How could this...How did this happen?
No matter how much he wanted this to be a dream, the reality would always bring back his worst nightmare, no matter how much he wanted to escape.
He had been deceived...by America of all people.
"He" was actually a "she", and the America he knew, or thought he knew, never existed. All England had known was a lie, and all he's left with is a cruel, ruthless, and apathetic woman.
How had he become so blind?! The signs were there, and yet he never paid attention to them; the way America refused to let him bathe hi—her, how she refused to let him dress her, how long she took in getting ready...it was all right fucking there, and he just let the information zoom on by without a thought!
He had been stupid...so...so...stupid.
So, as a result, England had actually sobbed himself to sleep that night, waking up later than usual, not that anyone was complaining for once when he arrived to the kitchen for breakfast.
To his surprise, it wasn't France or any other country who was cooking, but America. She was still dressed in her buttoned dark blue blouse, matching skirt, and black heels from yesterday. Seeing him, America nodded to him, her expression unchanging.
"Good morning Mr. Kirkland," she greeted before going back to her cooking. Her wording was like a blow to England's already hurting heart. Not Iggy or Artie, just Mr. Kirkland. Not only was she so different in personality, but she also denied any attachments to him.
Canada and even France weren't faring any better, though the former looked worse for wear. His skin was a sickly pale, dark bags the color of a storm cloud were under his eyes, there was a heaviness in his shoulders, and his hair was disheveled. He truly look like he went to war with both himself and his bed and lost.
England didn't know what America said to him after her revelation, but whatever it was, it was enough to make Canada look worse than France or England himself.
As for the other nations, they were clearly still in shock. Like the three members of the FACE family, they didn't seem to have slept a wink last night, except for Japan for some odd reason, and they were stunned enough that they didn't bother arguing with each other, which would've been nice if it hadn't been for their situation.
Soon, America came out with different trays of food in her hands. She seemed to have done this many times before, as she was confident in getting them all to the table without dropping them, and she politely denied assistance. Soon, America was placing the nations' respective breakfasts before them, ignoring their shocked looks as she settled herself at the head of the table, about to dig into her own meal.
England didn't know what he was thinking, but he had expected hamburgers for America's breakfast, but what he saw instead was shocking. On America's tray was a bowl of oatmeal, an apple, a couple strips of bacon, and a glass of tea.
Tea!
America eyed the other nations and their untouched meals. "I'm not going to bother cooking for you again if you waste the food. Just to warn you, I'm not exactly fond of those who waste food." She didn't say it cruelly, but the warning in her voice was enough to get everyone to cooperate.
Soon, they were quietly digging into their meals, once more saying not one word to each other. America didn't seem to mind this though, for she just quietly ate her breakfast without a care in the world, or at least that's what England thought.
His tray consisted of his favorite Earl Grey tea, a couple pieces of small tomatoes, two pieces of sausage, fried eggs, and a couple pieces of bacon, all of which he was consuming slowly. England didn't know whether to be happy that America remembered his favorite breakfast meal, sad that she knew them and not the other way around, or both.
Finally, after many minutes of uncomfortable silence, America spoke up.
"You are free to do whatever you wish around the house, but as you're in my house, there will be some rules that I expect you to follow, and that means all of you." Her face was grim and serious as she scanned over all of them. "First, do NOT leave your rooms after dark, because the house's occupants are more than eager to get a chunk out of you, especially the most hated ones among you."
England felt a shiver run up his spine, and nearby Italy whimpered quietly to himself.
"Second, no fighting in my house, and if you don't follow that rule, I'll be more than happy to sacrifice you to them with no questions asked, and I don't care what the reason is for why you're fighting. It's either the sacrificing, or you'll be kicked out of my home, whichever comes first."
Romano, and just basically everyone else, was sweating profusely.
"Third, do not go into the basement without me, and if you do, you may or may not be able to get out of there by yourself. Reason being is because whoever goes down there will be forced to experience their most traumatic memories, and, yes, only I can bring you out of those memories, but I can't guarantee that you won't have nightmares if that happens."
Everyone was now staring at America, bug-eyed and all color gone from their faces.
"Fourth, I expect you to clean up after yourselves. I am not your maid or your mother, and being grown men, you should be able to follow this rule easily. However, if you are not able to, you will be forced to spend the rest of your time here cleaning the entire house by yourself, and let me tell you it is grilling work."
More color drained.
"And, finally, because we are here on a business trip, I expect each and every one of you to act like the dignified nations you say you are. Oh, and China? Close your mouth because you're attracting flies." China, realizing that, immediately shut his mouth and began to spit out imaginary flies into his napkin.
"Now," America continued, "once more, if you're unable to do something as simple as that, make sure that the door doesn't hit you on the way out, and also take extra care to not come back. No one is asking you to stay, and I do have better things to do than to listen to your childish complaints and senseless arguments."
England was offended, as was everyone else, but no one dared to open their mouths.
"Oh, and if you're offended, I'm not going to apologize to you because it is the truth, and unlike you, I'd rather get things done and over with," America finished bluntly. "Now, I will inform you of when we will be starting the meeting, so until then, make sure you follow the rules. I cannot guarantee your safety if you do not."
After they finished their meals, once more in tense silence, America stood and left without another word, and the nations started to do the same. They took their plates to the (surprisingly clean and plain) kitchen to place them in the sink and left to find something to occupy themselves.
England found the library, which, like the rest of the house, was big and contained all kinds of novels. Romance, mystery, crime, non-fiction, fiction, you name it. Wandering the aisles, England was shocked to discover his classics, like Pride and Prejudice and even Jane Eyre, on these shelves, but now, his heart took another blow.
"You may have found me as a colony, but that's all there is to it. You do not know me, not like you think you do. In fact, the America you thought you knew? He never existed in the first place."
America was right. England didn't know her, not even from the very beginning. She did a wonderful job of that.
The older nation just grabbed Pride and Prejudice to kill time, but as he was walking back to the window seat, he saw something a little out of place.
There was a small art book on the table before him, and, while he didn't want to pry, England's curiosity got the best of him, and he picked it up. Opening to the first page, he was baffled at the artwork of America holding an infant in her arms. Clearly this was done in the sixteen hundreds', for this painting looked quite old despite only being a picture, but the artist did an excellent job in capturing everything.
America, who was lying in a bed, was smiling lightly up at the viewer, so beautiful and kind, and her eyes shone with happiness, delight, and love. The infant was wrapped in a dark green bundle, and all England could make out of the child was its blonde hair.
England looked at the title of the painting, and dropped the art book, his heart beating wildly in his chest.
America and Virginia, 1607.