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Elizabeth Willing Powel: What do we have, a republic or a monarchy?
Benjamin Franklin: A republic, if you can keep it.
January 6th, 2021 | 7:30am
Alexandria, Virginia (1)
America yawned as he woke up to the chiming alarm from his phone, blindly reaching around to his side table and tapping on the screen to silence it. Behind him, England let out a muffled groan and buried his head into America’s neck, his warm breath tickling his skin.
America smiled fondly, reaching back and stroking England’s hip soothingly. “Go back to sleep, babe. I’ve gotta get up now.”
“Don’t call me babe,” England murmured, and America could feel the pout pressing against his skin, although the Brit would vehemently deny it.
He chuckled, gently moving England’s arm and shuffling himself out of their bed. Looking back at the other nation’s slender, scarred form - tangled in the sheets and lit by a ray of sun - America wanted nothing more than to curl back up with his lover and have some early-morning fun. Alas, democracy waits for no one. America thought with a wry smile. Not even hot, kinky blond Brits.
The joint session at Congress for the certification of votes wouldn’t start until the afternoon, but America wanted to get there extra early. He had organized several meetings with designated FBI agents and Capitol Police about security for the vote. Despite the radio silence from the current occupant of the White House (which was suspicious enough), America had heard and felt enough rumblings to know that they needed to take this seriously. It was uncommon for him to invoke his powers as the National Personification to go around the President, but it certainly wasn’t unprecedented.
America sighed, walking quietly into the bathroom and stepping into the shower. As he washed his hair, he thought of the past few months since the election.
Had he been surprised when Trump had refused to concede and spread doubt on the results of the election? No. Had it nevertheless pissed him off and led him to make several very angry, very public statements? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Even though the number of Americans who had voted for Trump was fairly even with the number who had voted for Biden, the number of people who had fed into this delusional lie and had their lives consumed by it was, thankfully, far fewer. When America closed his eyes and reached for his people, he found that the overwhelming majority still valued the same things: the happiness and health of their families, the ability to earn a living, the desire for freedom.
But the extremists…the burning, painful lump of violence, lies, and anger that formed a muscle knot in his right shoulder. They had only gotten worse in the months after the election, and his fucking moron of a boss was just goading them on.
He sighed and let the hot water run over the muscles, stretching his arms out to try to relieve the tension. Sometimes his people’s outrage felt cleansing and righteous - like washing out an infected wound, or popping a joint back into its socket. But this? This was just painful .
Shutting off the water, America stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, walking into the bedroom to find England still buried under the covers. He snorted and didn’t bother to hide his grin. It was rare that England actually let himself relax like this, but the exhaustion from navigating the pandemic, Brexit, and his own troubling rise of nationalism had finally caught up to the Brit.
He quietly walked over to his closet, looking longingly at his sweatpants and hoodie before grabbing his dress pants and shirt. If I had my way, everyone would wear jeans at Capitol Hill , America thought with a pout.
Tightening his tie and straightening his jacket, he grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys from the nightstand. He already had several text updates from his agents, which he glanced at before hearing a muffled, “America,” come from the sheets.
America turned back to the bed with a smile as blurry eyes and rumpled blond hair peaked out from below the comforter. “Yeah babe?” He asked softly, not sure if England was totally awake.
“Bring your gun,” the island nation murmured, rubbing at his eyes but looking 100% serious.
America raised his eyebrows in surprise, teasing, “Okay, who are you and what have you done with my husband?”
England rolled his eyes sleepily. “I’m serious, America. I have a bad feeling about today. Just…bring your gun with you, please?”
America’s grin disappeared, the pit in his stomach sinking even lower. After almost 80 years of being together, he had learned to trust England’s instincts ( it wasn’t magic, okay? He was just…really lucky ). And England had only confirmed America’s own fears.
Shaking away his worries, America leaned down and pressed a kiss to England’s soft, slightly dry lips. Reluctantly pulling away after a few seconds, he whispered, “I’ll bring my gun.”
