As The Bird Flies

4

1946, during the empiric advancements of the United States

London, England, in the home of the British Empire

America was silent when he walked in. A rarity. England looked up to study the other empire. His shoulders were down, and his head hung low, and he shook in his legs. Despite this, there was no limp in his step. When he took his scarf and coat off, tossing them over the coat hanger, he noticed that he was covered in affections. He attempted to stop himself from snorting, and failed.

America looked over just long enough to get his glare across.

"Did you find anything useful?" He asked, sipping chamomile tea.

"Mind your own."

He raised a brow, "So, you really just went and got yourself defiled by a communist for nothing? And we had an agreement, young man- don't you dare go through that door, I'm not done talking to you."

America hissed, "I'm not going to talk about it."

England narrowed his eyes. The British Empire stood, strolling over to him, his cane clicking ominously on the floor, it's golden tip making the looser floorboards rattle. America eyed it warily. He'd been beaten by it to the point where always watching the cane was a force of habit. The British Empire reveled in that fact.

"Don't get smart with me, or I'll have to punish you," his tone made him realize that a punishment, this time, would not mean the cane. But he was so exhausted. And getting treated gently was a horribly draining experience.

"Is your official language German, now? Because it should be."

His jaw clenched.

"Say anything like that again and you'll never be allowed back into my house," England was firm, but America only laughed in his face.

"Leave me alone. I'll be out by sunrise."

He watched America turn around on his heels, walking through the doorway to the stairs.

"He saw your scars, didn't he?" England smiled. America tensed.

"Shut up."

"And I'm guessing he was completely disgusted, wasn't he?" England continued, "How horrible. Not even one of those equality peddlers can find it in their heart to love a freak like you,"

America pursed his lips, gently placing his hand on the doorframe. There was a splintering noise that shook the room, and England gulped as he watched the cracks spread through his wall. The doorframe was pulled clean off.

"I lied," America said, cheerfully, "I'll be out by midnight."

England hummed, trying to settle his racing heart as his son finally met his eyes. The snake pupils were fully constricted, slitted like a cat eye in the light, and his red irises seemed to be a little brighter. England always found that he looked ethereal when he was angry. Of course, also dangerous, but so was he.

"Another lie. I think that's fifteen by now," England said, "which means five lashings."

America frowned, letting the door frame drop. Dust dripped from the wall, and England looked at the fallen wood, slightly disappointed in its strength.

"Actually, it's six-hundred and thirty-seven," he said, before turning around and walking up the stairs. England's eyebrows furrowed, and he looked up the staircase curiously, watching as the boy disappeared into the upstairs sprawl. He sighed, deciding to ignore it.

He continued to drink his tea, calling a servant to fix the broken door frame. After a few minutes, America was packed. He placed his bag beside the door, about to pull his coats back on. England stopped him with a firm hand to the shoulder.

"It would be rude for you to leave so soon," England said.

"That's wonderful," America replied. He noticed the slight shake in his voice. It brought a smile to his lips to know that he would always have power over the other empire, "I don't care."

His grip tightened.

"Well, it would be wise for you too."

America glanced at him, before sighing.

"I hate to do it to ya, old man," America said, "but golly, ya got a stick shoved so far where the sun don't shine- I've been wanting to do this for a while, I mean."

He shook his hand off easily. His pupils constricted again, and England raised a brow, before laughing. He laughed until he felt like his lungs were being compressed, and with horror, he realized they were. He collapsed to his knees, coughing and spitting, gripping the wood for leverage in his gloved hands. He looked up at America gasping and choking. He couldn't draw any air in. The snake was constricting.

"You should read the fine print in deals, before signing."

And he and his luggage were out of his home.