. He kept trying to assure himself of this. He knew the American was dense, he just prayed it extended this far, "Thanks..." He mumbled softly, his other hand still gripping the ceramic shard so tightly that is made him bleed.

America wrapped the bandages around the other's wrists and said, "I wonder how these got here, it's kinda weird." continuing with his suspicions of why the cuts were so perfect and on his wrists. He said, "How' your hand?" concerned about his old care taker, "Helping you makes me look good, hero has to help everyone even you." he joked, he would have helped him anyway, just his hero complex talking. The thoughts of the dream he had previous night continued to enter his mind and he looked as if he were in some sort of a trance, the scenes replaying in his head.

England shrugged his question off which was unusual because he usually took any opportunity he could to lord his knowledge over the American. He swallowed as he listened to the other blonde talk and felt his heart ache with longing; If only America could really care about him the way he wanted him to. He shook the thought from his head and felt the darkness surrounding him close in just a little tighter. He gripped the glass harder, slicing his fingers to the bone, "It's fine." He whispered hollowly to the American man in front of him. He did his best to hide the hand with his side.

America pushed the possibility of England harming himself aside for himself, he didn't know what he would do if he his suspicions were proven true. He didn't want to think about and noticed the Brit didn't answer, "You sure are quiet today, usually you're down my throat about something." he thought about how dirty that sounded and quickly changed the subject, "I know you're here early, but how early did you get here?" putting the things back into the first aid kit, "You sure you don't need it right?" he looked down and said, "Dude, what are you doing with that shard in your hand?" voice laced with worry, and mentally smacking himself for sounding more worried than he intended, he didn't like to see his beloved England injured in anyway. He stopped in his tracks, since when did he consider England his 'beloved'? Especially when he knew the Brit would probably laugh in his face and tease him about it.

England shook his head, trying to hide the hand further, "Nothing." He said softly before trying to change the subject, "Since about four o'clock... The weather's nice today, isn't it? I love the breeze this morning..." He continued to ramble, trying to distract the American from investigating any more, "What are you doing here so early anyhow? You were never much of early riser.." He trailed off. He ducked his head, not wanting to see the man's face.

America looked at England with a 'I'm-stupid-but-not-that-stupid' face. He said, "England what the hell is going on, you sick or something?" not buying his small talk '4 in the morning?!' he said to himself he stepped a bit closer to England said, "I couldn't sleep, but seriously dude, let the shard go, you're bleeding."

England nodded helplessly and opened his hand, but the shard was so deeply embedded that it stuck to him, caught in his soft white, skin. He bit his lip, knowing that the American wasn't buying any of it. He said softly, "Fine." He looked up at the taller blonde and bit his lip, trying not to cry. He worried at his lip until it too began to bleed. He knew that the American man in front of him had probably figured out something was wrong with him at this point.

America let out a small smile at the compliance, he went over and put a hand under England's hand seeing how embedded the shard was in the skin. He saw how the pale skin and the crimson mixed and fit together so well, "You really got it in deep." he said, he didn't know how deep it went and he said, "I'm gonna pull it out." he kept his eyes on the the shard and began to pull it out slowly. Some of England's blood got onto his hand he felt the warm crimson liquid slid down to his arm.

Arthur sighed inwardly, Maybe he doesn't realize what's gong on... He thought optimistically, Maybe he's still blissfully unaware...! He watches as his blood drips down America's arm and bites his lips harder, making it bleed more profusely. He tasted the metallic taste in his mouth and grimaced to himself, "T-thanks." He said again, voice wavering slightly this time; He didn't want this to turn into a big deal any time soon.

America examined the bloody shard and said, "I gotta clean this up before the meeting starts, you sit still or something, don't want you dropping anything else." with an amused smile and only half teasing. He threw the remainder bandages in back in the kit and put it away and said, "You're a handful." with a sigh. He went back to the broken plate and began to pick up the bigger pieces not wanting to get cut. He threw them away and was thankful that there weren't that many smaller pieces.

England sighed contently, watching the other clean up the mess. Thank goodness he didn't figure anything out... I'm so glad. He watched his ex colony finish up the cleaning and sat there awkwardly. He sucked on his bloody lip then realized something, Did... did he not notice my lip? Or is he waiting to say something until he's done cleaning? Arthur's eyes widened fearfully and he sucked in a quick breath to calm himself.

America finished cleaning and saw that they still had 15 minutes before everyone would start arriving. He went back to where England was and pointed to his lip, "Ummm, you got some, um, blood here?" thought nothing off it, it probably hurt when he pulled the shard and he bit too hard his untouched meal was cold and so he picked it up and threw it out, his focus more on England rather than his food.

Arthur sighed in relief and nodded, "I noticed. I'll be fine." The gaze of those blue eyes on him was driving him insane. His fingers were itching to get a sharp object into them and use said object to its fullest. He shifted under the intense gaze and asked softly, "So... now what?" He debated going on about the weather, "The flowers this time of year are really quite lovely, aren't they?" He asked softly.

America laughed about how sad the Brits attempt at small talk was and said, "I guess, they do look kinda nice." awkward, how could talk to the Brit with the memories of last night, the taxes and tried to wave them off his mind, "I got this really cool game the other day." not knowing what else to say, trying not to make eye contact with the other man.

England nodded, "That sounds... lovely." He grimaced at the badly placed adjective. "Excuse me.." He rose from his chair and dashed out of the room before the American could do anything. Arthur locked himself in a bathroom stall and frantically searched his bag for any sharp object he could find. He found a protractor and quickly set to work on his unmarred wrist, having no intention of staying for the meeting anymore. He decided to wait here until everyone was in the conference room and then sneak home and call in sick.

America watched as the Englishman left, 'He sure left in a hurry.' but didn't worry about it. He got up too to see if there was something in the room to entertain himself with. As people started to come in, there was no sign of England. He examined the room for him but no sight of him. 'Where the hell is he?' he thought. He couldn't have thought he went to the bathroom, he hurried not wanting to be late and receive a scolding from Germany. He opened the bathroom and saw a pair of feet under the stall and a bag, he said, "England?"