England hummed, satisfied, and slowly began to drift back to sleep. America smiled, brushing England’s hair away from his face and whispering, “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”
England murmured incomprehensibly, and America got off the bed and walked out the door. But not before an ominous chill traveled up his spine.
January 6th, 2021 | 12:19pm
Capitol Building | South Side
America’s leg jittered underneath his desk, trying desperately to focus on the words of the briefing in front of him and not on the adrenaline running through his veins. He ignored the way his hands were shaking, he ignored the pain stabbing through his forehead, he ignored –
America gritted his teeth as another shot of pain traveled from his shoulder up his spine to his head. Every single instinct in his body was telling him that something was wrong , wrong , wrong . The muted chatter in his mind that every Nation had–the connection to his people–was screaming at him.
Fuck Antifa!
1776!
Stop the count!
America groaned and stood up from his desk, pacing from one side of his office to the other. When that didn’t work, he switched to jumping jacks. All of these centuries later, he still remembered England’s advice from the French and Indian War, his first major military conflict. All of the blood and zeal of your people is stopped up inside of you, lad, his once-mentor’s voice whispered. If you do not let it out, it will consume you whole .
When the shouts in his head finally became quieter, he grabbed his phone just as a ping! sounded. One of his agents at the Bureau had texted him: “POTUS is encouraging the protesters to march to the Capitol .” (2)
A chill went down his spine, and he jogged over to the window that overlooked the west lawn of the Capitol. He could see a group of people in the distance, still behind the police barricades, but couldn’t tell how many there were.
Quickly, he texted back to the agent, “ How many? ”
He stared at the blinking three dots until the man responded. “ 10-15k .”
Dread bubbled up inside of him. Okay. Okay, that was a lot. But they hadn’t breached the barricades yet. There was still time to defuse this.
He walked out of his office as he typed a message back–” Contact USCP. More guard to west side barricade .”–and looked up to see his two assistants, Jessica and Amy, as well as most of the rest of his staff watching the TV in the main conference room.
Most of them turned when he entered, and America tried to give them an encouraging grin. He saw them all relax subtly, except for his main bodyguard, Yusuf, who only became more tense. “Sir,” he whispered, “Any word from the Bureau?”
America quickly glanced at his phone, only to see that his agent had texted him back with, “ USCP unresponsive .”
“Yeah,” he muttered back. “And it’s not good.”
Yusuf shifted slightly, a move that would be imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t a Nation. “Sir, I highly recommend that we move you to a safe location.”
America glanced incredulously at the man. Jeez, he knew that his people could be protective of him, but really? “Yusuf,” he said in a low voice, making sure that no one else in the room heard him. “I’ve only evacuated the Capitol once in 200 years and it was when my brother and partner literally burned it down. I’m not leaving because of some thugs who think they’re patriots.” (3)
Yusuf sighed slightly, before nodding reluctantly. America turned back to the rest of his staff, who were once again watching CNN. “Okay guys,” he said, clapping his hands and smiling reassuringly. “Let’s get ready - the joint session begins in less than an hour.”
January 6th, 2021 | 12:55pm
Alexandria, Virginia
England emerged from his office with an empty mug and walked down the winding staircase into the kitchen. He had immediately regretted not making a whole pot of tea to bring upstairs with him that morning, but they had run out of loose Twinings tea yesterday so he had to make do with tea bags. Bloody ridiculous, he thought as he switched on the electric kettle. Maybe America can stop by the shops on his way home…
As he set down the EU mug that France had gotten him 3 Christmases ago ( wanker ), he checked his phone for the first time in a few hours. Canada had texted him around half an hour ago.
Are you watching this? | 12:21pm
Have you contacted America? | 12:22pm
He isn’t answering my texts. | 12:29pm
England? | 12:34pm
Turn on the news. | 12:40pm
England’s heart sank, and his mind went back to the feeling of dread that had almost woken him up that morning as America was preparing to leave. He assumed that everything was fine–America would have called him, surely?
He grabbed the remote on the island and turned on CNN. A daytime anchor narrated, “The police seem to be completely outnumbered–”
England was almost two thousand years old. He had seen many riots in his long, long life. In comparison, this was insignificant. But the worried looks on the faces of the humans–the anchors, the journalists on the ground–made him realize that this could quickly become very significant.
He remembered how he and the rest of Europe had so readily dismissed the Beer Hall coup in Berlin. (4) And then he picked up his phone and called Canada.
January 6th, 2021 | 1:05pm
Capitol Building | House Chambers
“Madame Speaker, members of Congress, the Senate and House of Representatives are meeting in joint session–”
America crossed his arms and slouched in his chair, hoping that he was conveying as much hatred with just the upper half of his face as he glared at Ted Cruz beneath his face mask.
England and Japan were both renowned amongst Nations for being able to express their complete and utter disgust with their leaders without saying a word, but America liked to think that he had learned something from the both of them. He could see Cruz shifting nervously in his seat as he glanced back and forth between the Vice President and the Nation.
America grinned viciously beneath his mask. See, people liked to think that their Nation loved every one of their citizens and residents equally. That no matter what they did, at least their Nation would still respect them. But America had a lot more respect for convicted murderers than he did for greedy, cowardly, lying politicians.
Plus, Ted Cruz had the added benefit of being one of the most despised men in Congress, on both sides of the aisle. It made it much easier for America to hate him.
He knew that Cruz and his band of fuckers were planning on objecting to the results of the election, even though he had told them and his entire country multiple times that the election was fair. Apparently America had been "manipulated by the deep state," though - whatever the fuck that meant.
Unfortunately, the objections meant that this whole shebang definitely wouldn’t be over in 30 minutes. And that was what really worried America.
He glanced at Yusuf, who was whispering to 2 members of Capitol Police near the rear doors. The rest of Congress milled around him, casting their votes and logging their objections like it was any other random Wednesday. But America was focused on Yusuf's face, which was pinched in concern.
That's not good, he thought. He pulled out his phone again and scanned the notifications. Updates from the Bureau, from the head of the Joint Chiefs– still nothing from the White House, that dickhead –and now England's missed texts and calls had joined Canada's.
He grimaced, and shot back a quick, " All ok in here. What's the news saying out there? " to both of them.
Yusuf walked away from the police and towards America, leaning down and whispering, "They don't have enough men. They're worried that the protestors are going to breach the Capitol."
America glanced up at him in shock, before hissing back, "What the fuck? Are you serious? Where's the National fucking Guard?"
"President Trump apparently isn't responding for reinforcements," Yusuf whispered back, judgment clear in his voice.
A jolt of clarity shot down America's spine, and he straightened in fury. "No...he wouldn't, would he?" He muttered. Oh yeah, it's crystal fucking clear now. That traitorous son of a bitch.
America got up and grabbed his briefcase next to him, which held the gun England had asked him to bring that morning and his holster. Fuck this, he thought, leaving the chamber with Yusuf behind him.
"Yusuf, go back to my office," he said once they were in the antechamber. Aides milled around outside and stared at him in worry. "I want you to guard my staff."
"Sir, I'm not leaving you," his bodyguard said stubbornly, and America huffed in a mix of irritation and affection. Dammit, why did his people have to be so protective? He was the immortal one in this equation.
"Let me guess - you're just going to disobey any order I give you to go back to my office."
Yusuf grimaced. "I'd rather not have to, Sir."
America rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
They hurried over to a side staircase, where America opened his briefcase and strapped his holster on. After a moment's hesitation, he loaded the gun.
"Sir?" Yusuf asked, double-checking his own sidearm.
America sighed and holstered the pistol. "I don't want to kill one of my citizens today, Yusuf, but that doesn't mean I won't."
January 6th, 2021 | 1:57pm
Capitol Building | West Side Interior
In the hallways of the Capitol, the shouts of the rioters outside echoed ominously. The 4 USCP officers that America had ordered to meet him in Statutory Hall flinched every time a bang went off outside, and America knew that their fellow officers were out there fighting like hell to prevent the mob from getting inside. Yusuf stood stoically to the side as America paced and yelled into his phone.
“No, you motherfucker, you’re going to get me the President and you’re going to get him NOW,” he shouted. “I’m your goddamn Nation –don’t tell me he’s busy , you son of a–no, you know what, fine. Fuck him.”
He hung up as the aide tried to sputter an answer. Turning to one of the sergeants, he asked, “Have you been able to get through to Mayor Bowser?”
“Yes Sir,” the sergeant replied. “Mayor Bowser and the chief requested the DCNG, but they haven’t received permission…”
“Fuck permission,” America responded, and he could see his citizens flinch back at the coldness in his voice. He inhaled slowly and tried to calm himself. Humans could get…twitchy when their Nations became too authoritative, too inhuman . And he definitely didn’t want his officers to be twitchy right now.
“I want you to tell the chief and the mayor that all communications for deployment of the National Guard go through me and General Walker, got it? Oh, and tell Bowser to call Northam and Hogan–let’s get Virginia and Maryland in on this.” (5)
The officers nodded, repeating, “Yes Sir,” before running back towards the Senate Chamber.
America glanced back at his phone and his heart sank when he saw England had stopped texting him, his last message being a straightforward: “ SITREP? ”
The American grimaced, but before he and his bodyguard ran back towards the north side of the building, he typed out a response: “ FUBAR .” (6)
January 6th, 2021 | 2:05pm
Capitol Building | Congressional Offices
America opened the next door in the long line of office doors, and was relieved when this office was empty. This Congresswoman must have taken most of her staff with her to the House floor. Turning back to Yusuf, he whispered, “Clear,” before they moved onto the next door.
This time when he slammed it open, he saw two women looking out the window of their conference room, their mouths covered in horror. He shouted, “hey!” and they spun to look at him, panic in their eyes.
Shit, America thought, looking around the office. Okay, table over there, closet in the corner, glass is bulletproof. Okay, this is fine.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me,” he soothed them and pulled down his mask so they could see his face. “I need you guys to do something for me, okay?”
They nodded fearfully, and America pointed to the closet. “Okay, you guys are going to hide in there with all the lights out, but first you’re going to move this table to barricade the door, got it?”
The younger woman, a small Asian-American woman with fear but determination in her eyes, nodded quickly, and America lifted the conference table and moved it as close to the door as he could. “Alright, you got it?” He asked as he slipped out the door. “Shove it closed once I close it behind me, okay?”
The two aides nodded, and America saw that tears had started slipping down both of their faces. His heart ached for his citizens–his people –being so afraid of a mob of rioters in his capitol. He whispered a soft, “ hey, it’s okay , ” and he infused as much courage, as much love, as much strength into his voice and aura as he could. Nations usually only used this ability to give strength to their soldiers, but America felt a wave of despair as he realized how often he had used it in recent years to give courage to innocent victims, to civilians .
The two aides nodded, and America was happy to see that their tears had stopped momentarily. They nodded, and America gave them a reassuring smile before shutting the door.
As he locked the door behind him, and heard the bang of the table slamming against it, he heard a massive crash from below them and suddenly, the shouts got louder and less muffled. America glanced at Yusuf, and for the first time that day, he saw fear in his bodyguard’s eyes.
“Fuck,” he whispered. They were in.
January 6th, 2021 | 2:14pm
Capitol Building | U.S. Senate Chamber
America strode through the large doorway next to the Senate Chamber, motioning for Yusuf to stay behind him, and couldn’t believe what he saw. Around half a dozen Capitol police officers had formed a line in the middle of the hall, and were faced with part of the mob–outnumbered 5 to 1.
One officer was backing away from the opposite doorway, rejoining his colleagues on the other side of the line, while another officer was trying to motion calmly to a group of shouting rioters. (7) America’s stomach dropped as he noticed one man was holding an actual fucking spear, and several others were wearing tactical gear.
“Fuck you!” “We’re coming for you, Pence!” “You work for us, let us the fuck in!” “Justice is coming, baby!”
America became immediately, intimately aware that every single one of his Senators and their aides were just behind this line. They were only beginning to evacuate. They can’t get in, America thought, and he gritted his teeth in determination. This is the line. We can’t let them get in.
He could distract them, he knew he could. These fuckers were claiming to do this for him , weren’t they?
America jogged up to the front of the line and pulled down his mask, showing his face and flashing them a disarming grin. “Hey guys, what can I do for y’all?” He let his Southern accent bleed into his voice, and he could see some of the tension ease in the crowd. Come on, come on, calm down, everyone, calm down …
“You guys know you aren’t supposed to be here, right?” He asked disarmingly, trying not to let his anger show. “This ain’t okay.”
One of the rioters pointed at the door behind America and shouted, “We just wanna get in there, man.”
“Yeah, we’re doing this for you, man!” Another one shouted, grinning wildly. America’s stomach dropped. The man was holding a confederate flag, and America was suddenly, sickeningly aware of the fact that until this moment, the flag of those traitors had never entered his Capitol. He kept his fake smile plastered on his face as he thought to himself, No you’re not. I’m not the nation you’re loyal to.
“I understand that,” America said soothingly, and with the lie, he could feel the tension ease a little more. “But I can’t let you get through here, okay? I need y’all to go home .”
He put the force of his Nation into the last two words, and miraculously, somehow, they listened. The rioters looked around at each other, and one nodded and said, “Okay, sir, okay, we’ll leave.”
America looked at the Capitol police, bewildered, as sure enough, the group of rioters retreated out the far door and went back down the stairs. The confrontation lasted only 3 or 4 minutes. He saw an officer sag in relief next to him.
“Thank you, sir,” the sergeant whispered, and America hated the poorly disguised fear he could see in the man’s eyes. He hated it with every fiber of his being.
He nodded wordlessly, and Yusuf jogged up from behind him, saying, “The Senators are evacuating now, sir. We have to go.”
America knew that they were being brought to the safe house beneath the Capitol, but there was no fucking way he was leaving right now. “What about the House?”
Yusuf pursed his lips with visible frustration. “The House will be evacuating too, sir, but please, we need to–”
“I’m not leaving until everyone’s out or hidden,” America shot back angrily. He was not leaving his citizens to this mob. He wasn’t leaving Capitol police to deal with this without him.
“Sir,” the sergeant from before addressed him hesitantly. His voice was surprisingly soft, but laced with faint fear and exhaustion. “You have to leave. This group was peaceful, but we don’t know about the others.”
Yusuf nodded his head eagerly, continuing, “What about the rioters who aren’t as willing to listen to you? What about the ones who aren’t loyal to you at all?” America felt a flash of guilt and failure, and he thought back to the man holding the confederate flag.
“Sir,” Yusuf whispered, leaning in close to his ear. “If the President isn’t responding, you need to be available to…make certain decisions.”
America felt a chill go down his spine, and he heard the unspoken part of Yusuf’s statement loud and clear. If the President is attempting a coup, you need to be available to invoke the 25th Amendment . (8)
Fuck, he thought to himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck. But he knew that Yusuf was right. This was way more serious than a few trespassers. This was an organized, directed coup attempt. They had already successfully delayed, if not stopped, the vote count.
He remembered the lessons he had learned during the War of 1812 and the Civil War. He remembered watching how coups had toppled other Nations’ governments: Russia, Italy, China, Hungary. If you lose control of your capitol–if the mob takes control for even a moment, and the legal system fails–it’s over. You’ve lost.
I need to protect my representatives, America thought. We can’t leave the Capitol. They have to finish the vote.
America pulled back and looked at Yusuf’s sympathetic face. He let out a growl of frustration…and nodded.
January 6th, 2021 | 3:02pm
Alexandria, Virginia
America had once told England during the chaos of the 1960s that because the United States was, for all intents and purposes, uninvadable, the only way to destroy his nation was to destroy it from the inside. (9)
Of course, America had said such a thing while in a heightened state of paranoia from Soviet spies and assassinations, but something in his words had rung incredibly true. England had failed to defeat America centuries ago–the strongest empire in the world and England had failed. Decades later, he and Canada had failed again. Mexico failed, Japan failed, the Soviets failed.
The only one that had ever been capable of destroying America was America itself.
Watching the attack on the U.S. Capitol unfold on television, England could not stop running that thought over and over in his head.
He sat on the sofa, hunched over with his phone clutched in one hand. Text messages from his own officials, from diplomatic officials, and from other Nations had been flooding into his phone for the past several hours, and this nightmare still wasn’t over.
America had not texted him in over an hour, but England could still sense him, in the way that all Nations could sense others of their kind when on their land. The United States had not fallen–America was still standing, somewhere.
His phone rang again, and he glanced down at the caller ID, ready to shut it off again as he had for most calls. But after seeing the name on the screen, he tensed and swallowed heavily, before answering.
“Hello, China.”
“Yīngguó,” the elder Nation replied, his voice strained and tense. “I have not been able to reach Měiguó directly. Where is he?” (10)
A well of (probably undeserved) anger rose in England’s chest, and he snapped, “Well, he’s a bit busy at the moment, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Yīngguó,” China repeated softly, and England could hear the exhaustion in the man’s voice. He had forgotten about the time difference–it was past 4 in the morning in Beijing.
“My people have been in contact with Měiguó’s generals,” China continued, “and they have assured me that this…attack will not have lasting consequences. But I do not know if I can trust them.” England could hear the way that China was carefully dancing around the elephant in the room–if a coup overthrew the United States government, then every nation in the world was in danger. (11)
Fuck, England thought angrily, as he tried to mirror China’s delicacy, this is why I haven’t been answering the phone.
“I can assure you, China, the American government is stable–” that’s a lie and China knows it “–and America himself is safe with his representatives in the Capitol.” At least I hope he is. For all I know, he’s out there on the front lines trying to be a hero and is going to get himself lynched.
There was a fairly long silence on the other end of the line, and England knew that they were both thinking of America’s outrageously large nuclear arsenal, currently in the hands of an extremist President who may have just ordered a coup to stay in power. Please, China, he thought to himself desperately. Don’t do anything rash. Trust that America has control, at least for now. Please…
After another few moments, China replied with a soft but firm, “Thank you. I’ll be in touch,” and then hung up the phone.
England let out a sigh of relief. The elder Nation had become much harder to read in recent years, but England could tell that China was appeased, for now.
Almost as soon as China had hung up, the doorbell rang. England stiffened immediately, but decided not to go to the gun safe in their bedroom. This house was monitored around the clock, so the guest was probably safe.
He walked to the foyer and opened the door, sighing in relief when he saw two of his own protective agents. Eliza had been with him for years, and the other agent, Toby Fisher, was a familiar attachee when in the States. "Sir," Eliza said brusquely, pushing through the doorway with a briefcase in hand.
"Eliza," he answered, bewildered as they walked past him into the foyer. "What's going on?"
"We have orders to evacuate you to the embassy, sir," Fisher responded.
"What?" England asked, baffled. "What the hell do you mean? Orders from who ?"
"MI6, sir," Eliza said, gently trying to usher him out the door. He put a stop to that quickly, glaring at the both of them. Fisher looked appropriately cowed, but Eliza had known him for too long to be intimidated.
"Explain." He ordered, crossing his arms and planting his feet.
Eliza sighed, glancing askance at Fisher. "Six is worried that there could be an ongoing coup in D.C. We've been ordered to bring you to the embassy, and from there, to Canada via private plane."
England let out a burst of startled laughter–he couldn't help himself. "This isn't a bloody coup. Even if Trump is behind this, America's military and America himself would never go along with this. This is a terrorist attack, for certain, but not a coup."
"Sir," Fisher interrupted softly, "Pipe bombs were found at several national offices around D.C. and Virginia."
England's eyebrows shot up. He… had not heard that. The authorities must not have released the information ( they don't want people to panic ).
"We have other agents searching the premises," Eliza continued, "but right now, we need to get you out of here."
England glared at them for a moment, before sighing in resignation. Damn him. He got himself into this mess when he let Churchill give the SIS protective power over him during the war. Much like America's own Secret Service, they would not take no for an answer, not even from their Nation.
"Fine." He answered shortly, walking quickly through the foyer and into the living room. "Let me get my emergency bag and we'll go."
As he walked past the telly in the living room, he saw the now familiar images of a violent, unhinged mob climbing up the walls of the Capitol Building. He knew that somewhere in there, his partner was either holed up trying to regain control of his government or fighting with those officers on the front lines. England didn’t know which he would prefer.
2 Days Later
January 8th, 2021 | 10:31pm
Alexandria, Virginia
England wearily shut his car door, waving away his driver and Eliza, who were still inside. He knew that Eliza would be stationed in the security outpost only a stone’s throw away, but he liked at least keeping up the pretense of privacy. Especially now.
The last few days had been an absolute nightmare. With America working in Congress for almost 48 hours straight, and England still hidden away in Ottawa, they had barely spoken since the attempted coup. Only a quick phone call for America to let his partner know he was alright. Since then, England had seen the other Nation on television more than he had spoken to him directly.
In every speech and every press conference, America was clearly exhausted. The bags had been dark and heavy under his eyes, but the fire that burned within them was familiar to England. He had seen it after the attack on Pearl Harbor, during the Cuban Missile Crisis, and after 9/11. Almost no one knew better than England just how angry–how dangerous –America could be when he was truly provoked.
But England was proud of America–he had denounced his current President and his lies about the election in stronger terms than ever before. He actively called on social media websites to ban his President from their sites–and shockingly, they listened. England swore that the world felt a little lighter with that moron off of Twitter.
England himself, along with every other democratic Nation, had released a statement of support for America and American democracy. And England had been relieved to see that although Nations like China, Russia, and Iran had not offered similar statements of support, they had also not said much of anything.
Probably for the best, England thought wryly as he threw his bag over his shoulder and walked up the front steps. 'If you can't say anything nice' and all that.
England unlocked the front door with his key and slowly opened it. Cautiously walking into the house, he called, "America?"
After no response, he closed and locked the door, leaving his shoes and bag in the foyer. That man better not have gone back to his office, I swear…
Quietly walking up the stairs, England came to their bedroom door and slowly opened it. The sight inside broke his heart.
America had collapsed on their bed, still fully clothed in his suit and tie, with his briefcase and mobile phone next to him, and his gun in its holster on the floor. His face was shoved to the side so he could breathe, and England winced sympathetically at the undoubted crick in his neck.
"Oh America," England murmured, quietly closing the door behind him. Moving slowly over to the bed so as not to startle him, England sat down next to America and gently placed a hand on his head. As he slowly ran his hand through the other Nation's hair– Lord, when was the last time the boy showered?– America stirred softly and groaned in pain and exhaustion.
"It's alright," England tutted and soothed, moving his other hand to America's back. "It's alright, luv, I'm here."
America was silent for a few minutes, before he whispered, "England," hoarsely.
"Come on, luv," England murmured, pulling gently on America's shoulders. "Let's get you undressed and into bed, alright?"
America groaned in protest, but let England lift up his limbs, slip off his jacket, shirt, and shoes. He stood up unsteadily and slipped off his trousers, leaving him in only a pair of boxers and white socks. Watching him out of the corner of his eye, England took off his own shirt and trousers, relishing the feel of America's bare skin against his as he wrapped an arm around the man's body.
The bed was heavenly. The sheets and duvet were still warm from America's body, and England felt like he could sink into the mattress with how exhausted he was.
As soon as they were under the sheets, America whined and wrapped his arms and legs around England, who smiled fondly at the familiar octopus maneuver. "Goodnight, America," he whispered.
But just as he began drifting off to sleep, he felt America's breath hitch in his chest, and the younger Nation's face heated up where it was pressed against England's shoulder. England immediately forced himself back to wakefulness, carefully petting America's hair as the hitches came once every 5 breaths, then 3, then every rattling inhale.
"England," America moaned in utter despair, and there it is, tears began to flow from America's eyes onto England's chest as he sobbed.
"I know, luv," he whispered, holding the trembling, tearful nation even closer. "I know."